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back on the other side of the village. Make a lot of noise about five hundred
yards behind us."
The officers moved off, two to a side. He and Ptosphes picked up the mattress
and carried it forward, counting three hundred paces before dropping it. Men
were moving up on both sides, with a gratifying minimum of noise.
The Saski guns kept on firing. At first there were yells of simulated fright;
Harmakros and his crowd. Finally, a gun fired almost in front of him; the
cannonball passed overhead and landed behind with a swish and whack like a
headsman's sword coming down. The next shot was far on his left. Eight guns,
at two minute intervals-call it fifteen minutes to load. That wasn't bad, in
the dark and with what the Saski had. He relaxed, lying prone with his chin
rested on his elbows. After awhile Hannakros returned and joined him and
Ptosphes on the shuck tick. The cannonade went on in slow procession from left
to right and left to right again. Once there was a bright flash instead of a
dim glow, and a much sharper crack. Fine! One of the guns had burst! After
that, there were only seven rounds to the salvo. Once there was a rending
crash behind, as though'a roundshot had hit a tree. Every shot was a safe
over.
Finally, the firing stopped. The distant intermittent dueling between the two
Castles Esdreth had ceased, too. He let go of wakefulness and dropped into
sleep.
PTOSPHES, stirring beside him, wakened him. His body ached and his mouth
tasted foul, as every body and mouth on both battle-lines must. It was still
dark, but the sky above was something less than black, and he made out his
companions as dim shapes. Fog.
By Dralm that was all they needed! Fog, and the whole Saski army not five
hundred yards away, and all their advantages of mobility and artillery
superiority lost. Nowhere to move, no room to maneuver, visibility down to
less than pistol-shot, even the advantage of their hundred-odd rifled calivers
nullified.
This looked like the start of a bad day for Hostigos. They munched the hard
bread and cold pork and cheese they had brought with them and drank some
surprisingly good wine from a canteen and talked in whispers, other officers
creeping in until a dozen and a half were huddled around the headquarters
mattress.
"Couldn't we draw back a little?" That was Mnestros, the mercenary 64captain"-
approximately major-general-in command of the militia. "This is a horrible
position. We're halfway down their throats."
"They'd hear us," Ptosphes said, "and start with their guns again, and this
time they'd know where to shoot."
"Bring up our own guns and start shooting first," somebody suggested. "Same
objection; they'd hear us and open fire before we could. And for
Dralm's sake keep your voices down," Kalvan snapped. "No, Mnestros said it.
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We're halfway down their throats. Let's jump the rest of the way and kick
their guts out from the inside."
The mercenary was a book-soldier. He was briefly dubious, then admitted: "We
are in line to attack, and we know where they are and they don't know where we
are. They must think we're back at the village, from the way they were firing
last night. Cavalry on the flanks?" He deprecated that. According to the
here-and-now book, cavalry should be posted all along the line, between blocks
of infantry.
"Yes, half the mercenaries in each end, and a solid line of infantry, two
ranks of pikes, and arquebuses and calivers to fire over the pikemen's
shoulders 5" Kalvan said. "Verkan, have your men pass the word along
the line. Everybody stay put and keep quiet till we can all go forward
together. I want every pan reprimed and every flint tight; we'll all move off
together, and no shouting till the enemy sees us. I'll take the extreme right.
Prince Ptosphes, you'd better take center; Westros, command the left.
Harmakros, you take the regular and Mobile Force cavalry and five hundred
Mobile Force infantry, and move back about five hundred yards. If they flank
us or break through, attend to it."
By now, the men around him were individually recognizable, but everything
beyond twenty yards was fog-swollowed. Their saddle-horses were brought up. He
reprimed the pistols in the holsters, got a second pair from a saddlebag,
renewed the priming, and slipped one down the top of each jackboot. The line
was stirring with,a noise that stood his hair on end under his helmet-coif,
until he realized that the Saski were making too much noise to hear it. He
slipped back the cuff under his mail sleeve and looked at his watch. Five
forty-five; sunrise in half an hour. They all shook hands with one another,
and he started right along the line.
Soldiers were rising, rolling and slinging cloaks and blankets. There were
quilts and ticks-and things from the village lying on the ground; mustn't be a
piece of bedding left in Fyk. A few were praying, to Dralm or Gaizar. Most of
them seemed to take the attitude that the gods would do what they wanted to
without impertinent human suggestions.
He stopped at the extreme end of the line, on the right of five hundred
regular infantry, like all the rest lined four deep, two ranks of pikes and
two of calivers. Behind and on the right, the mercenary cavalry were coming up
in a block of twenty ranks, fifty to the rank. The first few ranks were heavy-
armed, plate rerebraces and vambraces on their arms instead of mail sleeves,
heavy pauldrons protecting their shoulders, visored helmets,: mounted on huge
chargers, real old style brewery-wagon horses. They came to a halt just behind
him. He passed the word of readiness left, then sat stroking his horse's neck
and talking softly to him.
After awhile the word came back with a moving stir along the line.through the
fog. He lifted a long pistol from his right-hand holster, readied it to fire,
and shook his reins. The line slid forward beside him, front rank pikes waist
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