Once upon a dreadful time

“I realize that,” said Leon grimly.

“But what of the Serpentines?” asked Georges. “Aren’t the knights more useful in bringing them down?”

“Oui,” said Sieur Emile, “they would be, yet I think our own cavalry can deal with the Serpentines.”

“You have a plan?” asked Georges.

Emile gestured at the plain. “The reason the Serpentines are on their right flank is because the starwise land on their left is steep and not given to a charge. Hence, they are stationed where they are to attack from the flat.”

Georges nodded.

“Too,” continued Emile, now squatting in the dirt and draw shy;ing with his dagger, “I ween the Serpentines think to round our left flank and come at us from the rear, trapping us between themselves the Trolls and Goblins and the Bogles, much like catching us between their hammer and the army’s anvil.” Emile looked up and smiled. “But two can play at that game.”

“How so?” asked Bailen.

“Heed,” said Emile, “they are arrayed in a cupping arc, like so”-he drew a long curve-“in the hope of surrounding us when we attack the center, for well do they know we will try to deal with the Trolls first. But if we march out in a long, diagonal line, a phalanx, like so”-Emile drew a slanting line in the soil-“and if we more or less conceal our cavalry behind the end farthest away from them”-now he drew a slash at the near end of the line-“then the Serpentines will have to ride down the phalanx to round our flank, thusly, and then-”

“And then we hit the Serpentines in their own flank with our concealed cavalry,” blurted Blaise.

“Brilliant,” murmured Luc.

“Indeed,” said Leon. “For by taking their cavalry in the flank with ours head on, they cannot easily bring their lances to bear upon our charge.”

“Ah, but how do we manage to conceal our own cavalry?” asked Petain. “I mean, we are coming downslope in full view.

Will they not see this ruse?”

“Three things,” said Emile, raising a hand, three fingers upraised. “Un”-he ticked down one finger-“it is dark under these dismal skies, and vision is hampered not only by the murk but also by bright flashes of lightning.” Emile ticked down a second finger. “Deux: our knights and heavy crossbowmen will be on the lead, the phalanx to follow, and while the attention is on them.” Emile ticked down the last finger. “Trois: our cavalry will have ridden on this side of the ridge to the gap on the left, where they will dismount and walk their horses through and conceal themselves behind yon nearby hill”-all eyes swung to the left of the plain, where stood the hilly land-“and when the final phalanx marches past, again they will walk the horses, and, by this ruse, to seem to be but more foot soldiers as they slip in behind.”

“Ah,” said Bailen. “And who will lead the cavalry?” Emile looked at Laurent, and then said, “Luc.” Laurent started to protest, but it died on his lips ere spoken, for Bailen then asked, “And who will lead the chevaliers ’gainst the Trolls?”

“Laurent.”

Even as Laurent clenched a fist and grinned, “But aren’t Luc and Laurent needed to lead their own battalions?” asked Leon.

“Non. Luc’s battalion will be led by Armsmaster Devereau, and Laurent’s by Armsmaster Jules.”

“And what of me and Roel?” asked Blaise.

“You both will join Laurent and the knights against the Trolls, and Armsmasters Bertran and Anton respectively will lead your battalions.” Emile looked down at the battle plan scratched in the dirt. “You see, except for delegating our champion of champions to lead the cavalry and eliminate the Serpentines, our knights are more valuable in dealing with the Trolls than in any other role, and all of the armsmasters are well suited to command.”

Emile turned to Luc. “And you, my boy, when the Serpentines are done in, we will turn the tables on them, for you will bring the cavalry about and trap the enemy between your hammer and our anvil.” Luc smiled and inclined his head in assent.

“Now to the archers,” said Emile, and Michelle stood and watched Emile draw, “this is how we will proceed. . ”

. .

Thus went the planning through the early morn, in the midst of which Emile paused and looked again at the enemy. “Hmm. .

I wonder. We are outnumbered some six to one. Mayhap this is the time to rally the Firsts to our side.”

“Non, Papa,” said Blaise, his eyes lighting up with sudden understanding, “I think this is not the time.”

“Your meaning?”

“Lady Lot’s rede,” said Blaise, “the one she gave me, I think I understand it.”

“Lady Lot?” asked Bailen. “Verdandi? She gave you a rede?”

“Oui,” said Blaise.

“Grim are the dark days looming ahead Now that the die is cast.

Fight for the living, weep for the dead; Those who are first must come last.

Summon them not ere the final day

For his limit to be found.

Great is his power all order to slay, Yet even his might has a bound.”

Blaise looked down at the waiting enemy. “I just now realized that the key is in the line ‘Those who are first must come last.’ And who else could that mean but the Firsts? Too, I think this is not the ‘final day’ spoken of in Verdandi’s conundrum, and so we should not summon them except a extremite.”

“We don’t know how to summon them anyway,” said Laurent.

“But we do,” came a tiny voice.

Emile and the others skewed about. It was the Sprite Peti, now sitting on Michelle’s shoulder.

“Demoiselle?” said Emile.

Peti took to wing and flew in among the men, where she alighted on Sieur Emile’s arm. “The other Sprites tell me that 324 / DENNIS L. MCKIERNAN

the Firsts are nearly assembled, and they but await the word as to where to go. Yet they also heed Lady Verdandi’s rede, and will not come ere what they judge to be the so-called ‘final day.’

I believe Blaise is right: Verdandi’s rede can mean none else but the Firsts, and this is not the day to summon them.”

“And when that day comes. .?” asked Laurent.

“Then we Sprites will fetch them.”

. .

Orbane continued to hiss sibilant words, and Hradian sagged under the strain. Crapaud sat somnolent, and whether he felt the drain is not known. And as lightning shattered across the black sky and thunder boomed, the vapor yet spewed up from the swamp bottom in a bilious cloud roaring forth from the vortex and continuing to expand; and it oozed across the mire and among the trees and grasses. Some ten feet deep the vapor lay, a sickly yellow-green, and things wilted where it flowed.

Yet these were swamp creatures and plants, and somewhat immune to the putrescence, and mayhap they would not die, nor, perhaps, would the swamp creatures living among them.

And the morning went on, while at the far dawnwise bound of the morass, two armies made ready to do battle, one greatly outnumbering the other: the throng commanded by Cham Bolok, a towering Troll; the army commanded by Sieur Emile, a human. Each had his plan: one was committed to a victory by sheer numbers; the other was committed to winning by guile.

. .

As a line of riders came over the crest of the ridge Bolok grunted and then shouted, “Look alive, you slugs, they come at last.” But then he frowned. “What’s this? Just one- Ah, no, here come more.”

He watched as to his left a group came tramping over the top and then marched down the long slope, spearmen all, their shields locked together, or so it seemed. And then another group came, and another after that, and then more. Bolok had never before seen a phalanx, much less as many as these. Their deployment puzzled him, for he had expected the humans to attack head on, perhaps in a wedge, but down the slope they came on a long