“Oh, aye, Sergeant, we’re as ready as can be for the stinking Algarvians,” one of his troopers said. “What we get to find out next is how ready the redheads are for us.”
Leudast wished he hadn’t put it like that. The Algarvians were rarely anything but ready. They could be beaten--Leudast knew that now, where he hadn’t been so sure the summer before--but they always put up every ounce of fight they had. Anybody who thought that would be different this time had to be drunk, either on spirits or, perhaps more dangerous, on hope.
Two days later, Hawart’s regiment, along with a great many others, was ordered to the front. Leudast had got used to marching through land over which the Algarvians and Unkerlanters had already fought. This was another such battered landscape, one that looked as if a couple of petulant giants had vented their wrath on it: not so far wrong, if you looked at things the right way.
“All the egg-tossers!” said one of Leudast’s troopers, a big-nosed kid named Alboin. “We’re going to be dropping plenty on the redheads, we are.”
“Aye,” Leudast agreed. “We’ll hit ‘em a good first lick, that’s for sure.” What would happen after the first lick was anything but sure, as he knew too well. Egg-tossers had trouble keeping up with the rest of the army when that army was moving fast. He’d seen as much. He’d also seen that Unkerlanter egg-tossers had more trouble keeping up than their Algarvian counterparts.
Alboin had seen no such thing. He was one of the reinforcements who’d joined the company during the winter. By now, he’d had enough action to be well on the way toward making a veteran, but it had all been since the Unkerlanter counterattack began. “We’ll lick ‘em,” he said, sounding absurdly confident.
“Aye, I think we will,” Leudast said, more from policy than from conviction. From conviction, he went on, “Remember how they handled us at Lautertal. They can do worse than that. I’m not saying they will, but they can.”
“Sure, Sergeant.” But Alboin sounded as if he was talking from policy, too. He hadn’t seen the Algarvians at their best, when the footing was good and they had the chance to maneuver.
Leudast said, “Listen to me. If the redheads weren’t tough, nasty buggers, would we be fighting them in the middle of the Duchy of Grelz?”
Maybe that got through, maybe it didn’t. Either which way, Alboin shut up and kept marching. That suited Leudast well enough.
Here and there up at the front, the Algarvians lobbed eggs at the Unkerlanters’ positions. Leudast was glad when soldiers waved his company into the shallow trenches from which they would soon attack. The earthworks shielded his men and him from bursting eggs. Then, once in the trenches, he wasn’t so glad any more. If the redheads started slaughtering Kaunians and making magic, the holes grubbed in the ground could turn into death traps.
He wondered if King Swemmel’s mages would start slaughtering Unkerlanter peasants or old women or whomever it was they killed. On the one hand, he wanted magecraft to help the army move forward--and, more urgently, to help him stay alive. On the other, he couldn’t help but think about the price his kingdom was paying to try to beat back the Algarvians.
Captain Hawart came along the line. “The attack goes in tomorrow morning before sunrise,” he said, and walked on to keep spreading the word.
Leudast spread it, too. His troopers talked among themselves in low voices.
They were ready. They were more than ready--they were eager. Leudast wondered how many of them would be eager after the attack, even if it succeeded. Not many, if his own experience was any guide.
Well before sunrise, the Unkerlanter egg-tossers started pounding at the Algarvian positions farther east. Leudast hoped they did lots of damage, because they were surely alerting King Mezentio’s men to the coming assault. And the Algarvians responded, flinging eggs of their own at the Unkerlanters. But, as best Leudast could judge, his side had the better of the exchange. He huddled in his blanket and tried to sleep.
As black night gave way to gray twilight, the ground shook beneath him. He leaped up, ready to scramble out of the trench for his life if the shaking got worse. It didn’t. Peering over the lip of the trench, he saw purplish flames spurting up from the ground he and his comrades would have to cross. These were Unkerlanter mages plying their trade, not Algarvians. Leudast muttered under his breath, hoping the sacrifice from his countrymen would help the army win victory.
Whistles shrilled, all along the line. Still not officially an officer, Leudast couldn’t add another strident note. Instead, he shouted, “Come on, you buggers! They wanted to quarrel with us, and now they’re going to pay the price.”
“Urra!” his troopers roared as they burst from the sheltering trenches. “Urra! King Swemmel! Swemmel! Urra!”
