None of them knew anything about the kingdom they were supposed to help preserve. Of all of them only Lieutenant Trubacik spoke the language.
Those facts had weighed on Bragi throughout the march. As Reskird had observed, his corporal's belt had gone to his head. He had begun to take leadership seriously.
And there was little to do but think while walking.
Even the Captain was exhausted. The company broke discipline that first night. Not one spadeful of earth got turned along the camp perimeter.
The lapse lasted only that night. Next day Sanguinet moved deeper into the wood and commenced work on a semi-permanent base camp. Scouts made contact with a band of desert Royalists using the Bergwold for the same purpose. Sanguinet concluded a loose alliance.
For weeks they did little but patrol the farmland surrounding the forest. The patrols were half-hearted. The desert horsemen covered more territory faster, and the local nobility went out of their way to keep Sanguinet posted.
Such was the Guild's reputation.
"It feels good," Bragi confided to his brother. "One lousy company and these people figure the kingdom is saved."
"What happens when we don't live up to expectation?" Haaken grumped. Then, "Maybe that's why we're here. Morale. Maybe High Crag knows what it's doing."
"Maybe." Bragi's tone carried the skepticism every line soldier feels for the intellectuals of his trade.
He and his men did a lot of fishing and poking around the Colberg. More interesting diversions were not available.
Word finally came that the enemy was moving. Prince Raithel had met them and been defeated. He was retreating northward and needed reinforcements.
"Here we go again," Haaken grumbled as he shouldered his pack. "Why don't we just wait till they come here?"
"The Master Strategist has spoken," said Reskird. "Bragi, get him an appointment with the Captain."
"I got a sock if you want it, Bragi."
Ragnarson ignored them. Haaken's and Reskird's bickering had become ritualized. There was no rancor in it. It had become a time-passing game.
They never saw Raithel's army. The company found its own enemies twelve miles south of the Colberg.
"Oh-oh," Reskird groaned in his soothsayer's voice. "Trouble."
Royalist outriders galloped past the column in a panic, coming from the crossroad the company had passed a half mile back.
"You the official doom-crier now?" Haaken demanded.
"Company conference!" Sanguinet shouted after stopping one of the horsemen. "Come on! Move it!"
The Captain put it bluntly. "We're in for it. There's a mob of El Murid's men coming down that side road back there. We can't outrun them. They've already spotted us." He flung a hand at a brushy sugarloaf hill a mile away. The road snaked around its western base. "We'll go up yon hill and dig in. If you're religious, pray your ass off. There's a thousand of the bastards." He exaggerated. There were five hundred of the enemy. But that was trouble enough.
Bragi's squad stood to their weapons while their backups dug in. "Some friends," Haaken grumbled, watching the last of the Royalists gallop away. "We might've had a chance with their help."
"We still stand a damned good chance," Bragi said. "We're Guildsmen, remember?"
Reskird glanced over his shoulder. "Look at that dirt fly."
The secundus and tercio flailed at the earth. "Nothing like an unfriendly sword to motivate a man," Bragi observed.
The enemy reached the foot of the hill and halted. His commanders conferred. They seemed reluctant to attack.
"Hey!" Bragi said. "Some of those guys are westerners. Haaken. Can you make out their colors? Aren't they the same as those guys we met in Itaskia wore? Right after we came out of the mountains?"
Haaken peered. "I think you're right. Greyfells. Maybe this is another gang of Royalists."
"How come ours ran off, then?"
Sanguinet came to stand beside Ragnarson. "Itaskians?"
"Yes sir. Those are Greyfells colors."
"Lieutenant Trubacik. Take a white flag down. Find out who they are."
The command argument below continued till Trubacik approached and said something.
It electrified his listeners.
A man with wild grey hair cut Trubacik down.
A deep-throated roar rose from the hillside.
"We did something wrong," Bragi said. "But what?"
"Don't worry about it now," Sanguinet told him. "Worry about staying alive. They've made up their minds. They're coming."
The wild-haired horseman whipped his followers into line for a charge.
"Behind the ditch," Sanguinet ordered. "Primus, stand to your spears and shields. Bowmen, make every arrow count while they're coming through the brush. Men, if we turn their first attack we'll have our bluff in."
The enemy commander sent most of his warriors, holding only about eighty in reserve. Their animals struggled with the brush and the steep slope. The better Guild bowmen began taking them at extreme range. At least fifty did not reach the ditch, which lay just above the worst part of the slope.
The first riders up tried to jump the ditch but their animals had been ridden hard before being compelled to scale the hillside. Only a handful made the leap successfully. The others found their hindquarters dropping into the trench. They floundered around, blocking the progress of those behind them. Guild spearmen filled the trench with dead and dying animals.
The slower attackers walked their mounts into the ditch and up its farther side—into the thrusting spears. More animals went down. Only a handful maintained the momentum to crash the Guild battle line.
Guild arrows kept pounding into those farther down the slope.
Horsemen began leaping from their saddles and throwing themselves at the shield wall.
That was what Sanguinet wanted.
Bragi dropped his bloody spear and started plying his sword. The enemy kept coming. His dead and wounded carpeted the slope and filled the ditch.
Ragnarson pushed an attacker away with his shield. Three more leapt to take the man's place. He took one, but their combined weight forced him back a step. Perforce, Haaken and Reskird adjusted their positions so they could keep their shields locked with his.
A few riders answered the Guild arrows with shafts of their own. They did no damage because the secundus and tercio turtled with their shields.
Though the assault lasted only minutes, Bragi thought it an eternity before El Murid's warriors began to waver. At least a hundred of their number, and as many horses, had fallen.
The man with the wild hair rallied them. They began pressing again.
It was a slaughter without respite. Six, seven, eight of the desert horsemen went down for every Guildsman. But their captain kept driving them forward.
If that fool keeps on, he'll lose his whole command, Bragi thought. Why's he so desperate to wipe us out?
Then he heard Sanguinet shouting behind the line.
He dared not turn, but knew what had happened. The warriors who had not joined the initial assault had raced around the hill to attack from the rear. Sanguinet was trying to stop them.
The Captain succeeded, but only at the cost of taking his archers away from their bows.
The pressure on the main line redoubled. The shield wall began cracking. Desert warriors pushed into the gaps.
Bragi, Haaken, and Reskird soon found themselves isolated. They backed into a triangle and kept fighting as weary horses pushed past. "Andy! Raul!" Bragi shouted. "Push over here and link back up. Haaken, step backward when I say. Reskird, be ready to fit them in." He kept stabbing and cutting while he shouted.