Wizard's Funeral by Kim Hunter Page A

successful. I am merely one of the party. Therell be no glory. I shall merely be correcting a mistake. Raff nodded, not without satisfaction. Thats true, of course. Youre on a hiding to nothing. Ill pick out some good infantry from my guard. One hundred, eh? No, not a full company. Fifty - all right-handed men. Raff looked puzzled. But all my guardsmen fight right-handed. Yes, but I want them to be natural right-handers. No left-handed men taught to fight right-handed. You understand? Oh, and a dozen expert bowmen, if you please, Captain Raff, of either hand. I want cavalry your best horsemen - on fast mounts. As you wish. And how many Carthagans? The same number. Good. They parted, Soldier heading for the city gates and, eventually, the red pavilions camped outside the walls. Although he had not shown it in front of Raff, he was feeling desperately low. If they went against the Hannacks with an army, which they could well do if they wished, they might as well send a rider ahead to warn the enemy. It would be a slow ponderous business, with as many bullock-carts of supplies as there were footsoldiers. On the other hand, a small force could move rapidly across country, with packhorses to supply them. They could strike swiftly and perhaps with surprise on their side. They could wrest the boy from the Hannacks before any execution could take place, whereas with a whole army on the march, signalling intent, the Hannacks would probably kill their hostages and take to the hills, where they would be impossible to winkle out. Gould it be done with such a small force though? A mere company or so of men? It had to be. There was nothing else for it. One or two men could not do the job. Ten thousand men would ensure the loss of the hostages. It had to be a hundred odd warriors, with swift horses. Soldier went straight to his own pavilion, the Eagles. Lieutenant Velion, he called to a woman officer, who was supervising some short-sword training in the arena outside the tent area. I want a volunteer to help me pick fifty warriors for a suicide mission. Im your man, she grinned. Just let me dismiss this lot. She barked an order at the stocky men and taller lean women who were hacking away at wooden warriors inside the arena. They stopped hacking and trailed away to the rivers edge to wash away the dust and sweat from their grimy bodies. Then Velion came to join Soldier, grasping him by his extended fist and gripping it in greeting. How is it? she asked. Where are we going? They had known each other since they had both been mere foot-warriors in the same pavilion. Their friendship had developed from the time when Soldier had joined the pavilion as a desperate measure to get some status for himself in a land where he was unknown. Not only had he been a mystery to everyone else, with his unique blue eyes and lack of history, but also to himself. He had been a man searching for an identity still undiscovered, and Velion had taken him to her heart. There was no romantic connection between the two of them. They were comrades-in-arms, as close as two men or women might be. In war they watched each others backs. In times of peace they hunted together, indulged in sport, trained together. Soldier was, of course, a married man. Velion enjoyed sexual liaisons with both men and women: mostly the latter. They trusted each other to the hilts of their swords. Against the Hannacks, explained Soldier. I fouled my line. I had the new King Magus in my charge and he was wrested from me. Weve got to get him back. Ill understand if you dont want to come. It was my mistake. Men have already died because I wasnt vigilant enough. As if none of us never makes a mistake. Im with you. Good. I want riders - fast riders. All natural left-handers. Oh, and a dozen archers. Those who can get thirty arrows in the air in a minute or under. And ten warriors from that region of Carthaga Whats it called? Jundra? - those ambidextrous fighters, that go into battle with two swords,