Читать «Rulers of the Darkness (хвв-4)» онлайн - страница 358

"Good," Vatran murmured- but only after glancing around to make sure Ysolt was out of earshot. Rathar nodded. He hated nothing worse than Swemmel's trying to direct the campaign from Cottbus. The king often couldn't resist sticking his oar in, but he usually made things worse, not better. In more normal tones, Vatran asked, "What have you got in mind, then?"

"I want to strike for Herborn," Rathar said.

That made Vatran's bushy white eyebrows fly up toward his hairline. Rathar had been sure it would, which was one of the reasons he hadn't mentioned it till now. "During the fall mud-time, lord Marshal?" Vatran said. "Do you really think we've got a chance of bringing it off?"

"I do, by the powers above," Rathar answered, "and one of the reasons I do is that the Algarvians won't think we'd dare try. We're better in the mud, the same as we're better in the snow. We have to be. We deal with them every year. If we can crack the crust and get a couple of columns moving fast, we can cut off a lot of redheads."

"That's the game they like to play against us," Vatran said.

"It's a good game," Rathar said. "And I'll tell you something else, too: it's a lot more fun when you're on the giving end than when you've got to take it."

"That's the truth!" Vatran boomed. "Getting our own back feels pretty cursed good; bugger me if it doesn't. But speaking of buggers, what about the Grelzers? They're flesh of our flesh, bone of our bone. They know what to do in mud and snow, even if Mezentio's men don't."

Rathar cursed. "You're right," he said reluctantly. "But I still think we can do it. From everything we've seen, the Grelzers are just footsoldiers. They're light on horses and unicorns, they haven't got any behemoths the scouts have seen, and they haven't got much in the way of egg-tossers. The redheads have been using 'em to hold down the countryside, not to do any real fighting. Send General Gurmun through 'em with a column of behemoths and they'll shatter like glass."

"Here's hoping." Vatran rubbed his chin, considering. "It could be, I suppose. You're really going to try it?"

"Aye, I'm really going to try it. Even if it doesn't go the way we hope it will, the Algarvians can't knock us back very far." Rathar cocked his head to one side in some astonishment, listening to what he'd just said.

Vatran's face bore a bemused look, too. "You know, I think you may be right," he said. "That's what the cursed redheads were saying about us a couple of years ago."

"I know," Rathar said. "They turned out to be wrong. We have to keep hammering them. That's the best hope we've got of turning out to be right." He nodded to himself. "Sure enough: I'm going for Herborn."

"Command me, then, lord Marshal," Vatran said. "If you've got the stomach for pushing forward even through mud, I'll help you ram the knife home."

"Good," Rathar told him. "I'll need all the help I can-" He broke off and turned toward the front door, through which a panting young lieutenant of crystallomancers had just come. "Hello! What's this about?"