yard pikes.
These lads were known as “anglers.” At present all the men behind the crossbows were maintaining their distance, so that the crossbowmen would have space to withdraw in after their volley.
Immediately behind the “anglers” there were several ranks consisting of a jumbled assortment of men whose main job was to press up against the front ranks if a formation of infantry of the line clashed with the battalion. And, of course, if the ranks were broken, then they would fill the breach for a while, if only with their own bodies. This was a task that could be managed even by soldiers who weren’t trained to work in battalion formation and men from the militia.
Right at the center were the commander, the standard-bearer, a number of Beaver Caps, the trumpeters, and the drummers, who gave the signal to maneuver. So the battalion was actually quite a formidable force, and it was well protected against attacks on its flanks.
“Bedbug, what are you gaping at?”
“Look over there, at our neighbors,” the guardsman chuckled. “Those lads have had a real stroke of luck. As safe and cozy as in Sagra’s pocket. Didn’t I tell you we should have gone across to them?”
There was another battalion standing to the left of Jig’s, the one that was closest of all to the Luza Forest.
“Why do you think they look so cozy?” asked Jig in surprise, breathing garlic all over Bedbug.
“Because they’ve got so many Beaver Caps and Jolly Gallows-Birds. And three hundred elves with bows, too!”
“Well, as far as the Gallows-Birds are concerned, they’re not right in the head. And the Beavers have been put in the third line, so that battalion hasn’t got any halberdiers. And those lads with the fangs … Sagra alone can understand the elves. Into the darkness with them, I say. They’re all smiles, and then suddenly they stick a knife under your ribs.”
“I’d rather have their knife under my ribs then be dispatched in the darkness by the Nameless One’s magic. And what’s more, they have bows, and I’ve heard dark elves are even better with them than the Wind Jugglers.”
“You don’t have anything to worry about, lad,” the nearest pikeman put in. “We’re only three hundred paces from the yellow-eyes, so if need be they can reach our enemies with their arrows.”
“I’ll stop worrying when this is all over,” said Bedbug, refusing to be cheered up.
“Make way! Make way, will you!”
All eyes turned toward the battalion commander. He had another man with him. Obviously not a soldier.
“This way, good sir. Stand just behind them.”
A young man in a cuirass and a light helmet, armed with a short sword, stood right behind Jig.
“Hey, commander!” one of the anglers shouted. “What’s all this about? Can’t you see you’re breaking up the formation? What do we want a swordsman here for? Is he going to jump over our heads?”
“Why don’t you shut up, you ignorant oaf! He isn’t a swordsman! He’s a gentleman magician! I can stand him at the other side of the battalion if you like.”
“No, if he’s a magician … no … I’m sorry, good sir.”
“Take good care of His Magicship, lads. He’ll save your little souls for you if the Nameless One’s shamans get uppity.”
“We will!” the ranks roared all together.
A look of relief appeared on the faces of many soldiers. Nobody had said anything, but they had all been wondering what would happen if the battalion was attacked with magic. Soldiers could fight soldiers, but what could you do with shamans? Sagra had heard their prayer and sent them magicians.
“Now we’ll give them a fight!” Bedbug exclaimed, tightening his grip on the halberd.
His mood was clearly beginning to improve.
“Hey, neighbors! Neigh-bors! How are you doing? Not frozen yet?” shouted one of the men standing to the right of their battalion.
“Why, do you want to come across and warm me up?” a mischievous voice replied. It sounded like one of the militiamen this time, too.
A roar of laughter ran through the ranks again.
“Down, you peasant! But if you do feel cold we can invite you to come visiting!” the answer came back.
“If it gets too hot here, that’s when we’ll come over! We’re not cheap! Always willing to share the heat and the enemy!” Jig barked out, surprising even himself.
The ranks backed him up with a united roar.
“Listen, you,” said Bedbug, nudging Jig awkwardly in the side. “Here, this might come in handy.”
“What is it?” asked Jig, looking at what Bedbug was holding out to him—a bundle of pond weed or dried grass, tied round with a blue ribbon that had faded with age.
“Well…,” Bedbug said, and hesitated. “You remember in the guard hut I told you my granny was a witch?”
“So?”
“Well, she made this. It’s an amulet. She said it wards off bad spells for anyone who carries it.”
“So?”
“What do you keep saying that for?” Bedbug asked angrily. “Are you going to take it or not?”
“What about you?”
“I’ve got one just the same.”
Jig shrugged, took the bundle of grass, and stuck it behind his belt. He didn’t believe in Bedbug’s fairy tales, but Sagra took care of those who took care of themselves. This piece of trash couldn’t do any harm, and Bedbug would feel better.
“Hey! You up on the horse! How are things down there? Is there going to be a fight, or can we all go home now?” one of the pikemen asked a messenger who had jumped the Wine Brook and steered his horse between the two battalions toward the hill.
The rider reined back his mount.
“Not much longer to wait!” The messenger had to shout loudly, so that the rear ranks could hear him. “The mounted patrols have already left the Rega Forest, the scouts have gone into action on the right-hand road, right beside Nuad!”
“Who have they got, then?”
“Mostly men from the north! Tribes that live on the Shore of the Ogres! And the barbarians, of course!”
“No need to worry about them just yet,” Bedbug growled. “A rabble.”
“And who is there that’s more our style?”
“Crayfish! Moving along the left road, half an hour away from you!”
“How many of them?”
“A lot! Eight thousand cavalry and about fifteen thousand infantry.”
Some whistled, some swore, some appealed to Sagra.
“Did you see any shamans?” asked the magician standing behind Jig.
“What I didn’t see, I didn’t see, lads! Take care! Sagra willing, we’ll meet again!”
“Good luck to you!”
“You take care!”
But the rider had already gone rushing off toward the hill and he didn’t hear the soldiers’ good wishes.
“Well, the wait’s almost over, Jig. Not much longer.”
“You look like you’re trembling.”
“That always happens to me. Nerves. It’ll pass. Eight thousand cavalry!”
“We’ll hold out. They won’t get to us through that forest of pikes, don’t be afraid. No, better to be afraid.”
The priests of Sagra walked along the line of the battalion, offering the soldiers spiritual comfort before the battle. Like all the other soldiers, Jig murmured a prayer to the goddess of death.
The sound of two loud bangs came from somewhere to the north.
“Magic!” gasped one of the pikemen nearby.
