“Uphill, the ground rising blasted and broken under his feet, dotted with the broken carcasses of men, shattered gun-carriages, blasted wagons, and dead horses. Streams of limping wounded were trickling out of the trenches below, appearing out of the smoke and then swallowed by it again like demented ghosts. Rol’s mouth was parched. He bent and gathered a fistful of the filthy snow and crammed it over his lips, chewing the foul-tasting ice into water, swallowing grit. He closed his eyes, letting... the stuff cool his head. In his fists, Fleam’s trembling eagerness subsided to a thrumming vibration, no more. The fire in him was banked down a little.“Where is Aldahir?” a man shouted at him, an officer bearing a pistol and rapier, who did not look quite sane. “Get back down that hill and find the colonel. Tell him—”Rol cut his throat, took the pistol, and thrust it in his sash. Then he continued on his way.The enemy encampment was ahead, and the smoke was thinner here. Files of loyalist soldiers were running downhill, into the maw of the holocaust, and laboring lines of others were manhandling boxes of shells and casks of powder in their wake.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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