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Bryennios attacked the mulberry again. After a few savage swings it fell just
where he had known it would. He stepped forward to lop off the bigger
branches. He muttered a short prayer of thanks that the men of the Duchy had
not taken the blond knight's sour advice and examined his axe. The dark red
crusted stain at the top of the handle did not come from sap.
"Why are they pulling out? I haven't a clue," the Khatrisher scout said to
Scaurus, as cheeky as any of his people. "You want whys, see a magician. Whats
I'm pretty good at, and I tell you the Namdaleni are breaking camp."
The tribune fumbled in his pouch, tossed the horseman a goldpiece. "Whatever
the reason, good news deserves a reward." The Khatrisher made it disappear
before Marcus thumped his forehead at his folly. "After Kyzikos, you should be
paying me."
"It won't go to waste, even so." The Khatrisher grinned smugly.
The tribune rode back to his vantage point with him. No great horseman,
Scaurus blessed the stirrups that gave him a fighting chance to stay on the
large, unreliable beast between his thighs.
A glance from the hilltop crag told him the scout was right. Bailli's
Namdaleni had used the legionary camp by Zonaras' villa as their own main
base. Now it lay deserted; Marcus reached the observation post in time to see
the last of the Namdalener column ride north out of the valley. Even at some
distance, he could see how tightly bunched they were a hostile countryside was
the best argument against straggling.
Watching the retreat as he was, he took a while to notice that a garrison
still held Zonaras' strong-walled home. So it proved over the next few days
all along the line the islanders had set up to contain the legionaries. Their
striking force was gone, but they still stood strongly on the defensive.
When the riders who did sneak past the Namdalener forts reported that the main
body of islanders was hurrying northwest toward Garsavra, Laon Pakhymer looked
so pleased with himself that Marcus wanted to throttle him. "You see, even the
Yezda can be useful," the Khatrisher general said. "One man's trouble is the
next fellow's chance."
"Hmmp," Scaurus said. He still hoped the men of the Duchy would smash the
Yezda, though he had to admit he would not be brokenhearted to see them
weakened in the smashing. He did not mean to sit idly by while they battled.
If a couple of the islanders' motte-and-baileys fell, the way would open for
the legionaries to go down into the coastal plain once more. The hills made a
good refuge, but nothing would be decided here and the lush lowlands were much
better able to feed any army. He was sick of barley and lentils, and even
those were running low.
Naturally, Zonaras wanted his villa to be the first strong point freed, but
the tribune had to tell him no- its approaches were too open, and the building
itself too strong. The elderly noble shook his head ruefully. "There's praise
I could do without."
Marcus chose several more likely targets to attack. For himself he picked a
fort that was new Namdalener construction, a few miles west of Zonaras'
holding. The valley it sat in was a guerilla center; strife between them and
the islander garrison had made many of the local peasants flee, and the men of
the Duchy were working their fields. Looking out from between the branches of
an almond grove, the tribune thought they were doing a good job of it, too.
There was no signal. When he judged the moment ripe, Pakhymer sent a few dozen
horsemen riding hell-for-leather into the valley. They trampled through the
rich green fields, slashing the growing grain with their sabers to leave as
wide a track of destruction as they could. Some carried smoking torches, which
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they hurled here and there. Others darted toward the small flock of sheep
grazing just outside the motte and started driving them into the hills.
From a quarter mile away, Marcus could hear the roars of outrage in the fort,
could see men running about on the wall and shooting a few useless arrows at
the pillagers outside. Then a wooden gangboard thudded down over the deep
moat. Knights stormed over it, their horses' hooves echoing thunderously.
Peering through the leaves, the tribune counted them I as they came.
Thirty-eight, thirty-nine... his spies' best guess was that the castle held
fifty or so.
While panicked sheep ran every which way, the Khatrishers regrouped to meet
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