Out of the Darkness

Harry Turtledove is the Hugo-winning author of many SF and fantasy novels. His alternate-history novels, include the bestselling The Guns of the South, How Few Remain, the Worldwar series, and the recent Ruled Britannia. He lives with his wife and daughters in Los Angeles.

THE FOG OF WAR

"Up!" a sergeant screamed. Rock-gray dragons swooped low overhead, eggs slung under their bellies. The eggs burst in front of and inside Gromheort. Ealstan didn't know what to think about that. It made him more likely to live and his kinsfolk more likely to die. He wanted to give up thinking altogether.

"Behemoths!" That shout came in Unkerlanter. The word was nothing like its Forthwegian equivalent, which had been borrowed from Algarvian. Ealstan had had to learn it in a hurry. It meant either Help is coming or We're in trouble, depending on who owned the behemoths being shouted about.

These behemoths had Algarvians aboard them. They were sallying from Gromheort, doing their best to hold the Unkerlanters away from the town. Officers or no officers, sergeants or no sergeants, Ealstan threw himself down on the muddy ground. He'd seen behemoths in the desperate fighting in and around Eoforwic, and had a heart respect for what they could do. Most of the Unkerlanters close by him dove for cover, too. Anyone who'd had more than the tiniest taste of war knew better than to stay on his feet when enemy behemoths were in the neighborhood.

Somewhere not far away, a crystallomancer shouted into his glassy sphere...

THE FOG OF WAR

"Up!" a sergeant screamed. Rock-gray dragons swooped low overhead, eggs slung under their bellies. The eggs burst in front of and inside Gromheort. Ealstan didn't know what to think about that. It made him more likely to live and his kinsfolk more likely to die. He wanted to give up thinking altogether.

"Behemoths!" That shout came in Unkerlanter. The word was nothing like its Forthwegian equivalent, which had been borrowed from Algarvian. Ealstan had had to learn it in a hurry. It meant either Help is coming or We're in trouble, depending on who owned the behemoths being shouted about.

These behemoths had Algarvians aboard them. They were sallying from Gromheort, doing their best to hold the Unkerlanters away from the town. Officers or no officers, sergeants or no sergeants, Ealstan threw himself down on the muddy ground. He'd seen behemoths in the desperate fighting in and around Eoforwic, and had a heart respect for what they could do. Most of the Unkerlanters close by him dove for cover, too. Anyone who'd had more than the tiniest taste of war knew better than to stay on his feet when enemy behemoths were in the neighborhood.

Somewhere not far away, a crystallomancer shouted into his glassy sphere...