Harry Turtledove - Rulers of the Darkness

Rulers of the Darkness

Harry Turtledove

A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK

New York

www.ebookyes.com

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this

novel are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.

RULERS OF THE DARKNESS

thereof, in any form.

Edited by Patrick Nielsen Hayden

A Tor Book

Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC

175 Fifth Avenue

New York, NY 10010

www.tor.com

Tor is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

ISBN 0-312-70601-4

TOR BOOKS BY HARRY TURTLEDOVE

The Two Georges (by Richard Dreyfuss and Harry Turtledove)

Household Gods (by Judith Tarr and Harry Turtledove)

Between the Rivers

Into the Darkness

Darkness Descending

Through the Darkness

Rulers of the Darkness

(As by H. N. Turteltaub)

Justinian

Over the Wine-Dark Sea

"Dramatis Personae” (* shows viewpoint character)

Algarve

Almonio Constable in Gromheort

Ambaldo Colonel of dragonfliers in southern Unkerlant

Baiardo Mage attached to Plegmund's Brigade

Balastro Marquis; minister to Zuwayza

Bembo* Constable in Gromheort

Carietto Brigadier in Trapani

Domiziano Captain of dragonfliers in southern Unkerlant

Ercole Senior lieutenant with Plegmund's Brigade

Fronesia Woman at court in Trapani

Frontino Warder in Tricarico

Gastable Mage in Gromheort

Gismonda Sabrino's wife in Trapani

Gradasso Lurcanio's adjutant in Priekule

Lurcanio Colonel on occupation duty in Priekule

Mainardo Mezentio's brother; King of Jelgava

Malindo Scholar in Trapani

Mezentio King of Algarve

Oraste Constable in Gromheort

Orosio Captain of dragonfliers in southern Unkerlant

Pesaro Constabulary sergeant in Gromheort

Raniero Mezentio's cousin; King of Grelz

Sabrino* Colonel of dragonfliers in southern Unkerlant

Saffa Sketch artist in Tricarico

Solino General in Durrwangen

Spinello* Major on leave in Trapani for wound

Turpino Captain in Wriezen

Zerbino Captain in Plegmund's Brigade

Forthweg

Baldred Slogan writer in Eoforwic

Brivibas Kaunian in Gromheort; Vanai's grandfather

Brorda Count of Gromheort

Ceorl Soldier in Plegmund's Brigade near Hohenroda

Daukantis Kaunian in Gromheort; Doldasai's father

Doldasai Kaunian courtesan in Gromheort

Ealstan* Bookkeeper in Eoforwic; Vanai's husband

Ethelhelm Half Kaunian band leader in Eoforwic

Feliksai Kaunian in Gromheort; Doldasai's mother

Gippias Kaunian robber in Gromheort

Hengist Sidroc's father; Hestan's brother; in Gromheort

Hestan Bookkeeper in Gromheort; Ealstan's father

Leofsig Ealstan's deceased brother

Nemunas Kaunian refugee leader in Zuwayza

Penda King of Forthweg

Pernavai Kaunian in Valmiera; Vatsyunas' wife

Pybba Pottery magnate in Eoforwic

Sidroc* Soldier in Plegmund's Brigade near Hohenroda

Vanai* Kaunian in Eoforwic; Ealstan's wife

Vatsyunas Kaunian in Valmiera; Pernavai's husband

Vitols Kaunian refugee leader in Zuwayza

Werferth Sergeant in Plegmund's Brigade near Hohenroda

Yadwigai Kaunian girl with Algarvian army in Unkerlant

Gyongyos

Arpad Ekrekek (King) of Gyongyos

Borsos Major; mage in western Unkerlant

Frigyes Captain in western Unkerlant

Hevesi Soldier in western Unkerlant

Horthy Gyongyosian minister to Zuwayza

Istvan* Sergeant in western Unkerlant

Kun Corporal in western Unkerlant; minor mage

Lajos Soldier in western Unkerlant

Szonyi Soldier in western Unkerlant

Tivadar Captain in western Unkerlant

Jelgava

Ausra Talsu's sister in Skrunda

Donalitu King of Jelgava; now in exile

Gailisa Talsu's wife, living in Skrunda

Kugu Silversmith in Skrunda

Laitsina Talsu's mother in Skrunda

Stikliu Friend of Talsu's in Skrunda

Talsu* Prisoner from Skrunda

Traku Talsu's father; tailor in Skrunda

Zverinu Banker in Skrunda

Kuusamo

Alkio Theoretical sorcerer; married to Raahe

Elimaki Pekka's sister

Ilmarinen Master mage in the Naantali district

Juhainen One of the Seven Princes of Kuusamo

Leino Mage; Pekka's husband

Linna Serving woman in the Naantali district

Olavin Banker; Elimaki's husband

Parainen One of the Seven Princes of Kuusamo

Pekka* Mage in the Naantali district; Leino's wife

Piilis Theoretical sorcerer

Raahe Theoretical sorcerer; married to Alkio

Renavall One of the Seven Princes of Kuusamo

Siuntio Master mage in the Naantali district

Uto Pekka and Leino's son

Vihti Sorcerer in Naantali district

Lagoas

Brinco Grandmaster Pinhiero's secretary in Setubal

Fernao* Mage on duty in Kuusamo

Janira Cornelu's lady friend in Setubal

Pinhiero Grandmaster of Lagoan Guild of Mages

Vitor King of Lagoas

Ortah

Ahinadab King of Ortah

Hadadezer Ortaho minister to Zuwayza

Sibiu

Balio Fisherman running eatery in Setubal; Janira's father

Brindza Cornelu's daughter in Tirgoviste town

Burebistu King of Sibiu

Cornelu* Commander; leviathan-rider in Setubal

Costache Cornelu's wife in Tirgoviste town

Unkerlant

Addanz Archmage of Unkerlant

Ascovind Collaborator in Duchy of Grelz

Gandiluz Soldier contacting irregulars in Grelz

Garivald* Irregular fighter west of Herborn

Gundioc Captain in southern Unkerlant

Gurmun General of behemoths at Durrwangen bulge

Kiun Soldier in Leudast's company

Kyot Swemmel's deceased twin brother

Leudast* Sergeant in Sulingen

Merovec Major; Marshal Rathar's adjutant

Munderic Irregular leader west of Herborn

Obilot Irregular fighter west of Herborn

Rathar* Marshal of Unkerlant traveling to Cottbus

Razalic Irregular in forest west of Herborn

Recared Lieutenant in Sulingen

Sadoc Irregular fighter west of Herborn; would-be mage

Swemmel King of Unkerlant

Tantris Soldier contacting irregulars in Grelz

Vatran General in southern Unkerlant

Werbel Soldier in Sulingen

Ysolt Cook in Durrwangen

Valmiera

Amatu Noble returned from Valmiera

Bauska Krasta's maidservant in Priekule

Gainibu King of Valmiera

Gedominu Skarnu and Merkela's son

Krasta* Marchioness in Priekule; Skarnu's sister

Lauzdonu Noble returned from Valmiera

Merkela Underground fighter; Skarnu's wife

Palasta Mage in Erzvilkas

Raunu Sergeant and irregular near Pavilosta

Skarnu* Marquis; fighter in Ventspils; Krasta's brother

Terbatu Marquis in Priekule

Valnu Viscount in Priekule

Zarasai Underground fighter; a nom de guerre

Yanina

Iskakis Yaninan minister to Zuwayza

Zuwayza

Hajjaj* Foreign minister of Zuwayza

Ikhshid General in Bishah

Kolthoum Hajjaj's senior wife

Qutuz Hajjaj's secretary in Bishah

Shazli King of Zuwayza

Tewfik Hajjaj's majordomo

Qutuz Hajjaj's secretary in Bishah

One

Leudast looked across the snow-covered ruins of Sulingen. The silence seemed

unnatural. After two spells of fighting in the city, he associated it with the

horrible din of battle: bursting eggs, the hiss of beams as they turned snow

to sudden steam, fire crackling beyond hope of control, masonry falling in on

itself, wounded behemoths bawling, wounded horses and unicorns screaming,

wounded men shrieking.

None of that now. Everything was silent, eerily so. Young Lieutenant Recared

nudged Leudast and pointed. "Look, Sergeant," Recared said, his unlined face

glowing with excitement, almost with awe. "Here come the captives."

"Aye," Leudast said softly. He couldn't have been more than two or three years

older than Recared himself. It only seemed like ten or twelve. Awe was in his

voice, too, as he said it again: "Aye."

He hadn't known quite so many Algarvians were left alive in Sulingen when

their army at last gave up its hopeless fight. Here came some of them now: a

long column of misery. By Unkerlanter standards, their tall enemies from the

east were slim even when well fed. Now, after so much desperate fighting cut

off from any hope of resupply, most of them were redheaded skeletons, nothing

more.

They were filthy, too, with scraggly red beards covering their hollow cheeks.

They wore a fantastic mix of cloaks, Algarvian tunics and kilts, long

Unkerlanter tunics, and any rags and scraps of cloth they could get their

hands on. Some had stuffed crumpled news sheets and other papers under their

tunics to try to fight the frigid winter here in the southwest of Unkerlant.

Here and there, Leudast saw Algarvians in pathetic overshoes of woven straw.

Snug in his own felt boots, he almost pitied the foe. Almost. King Mezentio's

men had come too close to killing him too many times for him to find feeling

sorry for them easy.

Lieutenant Recared drew himself up very straight. "Seeing them makes me proud

I'm an Unkerlanter," he said.

Maybe the ability to say things like that was part of what separated officers

from ordinary soldiers. All Leudast could do was mumble, "Seeing them makes me

glad I'm alive." He didn't think Recared heard him, which might have been just

as well.

Most of the Algarvians trudged along with their heads down: they were beaten,

and they knew it. A few, though, still somehow kept the jauntiness that marked

their kind. One of them caught Leudast's eye, grinned, and spoke in pretty

fair Unkerlanter: "Hey, Bignose- our turn today, tomorrow yours."

Leudast's mittened hand flew up to the organ the redhead had impugned. It was

of a good size and strongly curved, but so were most Unkerlanters' noses. He

waved derisively at the Algarvian, waved and said, "Big up above, big down

below."

"Aye, all you Unkerlanters are big pricks," the captive came back with a

chuckle.

Some soldiers would have blazed a man who said something like that. Leudast

contented himself with the last word: "You think it's funny now. You won't be

laughing so hard when they set you to work in the mines." That struck home.

The Algarvian's grin slipped. He tramped on and was lost among his fellows.

At last, the long tide of misery ended. Recared shook himself, as if waking

from a dream. He turned back to Leudast and said, "Now we've got to get ready

to whip the rest of King Mezentio's men out of our kingdom."

"Sure enough, sir," Leudast agreed. He hadn't thought about what came after

beating the Algarvians in Sulingen. He supposed thinking about such things

before you had to was another part of what separated officers from the men

they led.

"What state is your company in, Lieutenant?" Recared asked.

"About what you'd expect, sir- I've got maybe a section's worth of men,"

Leudast answered. Plenty of companies had sergeants in charge of them these

days, and plenty of regiments, like Recared's, were commanded by lieutenants.

With a nod, Recared said, "Have them ready to move out tomorrow morning. I

don't know for a fact that we will move tomorrow, but that's what it looks

like."

"Aye, sir." Leudast's sigh built a young fogbank of vapor in front of his

face. He knew he shouldn't have expected anything different, but he would have

liked a little longer to rest after one fight before plunging into the next.

They didn't go north the next morning. They did go north the next afternoon,

tramping up roads made passable by behemoths wearing snowshoes. Here and

there, the snow lay too deep even for behemoths to trample out a usable path.

Then the weary troopers had to shovel their way through the drifts. The duty

was as physically wearing as combat, the only advantage being that the

Algarvians weren't trying to blaze them or drop eggs on their heads.

One of Leudast's troopers said, "I wish we were riding a ley-line caravan up

to the new front. Then we'd get there rested. The way things are, we're

already halfway down the road to being dead." He flung a spadeful of snow over

this shoulder, then stooped to get another one.

A few minutes later, the company emerged from the trench it had dug through a

great drift. Leudast was awash in sweat, his lungs on fire, regardless of the

frigid air he breathed. When he could see more than snow piled up in front of

him, he started to laugh. There a few hundred yards to one side of the road

lay a wrecked caravan, its lead car a burnt-out, blasted ruin- the Algarvians

had planted an egg along the ley line, and its burst of sorcerous energy had

done everything the redheads could have wanted. "Still want to go the easy

way, Werbel?"

"No, thanks, Sergeant," the trooper answered at once. "Maybe this isn't so bad

after all."

Leudast nodded. He wasn't laughing any more. The steersmen on that ley-line

caravan were surely dead. So were dozens of Unkerlanter troopers: bodies lay

stacked like cordwood by the ruined caravan. And more dozens, maybe hundreds,

of men were hurt. The Algarvians had gained less by winning some skirmishes.

When the regiment encamped for the night in the ruins of an abandoned peasant

village, Lieutenant Recared said, "There are some stretches of ley line that

are safe. Our mages keep clearing more every day, too."

"I suppose they find out if the ley lines are clear by sending caravans on

them," Leudast said sourly. "This one wasn't."

"No, but it will be now, after the mages cancel out the effect of the energy

burst," Recared answered.

"And then they'll find another cursed egg a mile farther north," Leudast said.

"Find it the hard way, odds are."

"You haven't got the right attitude, Sergeant," Recared said reprovingly.

Leudast thought he had just the right attitude. He was opposed to getting

killed or maimed. He was especially opposed to getting killed or maimed

because some mage hadn't done his job well enough. Having the enemy kill you

was part of war; he understood that. Having your own side kill you... He'd

come to understand that was part of war, too, however much he hated it.

In good weather, on good roads, they would have been about ten days' march

from where the fighting was now. They took quite a bit longer than that to get

there. The roads, even the best of them, were far from good. Though the winter

solstice was well past, the days remained short and bleak and bitterly cold,

with a new blizzard rolling in out of the west every other or every third day.

And, though no redheads opposed them on the ground, the Algarvians hadn't gone

away and given up after losing Sulingen. They kept being difficult whenever

and wherever they could. Unkerlant was vast, and dragons even thinner in the

air than soldiers and behemoths were on the ground. That meant King Mezentio's

dragonfliers could fare south to visit death and destruction on the

Unkerlanters moving up to assail their countrymen.

When eggs fell, Leudast dived into the closest hole he could find. When

Algarvian dragons swooped low to flame, he simply leaped into the snow on his

belly and hoped his white smock would keep enemy dragonfliers from noticing

him. It worked; after each attack ended, he got up and started slogging north

again.

Not everyone was so lucky. He'd long since got used to seeing corpses,

sometimes pieces of corpses, scattered in the snow and staining it red. But

once the Algarvian dragons had been lucky enough to take out a column of more

than a dozen Unkerlanter behemoths and the crews who served their egg-tossers

and heavy sticks. The air that day was calm and still; the stench of burnt

flesh still lingered as he tramped past. Dragonfire had roasted the behemoths

inside the heavy chainmail they wore to protect them from weapons mere

footsoldiers could carry. Even the beasts' snowshoe-encased hooves and the

iron-shod, curving horns on their noses were covered with soot from the flames

the dragons had loosed.

"Last winter, I hear, the Algarvians were eating the flesh of slain

behemoths," Recared said.

He hadn't been in the fight the winter before. Leudast had. He nodded. "Aye,

they did, sir." After a pause, he added, "So did we."

"Oh." Beneath his swarthy skin, beneath the dark whiskers he'd had scant

chance to scrape, Recared looked a little green. "What... was it like?"

"Strong. Gamy," Leudast answered. Another pause. "A lot better than nothing."

"Ah. Aye." Recared nodded wisely. "Do you suppose we'll...?"

"Not these beasts," Leudast said. "Not unless you want to stop and do some

butchering now. If we keep going, we'll be miles away before we stop for the

night."

"That's true." Lieutenant Recared considered. In thoughtful tones, he

remarked, "Field kitchens haven't been all they might be, have they?" Leudast

started to erupt at that, then noticed the small smile on Recared's face. King

Swemmel expected his soldiers to feed themselves whenever they could. Field

kitchens were almost as rare as far western mountain apes roaming these

plains.

The regiment ate behemoth that night, and for several days thereafter. It was

as nasty as Leudast recalled. It was a lot better than the horrible stuff the

Algarvians had been pouring down their throats in the last days at Sulingen,

though. And, as he'd said, it was ever so much better than nothing.

A couple of nights later, thunder rumbled in the north as the Unkerlanter

soldiers made camp. But it couldn't have been thunder; the sky, for once, was

clear, with swarms of stars twinkling on jet black. When the weather was very

cold, they seemed to twinkle more than on a mild summer night. Leudast noted

that only in passing. He knew too well what that distant rumbling that went on

and on meant. Scowling, he said, "We're close enough to the fun to hear eggs

bursting again. I didn't miss 'em when we couldn't, believe you me I didn't."

"Fun?" Werbel hadn't been in the company long, but even he knew better than

that. "More chances to get killed, is what it is."

"That's what they pay us for," Leudast answered. "When they bother to pay us,

I mean." He'd lost track of how far in arrears his own pay was. Months- he was

sure of that much. And he should have been owed a lieutenant's pay, or a

captain's, not a sergeant's, considering the job he'd been doing for more than

a year. Of course, Recared should have been paid like a colonel, too.

Werbel listened to the eggs in the distance. With a sigh, he said, "I wonder

if they'll get caught up before the war ends."

Leudast's laugh was loud, raucous, and bitter. "Powers above, what makes you

think it'll ever end?"

* * *

Sidroc was glad Forthwegians had the custom of wearing full beards. For one

thing, the thick black hair on his chin and cheeks and upper lip went a little

way toward keeping them warm in the savage cold of southern Unkerlant. Coming

out of Gromheort in the sunny north, he'd never imagined weather like this.

Had anybody told him even a quarter of the truth about it before he knew it

for himself, he would have called that fellow a liar to his face. No more.

For another, the beards the men of Plegmund's Brigade- Forthwegians fighting

in the service of their Algarvian occupiers- wore helped distinguish them from

their Unkerlanter cousins. Unkerlanters and Forthwegians were both stocky,

olive-skinned, hook-nosed, both given to wearing long tunics rather than kilts

or trousers. But if Sidroc saw a clean-shaven face, he blazed at it without

hesitation.

At the moment, he saw very little. His regiment- about a company's worth of

men, after all the hard fighting they'd been through- was trying to hold the

Unkerlanters out of a village called Hohenroda. It lay somewhere not far from

the important town of Durrwangen, but whether north, south, east, or west

Sidroc couldn't have said to save his life. He'd done too much marching and

countermarching to have any exact notion of where he was.

Eggs crashed down on the village and in front of it. The log walls of the

cabin where he was sheltering shook. He turned to Sergeant Werferth. "Those

Unkerlanter buggers have every egg-tosser in the world lined up south of here,

seems like."

"Wouldn't surprise me," Werferth answered. If anything ever did faze him, he

didn't let on. He'd served in the Forthwegian army till the Algarvians

destroyed it. Sidroc had been only fifteen when the Derlavaian War began three

and a half years before. Werferth spat on the rammed-earth floor. "So what?"

That was too much calm for Sidroc to handle. "They're liable to kill us,

that's what!" he burst out. Every once in a while, his voice still broke like

a boy's. He hated that, but couldn't help it.

"They won't kill all of us, and the ones who're left'll make 'em pay a good

price for this place," Werferth said. He'd signed up for Plegmund's Brigade as

soon as the recruiting broadsheets started going up on walls and fences. As

far as Sidroc could tell, Werferth didn't care for whom he fought. He might

have served the Unkerlanters as readily as the Algarvians. He just liked to

fight.

More eggs burst. A fragment of the metal casings that held their sorcerous

energy in check till suddenly and violently released slammed into the wall.

Timbers creaked. Straw from the thatched roof fell down into Sidroc's hair. He

peered out through a tiny slit of a window. "I wish we could see better," he

grumbled.

"They don't build houses with south-facing doors in these parts," Werferth

said. "A lot of 'em haven't got any south-facing windows at all, not even

these little pissy ones. They know where the bad weather comes from."

Sidroc had noticed there weren't any south-facing doors, but he hadn't thought

about why. Questions like that didn't interest him. He wasn't stupid, but he

didn't use his brains unless he had to. Hitting somebody or blazing somebody

struck him as easier.

Werferth went to the other little window. He barked out several sharp curses.

"Here they come," he said, and rested his stick on the window frame, the

business end pointing out toward the Unkerlanters.

Mouth dry, Sidroc did the same. He'd seen Unkerlanter charges before- not too

many, or he wouldn't have remained among those present. Now he had to try to

fight off another one.

It was, he had to admit, an awe-inspiring sight. King Swemmel's soldiers

formed up in the frozen fields south of Hohenroda, out beyond the range of the

defenders' sticks: row on row of them, all in fur hats and white smocks.

Sidroc could hear them howling like demons even though they were a long way

off. "Do they really feed 'em spirits before they send 'em out to attack?" he

asked Werferth.

"Oh, aye," the sergeant answered. "Makes 'em mean, I shouldn't wonder. Though

I wouldn't mind a nip myself right now."

Then in the distance, whistles shrilled. The ice that ran up Sidroc's back had

nothing to do with the ghastly weather. He knew what was coming next. And it

came. The Unkerlanters linked arms, row on row of them. The officers' whistles

squealed once more. The Unkerlanters charged.

"Urra!" they bellowed, a deep, rhythmic shout, as snow flew up from their felt

boots. "Urra! Urra! Swemmel! Urra! Urra!" If they couldn't overrun Hohenroda-

if they couldn't overrun the whole cursed world- they didn't know it.

No doubt because they were drunk, they started blazing long before they got

close enough to be in any serious danger of hitting something. Puffs of steam

in the snow in front of them showed that some of the men from Plegmund's

Brigade had started blazing, too. "Fools!" Werferth growled. "Bloody stupid

fornicating fools! We can't afford to waste charges like that. We haven't got

any Kaunians around to kill to give us the sorcerous energy we need to get

more."

They didn't even have any Unkerlanters to kill for the same purpose. The local

peasants had long since fled Hohenroda. The men of Plegmund's Brigade were on

their own here.

Or so Sidroc thought, till eggs started bursting among the onrushing

Unkerlanters. He whooped with glee- and with surprise. Plegmund's Brigade was

made up of footsoldiers; it had to rely on the Algarvians for support. "I

didn't know there were egg-tossers back of town," Sidroc said to Werferth.

"Neither did I," Werferth said. "If you think our lords and masters tell us

everything they're up to, you're daft. And if you think those eggs'll get rid

of all those Unkerlanters, you're even dafter, by the powers above."

Sidroc knew that too well. As the eggs burst in their midst, some of Swemmel's

men flew through the air, to lie broken and bleeding in the snow. Others, as

far as he could tell, simply ceased to be. But the Unkerlanters who still

lived, who could still move forward, came on. They kept shouting with no

change in rhythm he could hear.

Then they were close enough to make targets even Werferth couldn't criticize.

Sidroc thrust his right forefinger out through a hole in his mitten; his stick

required the touch of real flesh to blaze. He stuck his finger into the

opening at the rear of the stick and blazed at an Unkerlanter a few hundred

yards away. The man went down, but Sidroc had no way to be sure his beam had

hit him. He blazed again, and then cursed, for he must have missed his new

target.

The Unkerlanters were blazing, too, as they had been for some little while. A

beam smote the peasant hut only a foot or so above Sidroc's head. The sharp,

tangy stink of charred pine made his nostrils twitch. In drier weather, a beam

like that might have fired the hut. Not so much risk of that now, nor of the

fire's spreading if it did take hold.

"Mow 'em down!" Werferth said cheerfully. Down the Unkerlanters went, too, in

great swaths, almost as if they were being scythed at harvest time. Sidroc had

long since seen Swemmel's soldiers cared little about losses. If they got a

victory, they didn't count the cost.

"They're going to break in!" he said, an exclamation of dismay. They might pay

a regiment's worth of men to shift the company's worth of Forthwegians in

Hohenroda, but that wouldn't make the detachment from Plegmund's Brigade any

less wrecked. It wouldn't make Sidroc any less dead.

"We have three lines of retreat prepared," Werferth said. "We'll use all of

them." He sounded calm, unconcerned, ready for anything that might happen, and

ready to make the Unkerlanters pay the highest possible price for this

miserable little place. In the abstract, Sidroc admired that. When fear rose

up inside him like a black, choking cloud, he knew he couldn't hope to match

it.

And then, instead of swarming in among the huts of Hohenroda and rooting out

the defenders with beams and with knives and with sticks swung clubwise and

with knees in the crotch and thumbs gouging out eyes, the Unkerlanters had to

stop short of the village. More eggs fell among Swemmel's men, these from the

northeast. Heavy sticks seared down half a dozen men at a time. Algarvian

behemoths, fighting as they had in the old days before sticks and eggs were so

much of a much, got in among the Unkerlanters and trampled them and gored them

with iron-encased horns.

And the Unkerlanters broke. They hadn't expected to run into behemoths around

Hohenroda. When they fought according to their plans, they were the

stubbornest soldiers in the world. When taken by surprise, they sometimes

panicked.

Sidroc was heartily glad this proved one of those times. "Run, you buggers,

run!" he shouted, and blazed a fleeing Unkerlanter in the back. Relief made

him sound giddy. He didn't care. He felt giddy.

"They've got snowshoes," Werferth said. "The Algarvian behemoths, I mean. They

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