Last Argument Of Kings Read Online Free PDF

men, and Lord Marshal Burr was by no means in that category. The commander of His Majesty's armies in Angland was as pitifully shrunken as the defenders of Dunbrec had been, his simple uniform hanging loose around him while his pale skin seemed stretched too tight over the bones. In a dozen short weeks he had aged as many years. His hand shook, his lip trembled, he could not stand for long, and could not ride at all. From time to time he would grimace and shiver as though he was racked by unseen pangs. West hardly knew how he was able to carry on, but carry on he did, fourteen hours a day and more. He attended to his duties with all his old diligence. Only now they seemed to eat him up, piece by piece.
    Burr frowned grimly up at the great map of the border region, his hands resting on his belly. The Whiteflow was a winding blue line down the middle, Dunbrec a black hexagon marked in swirly script. On its left, the Union. On its right, the North. 'So,' he croaked, then coughed and cleared his throat, 'The fortress is back in our hands.'
    General Kroy gave a stiff nod. 'It is.'
    'Finally,' observed Poulder under his breath. The two generals still appeared to regard Bethod and his Northmen as a minor distraction from the real enemy; each other.
    Kroy bristled, his staff muttering around him like a flock of angry crows. 'Dunbrec was designed by the Union's foremost military architects, and no expense was spared in its construction! Capturing it has been no mean task!'
    'Of course, of course,' growled Burr, doing his best to mount a diversion. 'Damned difficult place to take. Do we have any notion of how the Northmen managed it?'
    'None survived to tell us what trickery they employed, sir. They fought, without exception, to the death. The last few barricaded themselves in the stables and set fire to the structure.'
    Burr glanced at West, and slowly shook his head. 'How can one understand such an enemy? What is the condition of the fortress now?'
    'The moat was drained, the outer gatehouse partly destroyed, considerable damage done to the inner wall. The defenders tore down some buildings for wood to burn and stones to throw and left the rest in…' Kroy worked his lips as though struggling to find the words. 'A very poor condition. Repairs will take some weeks.'
    'Huh.' Burr rubbed unhappily at his stomach. 'The Closed Council are anxious that we cross the Whiteflow into the North as soon as possible, and take the fight to the enemy. Positive news for the restless populace, and so on.'
    'The capture of Uffrith,' leaped in Poulder, with a grin of towering smugness, 'has left our position far stronger. We have gained at a stroke one of the best ports in the North, perfectly situated to supply our forces as we push into enemy territory. Before, everything had to come the length of Angland by cart, over bad roads in bad weather. Now we can bring in supplies and reinforcements by ship and almost straight to the front! And the whole thing managed without a single casualty!'
    West was not about to allow him to steal the credit for that.
    'Absolutely,' he droned in an emotionless monotone. 'Our northern allies have once again proved invaluable.'
    Poulder's red-jacketed staff frowned and grumbled. 'They played a part,' the General was forced to admit.
    'Their leader, the Dogman, came to us with the original plan, executed it himself using his own men, and delivered the town to you, its gates open and its people compliant. That was my understanding.'
    Poulder frowned angrily across at Kroy, who was now allowing himself the very thinnest of smiles. 'My men are in possession of the city and are already building up a stockpile of supplies! We have outflanked the enemy and forced him to fall back towards Carleon! That, Colonel West, is surely the issue here, and not precisely who did what!'
    'Indeed!' cut in Burr, waving one big hand. 'You have both done great services for your country. But we must now look forward to future successes. General