The Horse Barbarians

As the drugs cleared the haze of fatigue and drew numbing layers over the pain, Jason realized that Temuchin was insane.

“He’s calling for a charge!” Jason shouted across to Kerk as the signal horns sounded on all sides. “After all this riding…”

“Of course,” Kerk said. “It is the correct way.”

The correct way. It wins wars and kills men. An angry morope, squealing at the pain of ruthlessly applied spurs, reared up and threw its rider under the ru

Across the plains the army swept and into the mouth of the valley. Picked bowmen dismounted and clambered along the walls of The Slash to add their fire to the attack of the solid column streaming by below them. The leaders vanished into the valley and still others followed. A cloud of dust obscured the entrance. The Pyrrans pressed forward to the attack with the others while Jason turned off and headed for Temuchin’s standard as he had been ordered. The personal guardsmen opened to let him through.

Temuchin took a report from a rider, then turned to Jason. “Get your bombs,” he ordered.

“Why?” Jason asked, then ‘hurried on as the light of instant anger burst in the other man’s eyes. “What do you want me to do with them? Order, great Temuchin, and I shall obey. Only please give me some idea what you want me for.”

The anger vanished as quickly as it had come. “The battle has gone as did all the others,” the warlord said. ‘We have taken them by surprise and only the normal garrison is here. The lower redoubts have been taken and we now press on the higher ones. These are rockwalled and set into the cliff. Arrows ca

“I can just guess. You think that a gunpowder bomb in each position would take the fight out of the defenders and speed the attack?”

“You speak correctly.”

“Then here I go, the First Felicitian Grenadiers to the attack. I will want some of my people to help me. They can throw farther and better than I can.”

“The order will be issued.”

By the time Jason had found the pack animals and unloaded the first of the bombs, the Pyrrans had arrived, Kerk and two others, sweaty and dusty from the fight, with that look of grim pleasure Pyrrans have only during battle.

“Ready to throw some bombs?” Jason asked Kerk.

“Of course. What is the mechanism?”

“Improved. I had a feeling that excuses are not much good with Ternuchin and I wanted grenades that would go off every rime.” He held up one of the pot-bombs and pointed to the cloth wick. “There’s gunpowder in these things all right, but mostly for the smoke and the stink. The wick is a dummy. You’ll have to light it. I’ve made punk pots from grass for this, but that is just for effect. Let the wick smolder a bit, then pull up on it sharply. There is a microgrenade embedded in each one of these things, with the cloth wick tied to the trip pin. After you pull, you have three seconds to toss and duck.”

Taking a flint and steel from his wallet, Jason bent over the pot of shredded punk and began to scratch away industriously. As the sparks smoldered and died, he looked out of the corners of his eyes to be sure he wasn’t observed, then quickly actuated the lighter he had palmed. The tongue of flame flicked out and fired the punk.

“Here you are,” he said, handing the smoldering pot to Kerk. “I suggest you carry this and throw the grenades, as you can undoubtedly toss them farther than I can.”

“Farther and much more accuratelj.”

“Yes, there is that, too. I and the others will carry the bombs for you and act as guards in case of a counterattack. Here we go.”

They left their mounts and proceeded on foot into The Slash. The attacking troops were still moving up, so they worked their way along the sloping wall of the valley to avoid being trampled. As they went farther in, they met the first debris of battle-wounded soldiers who had crawled to the side out of the path of the still attacking army. The ones who had not made it were just red smears in the dust below. There were occasional dead inoropes as well, their massive bodies standing up like bloodstained boulders. Now The Slash narrowed and the walls grew steeper. They found themselves following a goat path, their hands pressed against the stone for support. In this ma

“If they’re all like this, we won’t have any trouble,” Jason said, sliding down to rejoin the others. “The boulders are just piled up, with no sign of any mortar. A grenade, if it doesn’t knock out all the soldiers, should blow a gap in the wall big enough to let Temuchin’s lads through.”

“You are optimistic,” Kerk said, taking the lead again. “These are merely outposts. The main defenses must lie ahead.”

“Well, that’s better than being pessimistic. I’m trying to talk myself into believing I’ll live through this barbarian war and actually be warm again some time.”

It was no longer possible to walk on the valley side and they had to drop down and push their way through the soldiers. As the rock walls became more vertical, The Slash narrowed, and Jason could appreciate the difficulties of capturing it when it was stoutly defended. All of the moropes had been sent back and the attackers were now on foot. An arrow cracked into the stone above Jason’s head and clattered down at their feet.

“We’re at the front lines,” Jason said. “Hold the advance here while I take a look.” He pulled himself up the sloping side of one of the mas

sive boulders that filled the gorge and, with his helm pulled low, slowly raised his head above the top. An arrow instantly clanged off of it and he quickly tilted his head forward until he was peering through the merest slit between the helm and the stone.

The advance had stopped ahead, where two redoubts, on opposite sides of The Slash, could sweep the entire floor of the valley with their accurate arrow fire. The defenders were firing from slits between the rocks and were. almost impregnable to any return fire. Temuchin’s forces were suffering losses in order to take the defended points the hard way. Protected slightly by their shields, moving in quick rushes from boulder to boulder, they crept forward. And died.

“The range is about 40 meters,” Jason said, sliding back to the ground. “Do you think you can toss one of these things that far?”

Kerk bounced the homemade bomb on the palm of his broad hand and estimated its weight. “Easily,” he said. “Let me look first so I will know what the distance is.” He moved up to the position Jason had vacated, took one look, then dropped back down.

“That defended position is bigger than the others. It will take at least two bombs. I will light this one, hand you the smudge pot, then step out and throw the bomb. In the meantime you will have lit a second one, do not arm it, which you will give to me as soon as I have thrown the first. Is that clear?”

“Crystalline. Here we go.”

Jason slipped off the sling of bombs and kept only one in his hand. The nearby soldiers (they had all heard about the gunpowder experiments) were watching closely. Kerk lit the false fuse, blew it into smoking life, then stepped out from the shelter of the rock. Jason hurriedly lit the bomb he carried and stood ready to pass it on.