Great Kings' War Read Online Free PDF Page B

common sense, as well as a few otherwhen tactics, all used against an unwary and complacent opponent. The Battle of Fitra against Prince Gormoth of Nostor was a lot bloodier, but not much more difficult. Stupid generalship by Kalvan's opponents helped. So did new field artillery, with trunnions and proper field carriages, able to outshoot anything else in this world.
    Then came the Battle of Fyk; Kalvan still wondered how anyone had emerged alive out of that fog-shrouded slaughterhouse where the eventual outcome was due more to luck than skill. Regardless, that outcome was a victory for Hostigos over the Princes of Beshta and Sask, and a resounding defeat for Styphon's House.
    Now Hostigos was a power in the Five Kingdoms, whether it wanted to be or not. There was nothing else, really, but to proclaim it the Great Kingdom of Hos-Hostigos. And who was the only man everyone would accept as Great King?
    Corporal Calvin Morrison, Pennsylvania State Police (Forcibly Retired).
    That was as far as Kalvan's memories took him when he realized his escort and the wolf hunters were waiting for his orders. They were also crowding closer to either side of his horse, making a wall of horseflesh two or three ranks deep. Most of them were troopers of Queen Rylla's Own Dragoons; they'd rather be eaten by wolves or shot by bandits than return home to report to their colonel-in-chief they'd allowed her husband to be killed.
    "Forwarrrd!" Kalvan shouted. The hunting party moved up the trail at a walk, until the trees to the right started thinning out. As they did, the wolf howls came again. This time it was the whole pack, closer than before—much closer.
    At last Kalvan could see the fire for himself—a wavering orange glow from near the crest of a low hill to the northeast. In the light he could see a zigzag trail leading downhill, ending among a dozen sleek gray shapes. Whatever had made the trail; it was down now, with the pack ready to dine.
    "Follow me!" The old infantry command turned everybody's head toward Kalvan as he swung his horse off the trail. In the lee of the hill, the snow lay only a few inches deep on hard-frozen ground. Kalvan's horse barely broke stride as it plunged in among the trees. He bent low to keep snow-laden branches from scalping him and cantered out onto the open field while drawing a pistol from his saddle holster.
    A dozen wolves made a target impossible to miss even from horseback. Kalvan's shot drew a howl from the pack, and one rangy specimen yelped and jumped into the air as if it'd been horse kicked. Half the wolves drew back with snarls and bared teeth, while the others turned from the blood-spattered mess on the snow to face Kalvan. A quick look over his shoulder told Kalvan he'd outdistanced his escort by a twenty yards or so. For the moment, he was going to have to face the pack alone.
    He cocked and fired his other pistol. The gray wolf he hit dropped as if it had been poleaxed.
    The other four charged Kalvan, led by the biggest black wolf he'd ever seen. Even half-starved, it was the size of a Shetland pony. He was going to have to remember to stop judging animals here-and-now by the pitiful remnants of wildlife in his more civilized homeland. Kalvan dropped the empty pistols onto the snow, pulled two more out of his boots and discharged them both just as the wolves reached his mount.
    Kalvan never saw whether or not his shots hit; he was thrown back in his saddle as his horse reared and struck out with its hooves at the attacking wolves. The next thing he knew, he was on the ground and the black wolf was worrying his left boot.
    Kalvan tried to pull out his sword, but it was caught in the scabbard now pinned under his left leg. He found his knife at the same moment the black wolf realized its prey wasn't dead or stunned.
    The wolf lunged and Kalvan threw his knife. The blade sank into the wolf's shoulder, but the oversize beast never even flinched. Suddenly he could smell its carrion-laden breath,