The Tide of Victory Table of Contents PROLOGUE Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Page 1 EPILOGUE Cast of Characters GLOSSARY MAPS The Tide of Victory Eric Flint and David Drake This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. Copyright (c) 2001 by Eric Flint and David Drake All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form. A Baen Books Original Baen Publishing Enterprises P.O. Box 1403 Riverdale, NY 10471 www.baen.com ISBN: 0-671-31996-5 Cover art by Gary Ruddell First printing, July 2001 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Flint, Eric. Page 2 The tide of victory / by Eric Flint & David Drake. p. cm. ISBN 0-671-31996-6 1. Belisarius, 505 (ca.)-565—Fiction. 2. Generals—Fiction. I. Drake, David. II. Title PS3556.L548 T54 2001 813'.54—dc21 2001025729 Distributed by Simon & Schuster 1230 Avenue of the Americas New York, NY 10020 Production by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH Printed in the United States of America ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS As this series has progressed, a number of people have provided us with assistance in one manner or another. It's time to thank them: Conrad Chu Judith Lasker Joe Nefflen Pam "Pogo" Poggiani Richard Roach Mike Spehar Page 3 Ralph and Marilyn Tacoma Detlef Zander . and probably several others I've forgotten to mention, for which my apologies in advance. I'd also like to take the opportunity to thank Janet Dailey for the many ways in which she's helped me out over the past year or so. I can't remember if that assistance involved my work on the Belisarius series, but it probably did—and even if it didn't, she's way overdue for my public appreciation anyway. Eric Flint January, 2001 To Dick and Dolores The Belisarius Series An Oblique Approach In the Heart of Darkness Destiny's Shield Fortune's Stroke The Tide of Victory The Dance of Time(upcoming) BAEN BOOKS by ERIC FLINT Mother of Demons 1632 Rats, Bats, and Vats(with Dave Freer) The Philosophical Strangler Pyramid Scheme(with Dave Freer—upcoming) BAEN BOOKS by DAVID DRAKE RCN series With the Lightnings Lt. Leary, Commanding Page 4 Hammer's Slammers The Tank Lords Caught in the Crossfire The Butcher's Bill The Sharp End Cross the Stars Independent Novels and Collections The Dragon Lord Birds of Prey Northworld Trilogy Redliners Starliner All the Way to the Gallows Foreign Legions(created by David Drake) The General series (With S.M. Stirling) The Forge The Chosen The Reformer The Undesired Princess and The Enchanted Bunny (with L. Sprague de Camp) Lest Darkness Fall and To Bring the Light (with L. Sprague de Camp) Enemy of My Enemy: Terra Nova (with Ben Ohlander) Armageddon (edited with Billie Sue Mosiman) [INSERT 4 MAPS HERE] PROLOGUE Page 5 Knowing what to expect, the two sisters had already disrobed by the time their new owner returned to his tent. The older sister's infant was asleep on the pallet. The sisters were a bit concerned that the ensuing activities would awaken him—the pallet was small and thin, oddly so for such an obviously wealthy man—but not much. The baby was accustomed to the noise, after all, having spent the first year of his life in a brothel crib. Unless, of course, their new owner was given to bizarre tastes and habits . That was the real source of the sisters' anxiety. For all its foulness, the brothel had at least been fairly predictable. Now, for the first time since their enslavement, they faced an entirely new situation. New—and unsettling. Their new owner had said nothing to them, other than commanding them into his tent after his caravan stopped for the night. But, as they waited, they took solace in the fact that they were still together. Against all odds, they had managed to keep from being separated during the long years of their captivity. Apparently, it tickled their new owner's fancy to have sisters for his concubines. They would see to it that he was satisfied with the result. In that manner, they might preserve the remaining fragment of their family. So it was, when their new owner pushed back the flap and entered the tent, that he found the sisters reclining nude on the pallet. The fact that they were holding hands was the only indication that any uneasiness lurked beneath their sensual poses. Standing still and straight a few feet from the pallet, he studied them for a moment. The sisters found the scrutiny unsettling. They could detect nothing of lust in that gaze. For all the natural warmth of the man's dark brown eyes, there seemed to be little if any warmth in the eyes themselves. And not a trace of animal heat. That was odd. Odder, even, than the austerity of the pallet and the tent's furnishings. Their new owner was obviously as healthy as he was rich. He was not especially tall, but his broad shoulders and lean hips were those of a physically active man. And there was something almost feline about the way he moved. Very poised, very balanced, very quick. "Stand up," he commanded abruptly. The sisters obeyed instantly. They were accustomed to inspection by prospective customers. As soon as they were on their feet, both of them assumed familiar poses. Languid, sensual, inviting. But they were still holding hands. "Not like that," he said softly. "Just stand straight. And turn around slowly." His thin lips curved into a smile. "I'm afraid you'll have to stop holding hands for a bit." Flushing slightly, the sisters obeyed. "Slower," he commanded. "And lift up your arms so I can see your entire bodies." This was not customary. The uneasiness of the sisters mounted. The last characteristic that slave prostitutes wanted to see in a new customer was different. But, of course, they obeyed. In the long minutes which followed, the sisters found it increasingly difficult to keep the worry out of their faces. Their new owner seemed to be subjecting every inch of their bodies to a detailed and exhaustive scrutiny. As if he were trying to commit them to memory. Page 6 "Which of these scars are from your childhood?" he asked. His voice was soft and low-pitched. But the sisters took no comfort in that mild tone. This was a man, clearly enough, who had no need to raise his voice for the simple reason that command came easily to him. He would not be denied, whatever he wanted. Which, again, was not a characteristic which slave prostitutes treasured in their customers. Especially new and unknown ones. They were so startled by the unexpected question that they did not respond immediately. Instead, they exchanged a quick and half-frightened glance. Seeing the glance, their new owner's face broke into another smile. But this one was not thin at all, and seemed to have some actual humor in it. "Be at ease. I have no intention of adding any new scars to the collection. It is simply information which I must have." The smile disappeared and the question was asked again. This time, with firm command. "Which scars?" Hesitantly, the younger sister lifted her left leg and pointed to a scar on her knee. "I got this one falling out of a tree. My father was furious with me." Their owner nodded. "He would know of it, then? Good. Are there any other such? Did he beat you afterward? And, if so, are there any marks?" The sisters looked at each other. Then, back at their owner. "He never beat us," whispered the older. "Not once." "Our mother did," added the younger sister. She was beginning to relax a bit. Enough that she managed a little chuckle. "Very often. But not very hard. I can't remember even being bruised." The man shook his head. "What kind of silly way is that to raise children? Especially girls?" But the question was obviously rhetorical. The smile was back on his face, and for the first time the sisters detected the whimsical humor which seemed to reside somewhere inside the soul of their new owner. He stepped up to the older sister and touched her cheek with his forefinger. "That is the worst scar. It almost disfigures your face. How did you get it?" "From the brothel-keeper." The man's eyes widened slightly. "Stupid," he mused. "Bad for business." "He was very angry with me. I—" She shuddered, remembering. "The new customer had—unusual demands. I refused—" "Ah." With a light finger, he traced the scar from the ear to the corner of her mouth. "I think he forgot he was wearing that huge ring when he slapped me." "Ah. Yes, I remember the ring. Probably the same one he was wearing when we conducted our transaction. A large ruby, set in silver?" Page 7 She nodded. "Excellent," he said.