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- Jan 22, 2008
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A cavalry unit is riding north to try to seize ground before an enemy army can take it, to force the enemy to fight at a disadvantage. Albrecht and Margot are riding with them. The rest of the army is marching up behind them. The terrain is rather like the South Tyrol, so a mixture of Italian and Austrian. Nightwing is a friendly wyvern.
My main question is whether it all all feels convincing: in particular, the pacing of the riding and the look of the countryside. Any other thoughts would be welcomed too.
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They followed the road north. There had been a little rain during the night, and the ground was firm enough. By the time that the cannon trains and the camp followers walked this way, Albrecht reckoned, it would be thick mud.
The Hundred Swords rode in a fast trot that sped into a canter and then dropped down again as the horses tired. Albrecht saw riders move up the column and drop away as they pushed and rested their horses. Several riders nodded to him; one old fellow waved and smiled.
“This is how we used to do it,” Albrecht called to Margot. “This is how you cover ground quickly.”
She grinned at him. “No,” she replied, “that is.” She pointed, and he saw a vast shadow sweep over the land like a wave. He looked up and saw Nightwing soaring overhead.
They rode through a sea of fields, many of them staked with vines. A outcrop of grey stone rose from the fields like the back of a whale breaking the surface, and on top of it was a white church with a high steeple. The church was silent as they rode past.
Chunks of forest broke up the landscape; conifers jabbed upwards like barbed arrowheads. On both sides, the hills began to rise into mountains.
The sun shone, but the air was cold and fresh and full of the scent of pines. This was cavalry country, Albrecht thought. His mind drew lines across the fields like those in the old military textbooks: thrusts forward and arcing blows to the flanks like hooked punches to catch an enemy by surprise.
“Beautiful place, isn’t it?” Margot called to him.
For now, he thought. “You’d hardly know there was a war on!” he shouted back.
The sun swung across the sky and they rode for as long as they dared. As dusk set in, Francesco slowed the column to a walk, and then sent the signal to stop. A farm stood a mile to the east, apparently abandoned. Its walls would give them some cover if they were attacked. Too bad we couldn’t hold that church, Albrecht thought, but it was too far behind. What mattered now was taking ground, picking the place where they would fight.
My main question is whether it all all feels convincing: in particular, the pacing of the riding and the look of the countryside. Any other thoughts would be welcomed too.
-
They followed the road north. There had been a little rain during the night, and the ground was firm enough. By the time that the cannon trains and the camp followers walked this way, Albrecht reckoned, it would be thick mud.
The Hundred Swords rode in a fast trot that sped into a canter and then dropped down again as the horses tired. Albrecht saw riders move up the column and drop away as they pushed and rested their horses. Several riders nodded to him; one old fellow waved and smiled.
“This is how we used to do it,” Albrecht called to Margot. “This is how you cover ground quickly.”
She grinned at him. “No,” she replied, “that is.” She pointed, and he saw a vast shadow sweep over the land like a wave. He looked up and saw Nightwing soaring overhead.
They rode through a sea of fields, many of them staked with vines. A outcrop of grey stone rose from the fields like the back of a whale breaking the surface, and on top of it was a white church with a high steeple. The church was silent as they rode past.
Chunks of forest broke up the landscape; conifers jabbed upwards like barbed arrowheads. On both sides, the hills began to rise into mountains.
The sun shone, but the air was cold and fresh and full of the scent of pines. This was cavalry country, Albrecht thought. His mind drew lines across the fields like those in the old military textbooks: thrusts forward and arcing blows to the flanks like hooked punches to catch an enemy by surprise.
“Beautiful place, isn’t it?” Margot called to him.
For now, he thought. “You’d hardly know there was a war on!” he shouted back.
The sun swung across the sky and they rode for as long as they dared. As dusk set in, Francesco slowed the column to a walk, and then sent the signal to stop. A farm stood a mile to the east, apparently abandoned. Its walls would give them some cover if they were attacked. Too bad we couldn’t hold that church, Albrecht thought, but it was too far behind. What mattered now was taking ground, picking the place where they would fight.