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as you can, because there are going to be one hell of a lot of very angry
Holts around you, even if you've killed your target."
He tossed the rifle to Halvin. "Practice."
Hoofbeats sounded from down the road; Karl beckoned Valeran and his soldiers
over to one side, drawing a pistol and cocking it.
It was only Chak. His horse was panting, the cloths wrapped around its hooves
cut to ribbons.
The little man dismounted, almost out of breath. "They're not moving too
quickly; we should be able to get around in front of them by taking the north
road."
"Did they see you?"
Chak snorted. "Screw you, kemo sabe," he said in his halting English. "Your
nerves are making your mouth say stupid things."
"True. Sorry." Karl jerked his head toward the road. "Grab another shotgun,
and a crossbow. I want you and Piell to take the north road, and set up some
sort of roadblock; the rest of us will lag behind until we hear shots. Piell,
listen up: When they near your roadblock, I want you to drop the lead horse of
the lead wagon, then fire that wagon. Got it?"
Piell nodded.
"Go."
Valeran opened his mouth as though to say something, then changed his mind.
God, but I wish Ellegon were here
. Was Valeran as trustworthy as he seemed? The dragon could have found out
with a moment's effort.
Karl shrugged. No point in worrying about it; he was already committed to
trusting Valeran. He lowered the pistol's hammer, flipped the pistol, and
caught it by the barrel. He held it out to Valeran. "This works just like a
rifle; you hold it at arm's length, pull the hammer back, then sight down your
arm. Squeeze the trigger gently; don't pull at it. Or you can just press the
gun against my back."
"Your back?"
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"You're wondering if I've been leading you on if I have, you can get even very
quickly. In the meantime, mount up."
A single shot sounded from down the road. Karl kicked Stick into a gallop;
behind him, Valeran urged the others along.
Ahead of them, the Holts had dismounted from their horses and the three
wagons. The lead wagon was skewed sideways across the road, its lead horse
lying on its side on the road, whinnying in pain, an arrow projecting from its
chest. )
Damn
. "Take cover, everyone. Valeran, assign somebody to handle the horses. Make
sure he keeps a good grip on their reins."
So much for Karl's original idea. Piell could have picked a worse place for
the ambush, but not much worse. The Holts had already set up a line of defense
behind their wagons and in the irrigation ditch along the side of the road.
Rushing them would just be suicide. The worst of it was that dawn was already
breaking; in the light, Karl's people, already outnumbered and outgunned,
would be even more vulnerable.
Another shot sounded; a bullet whizzed overhead, snapping through the leaves.
"Don't shoot yet," Karl shouted, untying his own rifle from the saddleboot,
slinging his saddlebags over his shoulder.
"Go!" He slapped Stick on the rump, sending the stallion back down the road,
out of the line of fire. He ducked into the ditch on the right side of the
road, tossing the saddlebags to one side.
"Piell, can you hear me?" he called out in English, knowing that Tennetty
would also recognize his voice.
"Fire the wagons, now. Then move; I don't want them fixing on your position."
He cocked the rifle, then looked out onto the road. There were plenty of
targets; the Holts weren't used to facing guns. Karl took aim at a head, took
a quick breath and held it, then squeezed slowly on the trigger.
The rifle kicked against his shoulder as the Holt's head exploded in a bloody
shower; Karl ducked back behind into the ditch, fumbling in his pouch for a
rag and his powder horn, leaving the tallow box here, a spit patch would serve
just as well.
Coughing in the acrid smoke, he blew down the barrel to clear it, then poured
a measure of powder from the horn into the rifle, spat on a patch and slipped
it over the hole, then thumbed a ball into place. He drew his ramrod and
shoved the ball and patch down the barrel, seating them firmly.
"Karl Cullinane," Valeran called out. "There are a group of them, moving
toward us."
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"On my command," he called back. "You with the rifles will rise, raise your
weapon to your shoulder, pick a target, and fire and then duck back down,
quickly." He pulled back the hammer to half-cock, quickly cleared the vent
with his vent pick, then took out his vial of priming powder.
"They're moving, again."
"Now!"
Gunshots thundered. Karl charged the pan, then snapped the frizzen securely
into place.
He raised his head above the ditch. All of the Holts had taken cover, except
for one wounded man lying on the road, cradling his belly in his hands. One
out of four shots reaching a target wasn't too bad, not under the
circumstances.
Another of the Holts rose, only to drop his rifle and scream as a longbow's
arrow sprouted from his side.
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Thanks, Piell
.
But this wouldn't do. The Holts would gather themselves for a charge in a few
minutes, once they realized that they had their enemy outgunned and outmanned.
"Bows, covering fire. Valeran, get that lamp to me." He untied the straps from
his saddlebags, then pulled out the box of grenades, opened it, and extracted
one from its padded compartment.
Valeran arrived with the lantern. "I don't like this. They have all used
rifles before, and we haven't. And my men aren't used to facing these...
guns."
"I know." Karl slid the lamp's baffle open just a crack, then stuck the end of
the fuse into the flame.
It caught immediately. He raised his head above the boulder and threw the
grenade high and far, directly for the spot in the ditch where he hoped the
remaining nine rushing Holtish soldiers were.
"Down!" he called, following his own advice.
The grenade dropped behind the road and into the ditch, then exploded with a
loud crump!
followed by a chorus of screams.
Karl looked out. The lead wagon was burning nicely; Piell's fire arrow must
have gone inside and caught something flammable. Tennetty's slim form was
outlined against the fire as she worked her way behind one of the Holtish
soldiers, then slipped an improvised garrote around his neck, pulling him
back, out of sight.
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Good. She'd worked her way free. The Holts didn't know it, but they had more
to worry about than some outsiders attacking; they had a tiger among them.
More gunshots sounded. One of Valeran's men pitched forward, clutching at his
throat; another stooped, uncorking a bottle of healing draughts, then shaking
his head and recorking it.
This just wasn't going to make it.
There're too many of them, and Valeran's people aren't used to this kind of
fighting
.
Karl didn't like it, but he would have to settle for getting Tennetty out and
forget about the slaver powder.
"Withdraw," he called out. "Everybody and I mean everybody!
" he shouted, hoping that Tennetty could hear him over the crackling of the
fire. He sneaked another glance. One of the Holts had spotted her and was
bringing his gun to bear.
Karl raised his rifle to his shoulder and took aim, ignoring the whipcrack of [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]