bows on their shoulders and take up their swords.
Stalkon thought he must be mistaken, but it really was a cannon shot. The left flank of the enemy cavalry was flung up into the air and pieces of broken human bodies and horses went flying in all directions.
“That was a shot from Slim Bows, milord,” the prince’s arms-bearer told him.
“So I see. The gnomes are spoiling for a fight, too.”
Meanwhile something like order had been restored to the ranks of the cavalry and, to the sound of jeering from the soldiers on the hill, the Crayfish retreated to the rear of the Field of Fairies. The prince reckoned it would take the enemy at least fifteen minutes to recover from what had happened. Exactly the amount of the time the gnomes needed to cool their weapons and reload them.
A horn sounded, and the unit commanders gave the order.
“Halberdiers into the fourth rank.”
“Into the fourth rank! Change places with the pikemen!”
“Crossbowmen, at the ready! Pikemen in the fifth and six ranks, stay awake!”
“Crossbowmen, make ready!”
As if the action was taking place in a training exercise, not in a real war, Jig moved into the fourth rank without any fuss or bother, and stood sideways so that the crossbowmen could get past him easily. Bedbug repeated his partner’s movements like a reflection in a mirror. The only hitch was the magician, who didn’t know what he was supposed to do; a sergeant who happened to be close by shoved him into a gap.
“Crossbowmen into the fourth rank!” The order rang out in the battalions on both sides of them.
All the battalion commanders had chosen the standard arrangement for defending against cavalry. When horsemen attacked, the men with halberds could make the best use of their weapons from the fourth rank, striking slashing blows from above or thrusting above the shoulders of the pikemen standing in front of them. From there the halberdiers couldn’t impede the first or second ranks, and the halberds didn’t catch on the pikes. The fourth and fifth rows of “anglers” became the fifth and sixth rows.
A horn sounded again, and an order rang out in the battalions.
“Front ranks down on one knee! Pikes at the ready!”
Sticking the heels of their pikes into the frozen ground and angling their weapons so that if the cavalry tried to take the battalion head on it would have to break through a forest of pikes, the soldiers went down on one knee.
“Second ranks! Pikes at the ready!”
The second row lowered its pikes, holding them at the level of their hips, above the shoulders of the kneeling front rank.
“Third rank! Pikes at the ready!”
Another forest of pikes was added to the ones already lowered. The soldiers standing in front of the crossbowmen held their weapons at the level of their chests, in order not to hinder the second row in the fight.
The cavalry were close, a hundred and fifty yards from the Wine Brook. The horsemen had lowered their lances, preparing to rip the battalion open, to shatter it like a blow from a battering ram.
Jig watched a rider in the front line who seemed to be coming straight at him. The warrior, in a horned helmet with green plumage and a scarlet and green tunic that concealed his armor, lowered his long lance decorated with numerous ribbons and little flags.
Arrows sang in the air—the detachment of elves standing beside the Luza Forest had started bombarding the cavalrymen’s right flank. The dark elves might handle their bows like gods, but here were only three hundred of them against several thousand, and they wouldn’t stop the cavalry.
The uproar was indescribable. The earth shook under the pounding blows of thousands of hooves. A horn gave a low growl and the unit commanders yelled fit to burst.
“First line of crossbows! Fire!”
A sklot gave a dry click right beside Jig’s ear. The second line of crossbowmen had already taken the place of the first.
“Fire!”
Then another switch of ranks.
“Fire!”
The third rank of crossbowmen hastily withdrew to the center of the battalion, where their comrades were reloading their weapons.
“Fifth and sixth rank! All together! Pikes at the ready!”
The fifth and sixth ranks of anglers had already occupied the places where the crossbowmen were standing. They swung their pikes over to the left in order not to hinder the second and third rows, and froze.
Now all three battalions standing on the left road looked like very big, very angry, and very dangerous hedgehogs that were impossible to approach.
The time between salvoes from the crossbowmen and switches of rank was no more than eight seconds. The crossbows inflicted a lot of damage on the front ranks of cavalry, the elves rained arrows down on the enemy, and now the horses in the rear ranks had to advance over the bodies of the dead, which reduced their speed. And the Wine Brook had its effect, too—while the first ranks (most of them already dead) had leapt cleanly across the obstacle, the rear ranks noticed the brook too late, and dozens of horses and riders went tumbling head over heels, sowing even more confusion.
The horses had to be reined back, disrupting the rhythm of the attack formation so that the famous impact of a shattering blow from heavy cavalry was lost. But the scramble didn’t extend all the way along the Wine Brook. Many horsemen hurtled toward the battalions, as if they wanted to winkle those accursed crossbowmen out of their centers.
“Hold formation, you monkeys!”
“Stand firm! Don’t run! Pikes!”
“Ho-o-o-old!”
“Sta-a-a-a-a-a-and!”
The cavalry came rolling on, closer and closer, closer.…
“A-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-aa-aa-aa-aaa-aaa-aa!”—all the battalions uttered the same mighty roar, combining the anticipation of battle, and a curse, and fear … and the desire to instill fear in the horses and their riders.
The horsemen were no fools; they had no intention of running onto the pikes.
The cavalry always tries to frighten the infantry, and it always believes the infantry will run. And very often the infantry does run, although its salvation lies in holding a solid formation, not in running away.
Most of the Crayfish had swung their horses round in time, and now they were hurtling along the line of the battalions. Another section went galloping into the gaps between the bristling squares of infantry. The crossbowmen on the sides couldn’t risk firing at the enemy in case they hit their own comrades in the other battalions, but the crossbows in the rear ranks didn’t hesitate, and as soon as the cavalry flew out into the rear they fired a withering salvo, and then they were joined by the crossbowmen from the front section of the battalion, who had already managed to reload their weapons.
But even so, some riders among those who attacked the left army drove their armor-clad horses straight at the pikes without the slightest fear. Some of them were fools, some were recklessly brave (that is, hopeless fools), some were carried away by the dash and fury of the battle, and some simply didn’t manage to halt or turn their horses in time. The front of the battalions took the impact of several hundred horsemen.
Rumbling and clattering, desperate screams, the clanging and scraping of metal on metal.
The impact of the cavalry sent the ranks staggering back. Some men fell.
“A-a-a-a-a-a!” One of the riders was unable to stay in the saddle and, like a stone from a catapult, he went flying over the heads of the cavalry to land somewhere in the rear ranks.
Jig hoped very much that the lousy rat would be welcomed with wide open arms back there.
Up at the front there was a full-scale scrimmage. The pikemen were zealously skewering anyone who came within their reach. One of the horsemen reared his mount up on its hind legs and rode it at his enemies. The horse immediately ran its belly onto four pikes and collapsed, crushing two soldiers in the front rank; the rider leapt down
