“Pick me out a good one,” Greylock said. “I’ve got to get back. We’re setting new duty to get the new recruits out of our hair and then we’re going to wait.”
“Wait for what?”
“Replacements so we can head back to join in the assault on Maharta.”
Erik shook his head. “We’ve got a funny way of fighting this war: helping the enemy take their objective.”
Greylock shrugged. “Aside from the pain and dying, war can be a pretty funny business, Erik. I’ve read every written history of war I could get my hands on, and I know this: once a plan of battle is set loose, it takes on a life of its own. And once you make contact with the enemy, the plan has little meaning anymore. It’s grab the moment so you can seize the day. Mostly it’s hoping the other side makes a mistake before you do and getting lucky.
“Calis had a plan when we started out, but once he and Nakor found what they sought out at the Queen’s camp, it’s been tossed aside and now he’s making it up as we go.”
“So he’s hoping the other side makes a mistake before we do and that we’re going to get lucky?”
“Something like that.”
“Then I’ll say a prayer to Ruthia,” said Erik as Greylock turned and walked away.
Erik thought about what he had seen so far and what he had done, and was forced to concede that Greylock was right. There was little of planning and cleverness in what Calis had done since making contact with the Queen’s army, and a great deal of boldness and hoping for luck.
Putting aside such weighty considerations, Erik decided that as long as things were settling down to routine, he’d try to get some work done on his armor and weapons. He returned to his tent and found it empty, as his three bunkmates were off working on finishing the palisades. Erik unbuckled his sword, removed his helm, and stripped off his breastplate. He grabbed a rag and some oil he had liberated from stores and began to work on his armor. He frowned when he saw how corrosion was finding niches to take hold, and set to with a vengeance to expunge all imperfections from his breastplate.
A rider came speeding over the rise, pushing his lathered horse up the trail for all he was worth. Erik instantly turned and shouted, “Rider coming in!”
De Loungville had the men racing for weapons and taking up positions before the rider reached the gate. Recognizing the rider as one of their own, Erik motioned for the bridge to be run out. The moat and rampart camp had been turned into a first-rate base since Calis had run off Nahoot’s company. They had found a wandering herd of bison down a ways in the woods, and some deer, as well as a good supply of nuts. With the food liberated from Nahoot’s Grand Company, they were amply provisioned for the time being.
As the rider reached the bridge he reined in, dismounting as quickly as he could. He led the horse across the bridge, which flexed and creaked alarmingly, but which held better than Erik had expected. Shrinking the leather had helped, and it would serve, but it still made him nervous each time a horse was walked across.
The rider tossed the reins to Erik and ran past him to where de Loungville and Calis were approaching. “It’s the greenskins,” he shouted.
“Where?” asked de Loungville.
“Down the trail. It’s a large patrol, maybe twenty of them. They don’t seem to be in any hurry.”
Calis thought for a moment. “Tell the men to stand down. I want us looking alert, but I don’t want anything suspicious.”
Erik passed the word as he led the rider’s horse away. He found Luis on duty around the picket and told him to walk the horse for a while, to cool her out, then to rub her down and feed her.
He returned in time to see men back at their normal posts, but noticed that every man had a weapon close to hand and many looked on edge. As he walked by, he quietly said, “Take it easy,” or “Relax. You’ll know soon enough if there’s going to be trouble.”
Still, it was a painfully slow twenty minutes until the first of the Saaur hove into view. Erik studied them, for he had been too busy staying alive the last time he saw them mounted to study them carefully. Roo came to stand beside him and said, “That’s some sight.”
“Say what you will about the greenskins, but they know how to sit those impossible mounts of theirs.”
The Saaur rode with long legs and easy seats, as if they had spent their lives on horseback. Each rider had a short bow slung across the back of his saddle, and Erik said a silent prayer that the company they had faced before had tried to charge them rather than stand off and shoot. Most of them carried round shields, made of hide over wood, marked with symbols alien to Erik. The leader wore a plume of horsehair dyed blue tied up in a large obsidian ring, affixed to a metal skullcap. The others wore simple metal helms that had large flaring sides and bar-nasals. When the last riders came into view, Erik quickly counted. There were twenty of them, followed by a baggage train of four more horses.