Battle Hymn Read Online Free PDF Page B

we feel we need one. Weapons you could not even imagine, though the ones you carried are the beginnings of them."
    Ha'ark chewed, looking off to the horizon as if lost in thought. "This world, the wars here. Stuff of legends, child's play. I want you to run my factories for turning out iron and steel. You are respected and known. You can organize and lead."
    Hans snorted and spat on the ground. "Like hell."
    Ha'ark nodded and motioned for Hans to follow him. He set off at a trot along the low ridgeline. As they rode Hans noticed the rail line under construction. It struck him as something right out of the old etchings of slaves working on some wonder of the ancient world. Thousands of laborers dressed in rags moved in slow, shuffling gangs, flanked by Horde overseers. Whip cracks snapped the air. Even as he watched, a slave faltered. A guard walked over and in a casual gesture picked the man up by the throat with one hand. The rest of the work gang continued on, carrying a rail, their eyes averted. The guard shook the man several times, but there was only a feeble response. With frightening ease, the guard snapped the man's neck, then threw him to one side.
    Hans had slowed down to watch. Though he had seen such acts hundreds of times in the last year, he felt rage building within him. He saw that Ha'ark was looking at him.
    "To help continue that?" Hans snarled. "Let's just be done with it, you bastard."
    Ha'ark motioned for Hans to follow. At first he refused. Ha'ark swung his rifle around.
    "Go ahead and be done with it."
    "And what of your mate?"
    Hans looked at him silently. We're doomed anyhow. We're fooling ourselves to think differently.
    "Come. Indulge me and then decide."
    Ha'ark turned around and continued his ride. Hans looked down at the body and saw that the guard was staring straight at him, casually flicking his whip, letting its coils drift back and forth across the twisted corpse. Tamira … and he found yet again the bitter conflict, the sense of love, countered by something edging on bitter resentment of her, for his life, and that what he would do with it was no longer completely his to decide.
    He jerked his bridle sharply, and flinging the foulest of curses in English at the Bantag guard, he galloped to catch up with Ha'ark. At the top of the next rise Ha'ark had already reined in. Before him was arrayed the center of the vast Bantag host. As the sun touched the horizon, all faced the blood-red light of the sunset. The call of the chanters echoed on the breeze, and Hans felt a corkscrew shiver run down his back. The steppe, as far as he could see, was filled with Bantag warriors raising their swords heavenward to catch the last light of the dying day. Ha'ark, as was appropriate for his rank, remained astride his mount, and rather than a sword he held his rifle aloft, an ululation erupting from his throat and mingling with the cries of his host.
    As the sun disappeared, all now turned eastward and within seconds the first faint sliver of a moon broke the horizon, followed immediately by a second moon, appearing only a hand's span to the right. Wild cheering broke out, with the strange accompaniment of a steam whistle and a booming cannon.
    Ha'ark said to Hans, "It is the night of the Moon Feast. You know that."
    Hans nodded.
    "Shall I tell you the names of the prisoners I bartered for with the Merki?"
    "No need to," Hans replied, knowing what was coming.
    "More than fifty Rus from your army, taken at Hispania and in the skirmishing that followed the Merki withdrawal. We have more than four thousand Cartha." He hesitated. "And you and your—what did you call her—your wife."
    Hans watched him as he continued. "I have Hinsen, but I know you'd love to see him go to the Moon Feast. As for the others, the offer is simple. Many of them worked in the iron factories, a few even on the railroads and in armories. We've even taken half a hundred prisoners of our own, in skirmishes with your army in the lands