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well disciplined, but now they were at retribution, not war.
Men of Coramonde, stirrup and stirrup, withdrew step by slow step, backing
their horses. They surrendered one hundred yards over the next quarter-hour,
the hardest fighting Springbuck had ever seen. Suddenly patience and common
sense ended. Death was the only coin in which he cared to traffic.
His standard-bearer was resisting the mandates of wounds that must, the
Ku-Mor-Mai knew, claim him. Springbuck snatched his crimson tiger banner,
throwing aside his crumpled shield to take it up. Fireheel, feeling his
rider s moribund mood, pushed forward. The Ku-Mor-Mai voiced a challenge
through his tortured throat and went among the Baidii, with the sword called
Never Blunted hewing his way.
Behind him were men of Teebra. In the custom of their tribes, they threw down
their own shields, drew out the heavy short swords that hung at their sides,
and accompanied their Protector-Suzerain with bright blades in either hand. In
a moment the entire remaining force had cast itself after him.
Springbuck slashed and drove, dully curious. From which quarter would the
final enemy come? Then he felt a certain change in the tenor of the
engagement. Dismayed cries spread through the southern ranks from the rear.
Up from behind them came a frost-haired giant on a coal-black desert charger,
and the men who d stood at the pass with him, weapons rising and falling with
fresh enthusiasm.
The Baidii, outraged at what they took for some warped deception, turned to
fight on this second front. The Ku-Mor-Mai collected the men left to him and
held his ground. Many Baidii ran. They couldn t imagine what kind of maniacs
would fight until they were nearly obliterated, for a military deceit. They
didn t know Springbuck and his men were as surprised as they.
In time the onslaught stopped, Hightower faced Springbuck as yellow dust
settled, and the younger man slowly considered the fact that he was still
alive.
Springbuck pushed himself from the saddle and half-dismounted, half-fell.
Sitting there, he wrenched his war mask off with a sigh and threw it from him.
Many others did the same, blinking as if awakening from sleep.
Hightower unhorsed. He offered the Protector-Suzerain a scrap of dampened
cloth and Springbuck drew it across his tortured lips, squeezing excess water
into his mouth greedily. Only then did the Warlord offer him a short drink
from a small skin at his belt. There were other waterskins; Springbuck s
troops thronged to be next to drink.
How? was all Springbuck had the strength to wheeze.
Not easily, conceded Hightower. Come to your feet and walk a bit. Tis
improper for a leader to sit about when his men have not been seen to.
It isn t for this one, Springbuck husked, in his abused gullet. Still, he
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let the white-maned hero pull him to his feet.
The story came in starts and stops as Hightower gave orders for them all to
withdraw to Condor s Roost. He and his few hundred had taken it. He sent a
detail to fetch the wounded and bring Gabrielle.
From his position, the Warlord had looked down at preparations for the sally
out of the fortress. As Hightower had known he must, the opposing commander
had stripped his command to put together the force he needed. The Warlord had,
in preceding days, readied scaling ladders for this time. That confused
Springbuck, who d seen no trees worth the name.
Well, I know something of war, Hightower admitted, and old ideas sometimes
serve. Using long, stout lances, he and his men had bound up serviceable
ladders with climbing ropes and strips of leather cut from empty drinking
skins and their own gear. Springbuck later saw one, with cleverly
leather-hinged tripods for legs.
But still, those walls are so high, he said.
Aye, high and hazardous. But I evened that considerable with another
rockslide; it took us days to prepare that. We had long lines on the ladders
to steady em, but two toppled anyway and I lost men. The walls cost us too;
these Baidii are men for a fight, regular razors when they are aroused.
Someone was drumming for the men out there on the field to retreat, but they
thought it had to do with the fight in front of them, so they kept at it from
pride. We took the horses we needed, and here we are. Are you fit to ride now,
my Lord?
They all rode or limped or carried one another to the fortress. Motionless
bodies on the ramparts and in the bailey attested to the heat of the struggle
to take Condor s Roost.
The Ku-Mor-Mai stayed awake long enough to command that the injured be tended,
the dead buried, scouts sent out, guards posted, horses cared for and all the
other things that would have been done anyway. There were drinking spigots and
troughs, and men crowded by these and waded into them, too weak to rejoice,
dousing themselves and gulping reverently. Hightower posted some of his own
troops to make sure no one made himself sick.
Springbuck trudged off, leaving Hightower in charge. He found at last the
quarters of the enemy commander, who d died resisting the Warlord s sally, and
bolted himself into it. It was set off a cool courtyard, shaded and quiet.
Water trickled from a fountain into a cool, green basin. He plunged his head
in, and his crackled skin ached wonderfully. He drank slowly, then filled a
goblet from it. Torpidly, he stripped mail and gambeson, boots, vambraces and
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