In this case, guns in the hands of Adrian’s own Fighting Band. The long two-man arquebuses which they favored wouldn’t have fit inside the wagons. The Reedbottom gunners were armed with the crudest possible firearms, the kind which Prelotta’s own blacksmiths and helpers could produce once Adrian and his experienced gunmakers showed them the trick of it. Short-barreled, with big bores—something Adrian called “.75 caliber.” The weapons were incredibly inaccurate, beyond close range. But they had been designed for close-range fighting, after all, and Helga knew that if those heavy bullets did hit a man they would hammer him down. The shields used by Confederate regulars, so effective at deflecting javelins and arrows and slung stones, would be useless.
Helga shook her head, a bit ruefully. Emerald scholar or not, in his own bizarre manner Adrian had devised a method of warfare which amounted to a moving version of the Confederate army camps which had kept Vanbert’s enemies at bay for centuries.
And bizarre it was, too. Adrian claimed this tactic had first been used on a planet called “Earth” somewhere back even before the times of the legends. By somebody with the peculiar name of Jan Zizka, and the Hussites. Then, of course, he’d had to explain to her what a “planet” really was. She remained skeptical. Or, perhaps, it was simply that she had fond memories of Ion Jeschonyk. It had been he, on one of his visits to her father’s estate, who’d explained to Helga at the age of eight that “planets” were really the spirits of the gods. Had to be. They moved, didn’t they, unlike all the other stars?
Helga also wondered how these “Hussites” would have moved their wagons. The Reedbottoms only managed it because they were one of the few tribes which had domesticated the enormous animals called “tuskbeasts.” Helga had heard of them, of course, but never seen one until she came to the southern half of the continent. They reminded her of giant pigs, more than anything.
Placid enough brutes, though, at least usually. The Reedbottoms used them extensively in their agriculture. Tuskbeasts were even slower moving than greatbeasts, but with their size and strength they could dredge fields and create dykes where a smaller animal would be overmatched.
She could hear the tuskbeasts making their peculiar snorting sounds, over in the corrals which Prelotta had erected in the middle of the laager. They had been herded there after pulling the wagons into place, along with the greatbeasts which had been plundered from the countryside. Separate corrals hadn’t been needed, as they would have been for velipads. Greatbeasts were cantankerous brutes, given to extreme territoriality. But not even an old bull was going to pester a tuskbeast.
“It’s time to go, ma’am,” urged Lortz. “Past time.”
Helga didn’t argue the point. Following her guard, Jessep at her side, she trotted toward the central compound several hundred yards away.
She heard a peculiar sound behind her, and started to turn around. But Jessep’s firm hand on her shoulder kept her moving steadily forward.
“That’s a bolt from a ballista, girl. And—trust me—this is as close as you want to hear it. Too close.” A moment later: “It’s starting, may the gods look kindly upon us. Though I can’t think of any reason they would.”
Neither could Helga. She began walking more quickly.
A new sound now, a thud. Several. She had no trouble this time figuring out what it was. That was the sound of a spear driving into wood. A very big spear.
She broke into a trot.
“Good girl,” approved Jessep.
Chapter 25
By the time she reached the compound, however, she’d slowed back down to a brisk walk. She was the daughter of Verice Demansk, after all, even if almost no one here knew it.
Dignity, dignity.
The compound was a small laager itself, formed in the same manner as the larger one surrounding it, except the shields covering the interstices and the undercarriages were absent. It was not more than two hundred feet across, with the log tower rising from the very center.
She’d assumed Adrian would be on top of the tower, but discovered instead that he was still in their own wagon. Standing beside it, rather, maneuvering a ladder into place with the help of one of the soldiers in Helga’s hundred. The hundred itself had taken up positions guarding the wagon. They would not take part in this battle at all, hopefully, unlike Adrian’s men. Their job was to protect Helga, the politics of the whole thing be damned.