"Roberts, John Maddox - Stormlands 03 - The Poisoned Lands UC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberts John Maddox)

He knew that they were manipulating him through his warrior pride, but it was none the less persuasive for his knowledge of the fact. If he agreed to this, and if by some miracle he should survive the experience, none could ever doubt his worth. Although he had no wish to succeed his father as king, this would earn him a high place as a war-leader, perhaps even as a counselor. It galled him to know that these Canyoners were cornering him, making it difficult for him to avoid the task without appearing to them, and, far more importantly, to himself, as a coward. Especially since Fyana showed not the slightest apprehension at going
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on a mission that would probably mean her death, or worse, at the hands of Gasam or his equally fearsome queen.
"The mission would be a worthy one," he said, reluctantly.
"More than that," said Lady Bel, "it is necessary." "Very well," he said, knowing that this was probably his doom. "I will go."
FOUR
It was good to be leading his army again. Gasam could have ridden, but he despised traveling on an animal's back while his army went on foot. He had always led his warriors as a warrior, and now he strode at the head of the army, his long, muscular legs setting a fast pace. Back in the islands, his Shasinn had customarily gone raiding at a fast trot, to give an enemy the least possible time to prepare. On a march as long and hilly as this one, such a pace was not practical, and none of his mainland troops were runners like the Shasinn. Still, he had no intention of moving at the snail-like crawl of the lumbering civilized armies. He could still have his army before the gates of a capital city before they knew that he had crossed their borders.
Even so, he fully understood the importance of mounted scouts and he kept them ranging far ahead, sending one of their number back frequently to deliver reports of what lay in the army's route of march.
An observer would not have taken him for a king. Except
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for his extravagant spear, which was entirely made of steel except for a short, wooden hand-grip, he was unadorned. He wore none of the paint and jewelry so loved by the other Shasinn. His belt and loincloth were of plain red leather and he was unshod. Behind him a bearer carried his shield, a long, oval construction of hide stretched over a wicker frame, painted black. It was identical to those of his Shasinn warriors. But behind him came the rhythmic slap of thousands of bare feet, and every one of them marched at his command, to do his bidding.
These pleasant thoughts went through his mind as the army reached the foot of the mountains. Somewhere up there he would pass the end of his own domains and enter enemy territory. He corrected himself. He was the rightful ruler of the world, but violence was necessary to force some people to acknowledge the fact. This was good because he enjoyed violence. The physical domination of his fellow men made life worthwhile for Gasam. When people succumbed to him without bloodshed, he felt cheated.
He had sent word ahead so that when they camped for die night there were plentiful provisions heaped up for them, the produce of the local farms. There were many beasts ready-slaughtered and ready for the cooking fires, but he bad given strict orders that there was to be no strong drink for the warriors. That was for after a victory.
The army made camp, which was primarily a matter of stacking weapons and building fires. After the final unit, the Last Man entered the camp, and the men fell silent as he passed. He always marched a few hundred paces behind the host. A hulking native of the southern jungle peninsula, he carried a glaive slanting over his shoulder. It bore a broad, cleaverlike blade mounted on a short haft. It was the Last Man's duty to behead any member of the army who fell out on the march. He also carried a large mesh bag to cany the heads for display in each night's camp. It was still
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early in the march, and he had thus far collected no heads, but that would change before much longer.
A group of junior warriors gathered brush and withies and with these simple materials they constructed an island-style shelter for their king. There were no villages nearby, and Gasam preferred this familiar structure to commandeering some peasant's foul-smelling hut.
As night fell his senior officers gathered around the fire before his hut. They were a varied lot, with the features, dress and weapons of a dozen races. These were men who had profited well from their master's conquests, and their ornaments were rich, even on campaign. Firelight winked from jewelled swordhilts and golden neck-chains. Some wore paints, others were tattooed. Tunics, shirts, leggings and capes were of fine fabrics or leathers. None wore footgear, for Gasam believed that men were swifter and more agile when barefoot. Those who had been accustomed to going shod had suffered greatly during their early days in Gasam's service, but they had hardened or died. To disobey Gasam meant an appointment with the Last Man.
The king sat on the ground, nibbling daintily at a skewer studded with balls of finely ground meat. Like all Shasinn, he was abstemious with food, somewhat less so with drink. The others joined him and soldiers or local villagers brought them baskets of provisions. Gasam allowed no slaves to be brought on the march for these menial duties.
''Tomorrow we begin our mountain crossing," Gasam said. "We may meet with resistance as we cross. Our scouts have reported that they Ve found the remains of fires, abandoned villages and such along our route. These may be outlaws or hunters but it is possible that they will resent intrusion. I doubt that they have any loyalty to the king of Sono. They are too few to threaten such a host, but we may have some harassment. Be sure your men are aware of this."
"How long a crossing are we to expect, my king?" asked a man who wore a long robe, with his hair tied in a topknot.
He fingered the jewelled handle of his belted dagger as he spoke. Even the hard-bitten captains of Gasam's army were nervous when addressing their king directly.
"No more than three days. These are not great mountains and the path is a good one. On the other side we will be in rolling hill country, and there we must be ready for battle at any moment. I do not expect to meet organized resistance early in our campaign, but nothing is certain in war save my ultimate victory. We could meet an army returning from a skirmish in the north, or one under a rebellious satrap. We must be ready for anything. The greatest peril for an army on the move is to be caught in marching order by an enemy who is already formed for battle. As soon as we reach the other side, we will drill daily in taking up battle order to meet a direat from any direction. You all know what to do. See that you do it smartly."
"We will, my king!" they chorused.
"From the foot of the mountains, it is six days fast march to the river. There is a small town diere called Marn. We will sack that place and provision ourselves, then we swing south and march to meet die force led by General Luo."
An officer of levies shifted where he sat, his armor of laced bamboo creaking softly. "My king, will we be marching through heavy jungle?"
"The hills are forested, the flatter land as we approach tile river is largely cultivated. We should encounter no true jungle on the early stages of the march. As we make our way south, we will meet with die heavy growth. Red Knife."
"Yes, my king?" said the woman thus named. She was heavily carved with ornamental scars, and rank with the animal fat smeared on her body. The men seated to either side of her had edged away surreptitiously.
"Wherever we encounter heavy growth, I want your women working the bush to both flanks. The main army will travel the roads, preceded by the riders. Your women
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are accustomed to jungle fighting. Archers can work their way close to the army, shoot their arrows and be away in a heartbeat. You are to flush them out and kill them. Be watching for spies. I want none to escape ahead of us and bear word of our coming. Select your best runners to chase these down and kill them."
"It shall be done, my king!" She grinned ferociously, displaying teeth filed to points and reinforced with sharp bronze caps. Gasam's fighting women made even his hardest warriors uneasy.
"We march at first light," the king said.
Two days later, Gasam stood on the crest of the final mountain line, looking down upon the rolling, green land beyond. Most armies would have taken many days to accomplish this crossing, but Gasam pressed his men vigorously. Each evening, the Last Man entered camp with a full sack.
There had been no difficulty from the sparse inhabitants of the mountains, who had faded back into the brush when the great host came in sight. There was little likelihood that any had run,ahead to give warning of their coming. The riders would have intercepted any such.
The riders themselves would be mistaken for the mounted bandits that infested the southern lands, so Gasam did not worry that their appearance would imply a following army to any Sonoans who might see them.
The terrain he scanned did not look at all difficult. The hills were low and rounded, cleared here and there for small farms. Within sight were three small villages, each consist-nig of no more than a dozen thatched huts from which smoke curled lazily. He knew that his army would make swift progress through this country, and that it would not march hungry.
The descent was rapid. The men were relieved now that the most arduous part of the march was over and the action about to begin. They were accustomed to hardship, but any
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true warrior preferred the hazards of battle to the fatigue of a long march over steep ground.
Wan Pegra, commander of Mam's small royal garrison, made his way slowly from his comfortable quarters at the base of the town's wall. He had just breakfasted heavily and he lurched a bit as he climbed the stair to the sentry-walk that encircled the inner side of the wall. At the top he belched, giving himself a second taste of the fierily-spiced jungle fowl that had perished for the sake of his appetite that morning.
Pegra wore a feather-plumed, gilt leather helmet, suitable for ceremonial parades but not for combat. His quilted armor lacked protective stuffing, rendering it light and cool. His duties required that he be in uniform, but he saw no reason why he should endure discomfort in their discharge.
Following his invariable routine, he turned left when he reached the walk, to stride along the wall that fronted along the river. Atop the river gate, the sentry on guard stood to attention at his commander's approach. This man wore the full panoply of the Sonoan infantry. His helmet was of thick leather overlaid with horn and strapped with bronze. His padded cuirass was more than an inch thick, its once-brilliant dyes now faded. He carried a bronze-tipped spear in one hand and a stone-headed war hammer thonged to his belt. His curved, rectangular shield of hide-faced wicker leaned against the battlement.