As they finished other chores the rangers accepted their packs from Engvyr and Taarven, then went through them to check every item for themselves. It wasn't that they didn't trust them; it was simply that they were all tired and anyone can make a mistake. Best to catch any errors while they were still easy to fix.
Engvyr and the others sat up for a time after dinner cleaning their carbines, touching up the edge of a sax-knife, reinforcing the stitching of their boots or other mending chores. The Mountain Guard chose it's rangers from among the ranks of the veterans of the regiments, so there wasn't a one of them that didn't know what to expect in the coming days. Most worked in silence, lost in their own thoughts and memories.
If there had been any among them that were going into their first fight they might have been insulted at being relegated to bringing up the rear and guarding the supplies. But these dwarves knew the importance of those supplies, and were grateful for what would probably be a relatively easy day in the saddle. Once the battle started they would be in the thick of it, running orders and information from unit to unit to help coordinate the battle, and to make sure that those supplies got where they were needed.
Engvyr missed Deandra fiercely. Her wit, her quick mind, her iron will and her soft touch. She was a balm to him, and one he needed that night. Given his druthers she would be tucked safely away in Ironhame, but she would never have stood for that. Deandra was not a person to sit and wait while there was work to be done. She was far away from the battle with people he trusted and would be safe even if he didn't survive what was to come. That was the best he could hope for.
One thing Engvyr was keenly aware of: while the battles of the coming days might break the back of the Baasgarta they would not end the war. Somewhere ahead were the plantations, the great pit-mine of the dwarven slaves and the as yet undiscovered city or cities of the Baasgarta. It was going to be a long, hard winter.
PART FOUR: THE SWORD
Chapter Thirty
“To the young, war is glorious, adventurous and romantic. To the veteran it is hard work, drudgery and boredom with brief spikes of terror, with the added spice that one can die.”
Even firm ground can become dusty after fifteen thousand men have trod upon it. Engvyr adjusted the scarf tied over his mouth and nose as the last of the supply wagons rolled past, but that did not keep his eyes from burning.
They rode close when the land was narrow, ranging far out to the flanks when the ground opened up. Riding rear-guard and watching the supply train was its own kind of awful. Not only was he eating the dust of the entire army but he was too well aware that the first sign of an ambush was likely to be a crossbow-bolt.
Taarven rode up, his clothing, gear and pony a uniform dirt gray from the dust. He lifted the edge of his scarf with the lip of his water bottle and drank before trying to speak.
“Seems like the road’s still clear behind us,” he said.
“Pretty much as we expected,” Engvyr agreed, “Seems like the Baasgarta are happy to set and wait for us to come join the party.”
Taarven favored him with an ironic look, then checked the sun's position and said, “Less'n I miss my guess they'll not be waiting much longer.”
“Going to be a bloody business. There is a powerful lot of them.”
Taarven shrugged.
“Quantity has a quality of its own, but truth be told these Baasgarta fellows aren't real good at large-scale combat. If'n I had to guess I'd say they've never fought a real war before.”
Engvyr nodded agreement, but said, “Even so, this isn't going to be a cakewalk.”
Taarven said, “That’s as may be. Regardless, we got it to do. Best we catch up.”
It was not long in fact before the column halted and a company of Heavy Infantry came back to take over guarding the supplies. The experienced teamsters quickly unhitched the oxen, laagered the wagons and the soldiers began to dig in around them.
Engvyr and Taarven unsaddled their ponies, rubbed them down and fed them. They got their bedrolls off of the saddles and lashed them across the tops of their packs. Engvyr left his long-rifle scabbarded with his tack and harness; his carbine was better suited to the job ahead. By that time a corral had been set up and the other rangers had gathered as Captain Gauer briefed them.
“The Baasgarta are massed in the next valley,” he told them, “So we're going to dig in for the night. Hopefully we can winkle them out of their hole and get them to come against us here. If not we'll assault them in the morning. They're still working on individual assignments for us, so for now just clean up and try to get a hot meal in you while they get things sorted out. Hopefully we'll all be in place by sundown. The Baasgarta will fight best in darkness but they might not want to leave their positions to come after us. I'd guess it's even odds as to whether they'll hit us tonight. Be ready!”
Engvyr cleaned the carbine meticulously before wiping the dust from the rest of his gear as best he could. By the time he had eaten, the Captain's prediction about orders proved true and he received his assignment.
“You’ll be running for Colonel Hengkvist, 3rd Battalion of the 4th Heavy Infantry. Report to him immediately; you'll find them deployed on the flanks of the 3rd Rifles at the north end of the valley.”
Engvyr grabbed his pack, nodded to his comrades and headed north at a jog. He passed through the hasty fighting positions being dug behind the lines for the 3rd to fall back into. Stopping to ask for directions he was told the colonel was on the right flank.
The 3rd Rifles were deployed in lines four ranks deep covering a half-mile of front. Two companies of Heavy Infantry anchored their flanks on either side where the ground rose at the edges of the valley. Engvyr worked his way up the slope and presented himself.
“Ranger Engvyr Gunnarson, reporting as ordered,” he said, touching the brim of his hat in salute.
The Colonel waved a hand in greeting and said, “Make yourself comfortable, Ranger. I expect you'll know if you’re needed. At any event you'll have a good view of the proceedings should the Baasgarta decide to try their luck tonight.”
He turned back to his conversation with the company commanders and Engvyr looked around for a good seat on the hillside. The battalion's Sergeant Major saw him and came over, checking the position of the sun as he did.
“I expect we've some time before our friends come a'calling. If'n you haven't had a hot meal there's still time before they shut things down.”
“Thanks, Sergeant-Major, but I'm all set,” Engvyr told him. The older soldier looked at him quizzically.
“Are you the Engvyr Gunnarson that served with the 3rd Rifles a couple decades back?”
Engvyr sighed and admitted that he was. He hoped that the Sergeant-Major wasn't going to make a big deal of it. His wish was granted when the Sergeant-Major simply nodded and said, “Thought so. Well, we oughta have a good seat for the show tonight.”
The sergeant wandered off and Engvyr looked out over the troops deployed below their position. The 3rd's lines spread out to either side of the narrow river that ran down the center of the valley. Looking at the lay of the ground and their positions he had to admit they had an excellent view.
He took a quick mental inventory. He'd had a hot meal, reported for duty, was in position and had nothing to do at the moment. That being the case he did what any experienced soldier would do under the circumstances. He sat down on the hillside so that he was comfortably propped up by his pack and went to sleep.