Kresse considered the CoC people to be allies. But allies did not necessarily see everything the same way. After the years he and his people had spent fighting the elector in the mountains of the Vogtland, Georg was determined to have a say in what came next.
To do that, however, he had to get to Dresden, with as many of his people as possible. It would be foolish to delay or suffer casualties in a fracas with Slovene mercenaries with whom he had no real grievance.
He didn't hold their profession against them. These were hard times for any man. Several of his own relatives—an uncle and three cousins—had gone off to fight in the wars. Only one of them had ever come back, a cousin who was now missing his left arm below the elbow.
Once the Slovene officer was satisfied that his men understood the situation and wouldn't unsettle anything, he dismounted from his horse and took several steps away from it. Then, spread his hands a bit to show that he held no weapons. All he was now carrying was the saber belted to his waist.
"Come with me," Georg said to Wilhelm, as he started down the slope. Kuefer followed, just two steps behind.
Once they were on the trail and close enough to see the officer's features, Kuefer leaned over and murmured: "That's Bravnicar, sure enough."
Kresse had never seen the man before, but he took Wilhelm's word for it. As he came up, he extended his hand and said in Slovene: "You are Captain Lovrenc Bravnicar, I believe."
This had to be Kresse himself. Lovrenc had gotten descriptions of the man from several people who'd known him.
His Slovene was heavily accented and he didn't know the tongue as well as he thought he did. What he'd actually said was: "You have been Captain Lovrenc Bravnicar, I have faith."
Fortunately, Lovrenc was fluent in German as well as Czech. He'd been born and raised in exile, mostly in Bohemia. Being honest, he was more comfortable in either of those tongues than he was in his native one.
"Yes, I am he," he replied in German. "And I am guessing that you are Georg Kresse."
Kresse nodded.
This was off to a good start, Lovrenc thought. Well . . . a start, anyway. But given that he'd thought he and his men were as good as dead ten minutes earlier, any start was good.
It didn't take them more than five minutes to reach an agreement. The only sticking point—not much of one—had been Bravnicar's vague sense that perhaps he had some sort of lingering responsibility for the infantrymen being hunted down.
But he didn't put up a real fight over the issue. Balkan noble honor or not, Bravnicar had seen enough of war to have a very wide practical streak as well. To begin with, those hadn't actually been "his" men. They'd never been on his company's payroll. Most of them had been employed by Colonel Kazimir Zajic, a Bohemian mercenary whom Lovrenc had never met and who was not even here.
Secondly, he had no use for them anyway. They were wretched soldiers and even more wretched human beings. The sort of men who straggled at the best of times and deserted immediately when times got bad. And, invariably, stole and murdered and raped as naturally as a vulture eats carrion.
To the devil with them. "Agreed," he said, and they shook hands on it.
That still left some practical problems. Food and drink, first and foremost. Most of their supplies had been in the wagons, and the wagons had been with the infantry. By now, Kresse's men would have captured all of them.
Lovrenc would have to beg, as much as he disliked the idea. They simply couldn't start foraging, not in these mountains and with Kresse's men all over. In the real world, the antiseptic term "foraging" meant "stealing from the local farmers and villages." The minute they started, they'd be in a battle—and one they were sure to lose.
His thoughts must have shown on his face. Kresse smiled and said: "I'll let you have enough provender to get out of the Vogtland."
Stiffly, Lovrenc nodded. "Thank you."
Kresse shrugged. "Saves me grief, too." He cocked his head a little, a curious expression coming to his face.
"Where will you go now?"
Bravnicar took off his helmet and ran his fingers through his thick hair. Even on a September day that wasn't particularly hot, a man's head started to swelter inside a helmet. There was a little breeze, too, which felt very good.
"I don't know," he said, seeing no purpose to lying. "Even if we'd reached Bavaria, I wasn't planning to stay there. Being a Protestant officer in Duke Maximilian's employ could get risky."
Kresse grunted. "And now they say he's gone mad."
Lovrenc had his doubts about that. From everything he'd heard, Bavaria's ruler had always been a little mad.
"You could always go to Bohemia," Kresse said. "I'm sure Wallenstein will be hiring, as tense as things are with the Austrians."