The Kingmakers(8)

Anhalt frowned bitterly at the news. “Damn them. I had hoped that the combustible flak would have deterred them for a few hours at least. Send word to Second Luxor to move up and reinforce. Have units of the Mombasa Askaris stand by to rotate in.” The lieutenant acknowledged and departed.

“General Khalifa, you'll want to get to your units. Gentlemen, we'll reconvene at a future time. Carry on.” Anhalt rose to his feet and his officers followed suit, trailing him out and departing for well-worn duties with their commands. Greyfriar fell into step beside Anhalt.

“Where are you going?” the general asked the swordsman.

“To join the fight, Sirdar.”

“Then I'll take the long way,” Anhalt remarked with a cynical grin. “Perhaps seeing a legendary folk hero will boost morale.”

“Just try not to set me on fire and I'll be fine.”

Despite himself, Anhalt laughed at the vampire's droll reply. Heaven help him, he found Greyfriar an amusing companion.

They emerged topside to a land charred black. Tentacles of smoke coiled up from the ground, and fires still burned in various areas. The rough coughs of soldiers echoed through the wasteland, and weary men scrambled for their positions. The distant popping of gunfire came from the south.

Anhalt and Greyfriar grabbed a transport, a light halftrack rumbling along the rutted paths between trenches and crude blockhouses. Its steam-driven pistons fired madly as the small treads struggled for traction on the churned muddy ground. Anhalt crouched on the edge of a front seat next to a driver suddenly nervous to find the sirdar in the cab, and Greyfriar clutched a bracket and hung perilously on the running board. The camp around them seemed to be in a chaos of men and machines and horses.

“They only have to wait us out,” Anhalt shouted over the rattling vehicle. “Why attack so soon? Do vampires have no patience? You said time means nothing to them.”

Greyfriar shrugged and offered blandly, “Vampires are also prideful and sadistic. They don't like being challenged.”

“Oh really?” Anhalt displayed an expression of mock incredulity. He swore the swordsman was grinning behind his cowl.

Greyfriar said, “They can wait, but if they think they have the advantage, why hesitate to strike you down?”

“Do you think we are so susceptible?”

“No. You will not be easy prey until you are unarmed.”

“Do you think they suspect a final push is coming?”

Greyfriar paused before nodding. “Perhaps. You're backed into a corner. They would be foolish to think you would just welcome death. Maybe their increased assaults are meant to forestall your attack, or simply to drain your ammunition.”

As they drew close to the southern trench lines, which were festooned with pikes sharp against the sky, they heard gunfire rattling and, amazingly, men cheering. Hundreds of vampires were visible in the air, but they were pulling back, a much different scenario than Anhalt had anticipated. He leapt from the moving truck into a slimy mud hole. Greyfriar alighted gently next to him. They dropped into a trench where a young captain noticed their arrival and tried to tidy his torn uniform with bloody fingers. “We have the buggers on the run, sir!”

“I find that unlikely,” was Greyfriar's reply, much to boyish Captain Hereghty's affront. “Something else must have caught their attention.”

Anhalt climbed onto the fire step, shouldering in between soldiers who waited at the parapet with rifles ready, firing pointlessly at the vanishing vampires. He studied the retreating mob. It was clear the vampires were no longer interested in the rear lines of the Equatorian army. The creatures were rising into the low clouds rolling off the mountains to the south.

Suddenly, the rumble of cannons echoed through the valley.

“That was not our artillery,” Anhalt exclaimed, hope springing in him for the first time in weeks.

“A ship's cannon, sir! I'd stake my life on it!” Hereghty shouted. “Reinforcements have arrived! Rotherford has broken through!”

Eager words of salvation immediately started leaping down the line, and the counterattack was resumed on the retreating vampires with more vigor. Soldiers forgot their cold, forgot their hunger, and forgot their illness in a rush of mad exhilaration.

Greyfriar suddenly jerked upright, and his head pivoted to the southeast.

Anhalt took immediate notice. “What is it?”

“She's coming.”

“Who's coming?” Anhalt followed the swordsman's gaze with a rising sense of dread. “Flay?”

“Adele.”

“Here? She wouldn't come here.” There was a sudden silence as the general contemplated what he was actually saying. “Damn it! Of course she would.”