“This is how you should do things, Lord,” Hasso said. “Sooner or later, secrets get out, but you always want it to be later, not sooner.”

“You do make sense,” Zgomot told him. “One of the first things a ruler learns is that secrets always get out.”

Hasso thought of the American bazooka. It was a wonderful weapon – it let a foot soldier wreck a panzer without needing to creep suicidally close. As soon as the Germans saw it, they knew they wanted something like it. They made capturing one a top priority. Once they had one, the Panzerschreck got into production in a few months. And it was better than the bazooka that spawned it. With a larger-caliber rocket, it had a longer range and could pierce thicker armor.

“Later is better,” Hasso said again.

Once the Lenelli got their hands on some gunpowder – and they would, because his fuses were imperfectly reliable – how long would they need to figure out what went into it? Not too long, odds were: none of the ingredients was especially rare. How long would they need to start making their own? That could take a while. They would need to work out the right proportions. Then they would have to figure out how to mix them without blowing themselves a mile beyond the moon. So it wouldn’t be a few months. But it might be only a few years.

Cannon! Can I build a cannon? Hasso got the same answer he always did – maybe, but not right now.

And how long would the Lenelli take to realize dragon bone was thwarting their spells? Getting their hands on an amulet wouldn’t be hard, but how could you sorcerously analyze something that didn’t let you work magic? Damn good question, he thought.

Even if they did know, what could they do about it? Even if you knew what water was, could you get something to burn in it?

He wished he hadn’t thought of it that way, because you could if you were sly enough and smart enough. Magnesium would burn even underwater. If you tossed a lump of metallic sodium into water, it would start burning all by itself.

So … did the Lenelli have the sorcerous equivalent of sodium? Hasso shrugged. How was he supposed to know? He was a stranger here himself.

The Lenelli – the Lenelli of Bottero’s kingdom, anyhow – had Velona. If she wasn’t sodium, Hasso couldn’t imagine what would be. Did they know how to use her, or perhaps the goddess, to best advantage? He shrugged again. One more thing he couldn’t be sure of.

Well find out, he thought, a little – or maybe more than a little – uneasily.

Zgomot knew where he wanted to make his fight. Hasso hadn’t been there before, so he couldn’t judge the position firsthand. When he listened to Zgomot and Rautat talk about it, it sounded good. Sometimes you had to assume the other guys on your side knew what the hell they were doing.

Sometimes you got royally screwed making assumptions like that, too. Hasso had to hope this wasn’t one of those times.

Knowing where his own force would stand let Zgomot chivvy Bottero in the direction he wanted him to go. Bucovinan raiding parties shoved the Lenello line of march a little farther south than it might have gone otherwise. With a little luck, the invaders wouldn’t even notice they were getting shoved.

Peasants fled before the Lenelli. They clogged the roads. In the Low Countries and France, fleeing civilians had worked to the Wehrmacht’s advantage. They slowed up the enemy. Then, years later, German civilians fled before the Ivans and made life difficult for the army. What went around came around.

At Hasso’s suggestion, Zgomot tried channeling the refugees down some roads, with luck leaving others clear so his soldiers could move on them. It didn’t work as well as Hasso hoped. The Bucovinan traffic cops were trying something they’d never done before, and the peasants didn’t want to listen to them.

You did what you could with what you had, that was all. With a couple of machine guns and enough ammo, he could have slaughtered the Lenelli without losing a Bucovinan. With a battery of 105s, a forward observer, and a couple of radio sets, he could have slaughtered them before they got within ten kilometers of him. With experienced German Feldgendarmerie personnel, he could have kept the peasants from mucking up the roads so badly.

As things were, the soldiers had to push through and past the farmers and their livestock. They lost time doing it. They lost less time than they would have with no Bucovinans directing traffic, but more than Hasso liked.

“We will use more gunpowder in front of the Lenelli to slow them down, too,” Zgomot said when Hasso complained. “Things will even out.”

“So they will.” Hasso knew he sounded surprised. He should have thought of that himself. Good thing somebody did. No, no flies on Zgomot. Who was the barbarian, anyway?

One evening, Hasso saw the smoke of Lenello campfires – or maybe of farmhouses the Lenelli were burning – rising against the bright western sky. “Soon now,” he said.

“Yes.” Zgomot nodded. He was never a talky man. The closer the battle came, the less he said. His whole realm rode on this, and he felt the pressure. Well, why wouldn’t he, the poor son of a bitch?

Hasso said, “We put the Hedgehogs in front of the catapults, yes?” The Lord of Bucovin nodded. Hasso continued, “On their flanks, we dig trenches. That way, we worry not so much about other troops protecting them.”

“Bottero’s men will see the trenches,” Zgomot said.

“Ja. So what? They see they can’t get past them. They go fight somewhere else. We want them to do that, yes?”

“Yes.” Zgomot nodded. “We will dig – if we have time.”

More smoke fouled the horizon the next day. The day after that, the Bucovinans came to Zgomot’s chosen battle site. Hasso smiled when he saw it – the Lord of Bucovin could pick ‘em, all right. Well, the German had already found that out the hard way. If Zgomot couldn’t pick ‘em, Hasso would still be fighting for the other side. Falticeni might have fallen. If it hadn’t, it would this time around for sure. And he would still be bedding Velona. Details, details…

Details here looked good. A small river anchored the Bucovinan right – the Lenelli wouldn’t turn that flank. On the left, a forest made it hard for the enemy to get through. Zgomot would have to post some soldiers in there, but not many. If Bottero wanted to get past the Bucovinans, he’d have to come right at them.

And he would. Hasso knew the Lenello king well enough to be sure of that. Down in his gut, Bottero wouldn’t believe a bunch of Grenye savages could stop his knights. Yes, they’d done it the autumn before, but with a trick. He’d have his wizards looking for pitfalls this time. He wouldn’t get fooled the same way twice, and he wouldn’t think the natives could come up with two new things in a row.

By now he would know about gunpowder, of course. Bucovinans swarmed over the field in front of where they would post their line. At Hasso’s direction, they dug dummy mines and planted real ones. A lot of the real ones were nearer the trees, where soldiers could light the fuses without risking their lives … too much. Minefields weren’t made to stop enemies, though. They were made to channel them. These would aim the Lenelli right at the catapults.

That would be great – if the Hedgehogs did their job. Could they really hold off horsemen? Could they, say, hold off a deep striking column? If they couldn’t, Lord Zgomot’s strong position was, in a word, fucked. If they can’t, I am, in a word, dead, Hasso thought.

He spoke to them: “You have to stand fast. No matter what, you have to. If you do, we win. Bucovin wins. If you don’t, you screw us all. Have you got that?”

“Yes!” they shouted. They seemed eager enough. How eager they’d be when Lenello knights on big horses couched lances and thundered down on them, Hasso would just have to see. Even in the fight the Bucovinans lost the autumn before, he’d thought they were plenty brave. Now they had better tools to be brave with. Maybe that would turn the trick. He had to hope so.