Free Eric by Terry Pratchett Page A

first type of commander are brave men, whereas cowards make far better strategists.
    Rincewind was dragged before the Ephebian leaders, who had set up a command post in the city’s main square so that they could oversee the storming of the central citadel, which loomed over the city on its vertiginous hill. They were not too close, however, because the defenders were dropping rocks.
    They were discussing strategy when Rincewind arrived. The consensus seemed to be that if really large numbers of men were sent to storm the mountain, then enough might survive the rocks to take the citadel. This is essentially the basis of all military thinking.
    Several of the more impressively dressed chieftains glanced up when Rincewind and Eric approached, gave them a look which suggested that maggots were more interesting, and turned away again. The only person who seemed pleased to see them—
    —didn’t look like a soldier at all. He had the armor, which was tarnished, and he had the helmet, which looked as though its plume had been used as a paintbrush, but he was skinny and had all the military bearing of a weasel. There was something vaguely familiar about his face, though. Rincewind thought it looked quite handsome.
    “Pleased to see them” was only a comparative description. He was the only one who acknowledged their existence.
    He was lounging in a chair and feeding the Luggage with sandwiches.
    “Oh, hallo,” he said gloomily. “It’s you.”
    It was amazing how much information can be crammed into a couple of words. To achieve the same effect the man could have said: It’s been a long night, I’m having to organize everything from wooden horse building to the laundry rota, these idiots are about as much help as a rubber hammer, I never wanted to be here anyway and, on top of all this, there’s you. Hallo, you.
    He indicated the Luggage, which opened its lid expectantly.
    “This yours?” he said.
    “Sort of,” said Rincewind guardedly. “I can’t afford to pay for anything it’s done, mind you.”
    “Funny little thing, isn’t it?” said the soldier. “We found it herding fifty Tsorteans into a corner. Why was it doing that, do you think?”
    Rincewind thought quickly. “It has this amazing ability to know when people are thinking about harming me,” he said. He glared at the Luggage as one might glare at a sly, evil-tempered and generally reprehensible family pet who, after years of biting visitors, has rolled over on its scabby back and played at Lovable Puppy to impress the bailiffs.
    “Yes?” said the man, without much surprise. “Magic, is it?”
    “Yes.”
    “Something in the wood, is it?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good job we didn’t build the sodding horse out of it, then.”
    “Yes.”
    “Got into it by magic, did you?”
    “Yes.”
    “Thought so.” He threw another sandwich at the Luggage. “Where you from?”
    Rincewind decided to come clean. “The future,” he said. This didn’t have the expected effect. The man just nodded.
    “Oh,” he said, and then he said, “Did we win?”
    “Yes.”
    “Oh. I suppose you can’t remember the results of any horse races?” said the man, without much hope.
    “No.”
    “I thought you probably wouldn’t. Why did you open the gate for us?”
    It occurred to Rincewind that saying it was because he had always been a firm admirer of the Ephebian political position would not, strangely enough, be the right thing to do. He decided to try the truth again. It was a novel approach and worth experimenting with.
    “I was looking for a way out,” he said.
    “To run away.”
    “Yes.”
    “Good man. Only sensible thing, in the circumstances.” He noticed Eric, who was staring at the other captains clustered around their table and deep in argument.
    “You, lad,” he said. “Want to be a soldier when you grow up?”
    “No, sir.”
    The man brightened a bit.
    “That’s the stuff,” he said.
    “I want to be a eunuch, sir,” Eric added.
    Rincewind’s