The Carpet People

them remember it. Get the pones ready. We’ll use everything we’ve got.’
    ‘Everything?’ said Brocando. ‘Right.’ He trotted his pony back along the ditch.
    They waited.
    ‘How much food have we got?’ said Snibril, after a while.
    ‘Four or five meals’ worth, for everyone,’ said Bane, absently.
    ‘That’s not much.’
    ‘It may be more than enough,’ said Bane.
    They waited some more.
    ‘Waiting is the worst part,’ said Pismire.
    ‘No it isn’t,’ said Owlglass, who wasn’t even being trusted to hold a sword. ‘I expect that having long sharp swords stuck in you is the worst part. Waiting’s just boring. When I say boring, I mean—’
    ‘Here they come,’ said Glurk, picking up his spear.
    ‘They’ve moved around,’ said Bane. ‘Putting everything they’ve got in one place. Right. Has anyone got a spare sword?’
    In the end, it’s people fighting. Charges and counter-charges. Arrows and spears everywhere. Swords cutting bits off people. Afterwards, historians draw maps and put little coloured oblongs on them and big wide arrows to indicate that this is where the Deftmenes caught a whole crowd of mouls unawares, and here is where the pones trampled some snargs, and here is where Mealy’s Irregulars were trapped and were only rescued by a determined rush by a group of Munrungs. And sometimes there are crosses – this is where Bane brought down a moul chief, there is where Owlglass laid out a snarg by accident.
    The maps can’t show the fear, and the noise, andthe excitement. Afterwards it’s better. Because if there’s an afterwards, it’s because you’re still alive. Half the time no one knows what happened until it’s over. Sometimes you don’t know even who’s won until you’ve counted . . .
    Snibril ducked and stabbed his way through the mêlée. There seemed to be mouls everywhere. One caught him a cut on his shoulder, and he didn’t even notice until afterwards.
    And then he was in a clearer area, mouls all around him, swords upraised—
    ’Wait.’
    There was Jornarileesh, the moul leader, with a paw held up.
    ‘Not yet. See we are not disturbed.’ He looked down at Snibril. ‘You were out there, with the others. And tried to save the fat little Emperor. I am curious. Why are you still fighting? Your city is destroyed. You cannot win.’
    ‘Ware’s not destroyed until we stop fighting,’ said Snibril.
    ‘Really? How can this be?’
    ‘Because . . . because if Ware is anywhere, it’s inside people,’ said Snibril.
    ‘Then we shall have to see if we can find it,’ said Jornarileesh meaningfully.
    There was trumpeting behind him, and the group scattered as a pone stampeded through the fight.Snibril dived for safety. When he looked back, the moul was back in the fray.
    And the defenders were losing. You could feel it in the air. For every moul that was beaten, there were two more to take their place.
    He rolled down a slope and found Bane there, holding off a couple of the enemy. As Snibril landed, one of the mouls sunk to the ground. A backhand swipe took care of the other.
    ‘We’re losing,’ said Snibril. ‘We need a miracle.’
    ‘Miracles don’t win battles,’ said Bane. Half a dozen more mouls appeared around the rubble of a half-destroyed building. ‘Superior numbers and better tactics—’
    There was a bugle call behind them. The mouls turned.
    There was another army advancing. It wasn’t very big, but it was determined. Brocando was in the lead. They could hear his shout over the noise.
    ‘Madam! Hold it by the other end! Now, now, ladies, don’t all push! Careful of that spear, you could do someone a mischief—’
    ‘Isn’t that the point, young man?’ said an old lady who shouldn’t have been anywhere near a battlefield.
    ‘No, madam, that is the butt. The point is the sharp bit at the other end.’
    ‘Then out of the way, young man, so’s I can use it. ‘
    The mouls were staring in astonishment. Snibril hit two of them over the head before the others had time to react, and by then it was too late.
    The women weren’t the most efficient fighters Bane had ever seen, but Brocando had spent a couple of days giving them some secret training. Mealy had helped, too. And they were keen. Besides, not having been trained as proper soldiers was even a help. Dumii soldiers learned their tic-toc sword drill, and weren’t up to novel ways invented as you went along, like hitting an enemy across the back of the knees with the end