"Something even better." A low metal box, drab green) in color, lay on the planking next to the crate. Egon bent down and flicked open the latches that held the lid down. "Behold." He flipped the lid over, to reveal the contents- a gun.
"One of the tinkers'," Otto noted, forgetting to hold his tongue. "An arms dump?"
"Yes." Egon straightened up. "My sources told me about them, so I had my-helpers-go looking." He looked at Otto, his face unreadable. "Twenty years ago, thirty years ago, the witch families handed their collective security to the white duke. He standardized them. Their guns, your pistol-" he gestured at Otto's holster-"when you run out of their cartridges, what will you do?"
Otto shrugged. "It's a problem, sire. We can't make any-thing like these."
Egon nodded. "They have tried hard to conceal a dirty little secret: the truth is, neither can they. So they stockpile cartridges of a common size and type, purchased from the demons in the shadow world. Your pistol uses the same kind as my carbine. But they kept something better for themselves. This is a, an M60, a
Otto looked at the gun. It was bigger than the king's MP5, almost as long as a musket. Then he looked at the crate. "How much do you have, sire?"
"Not enough." Egon frowned. "Four crates, almost eighty thousand rounds, six guns. And some very fine blasting powder."
"Only six-" Otto stopped. "They haven't noticed?"
The king lowered the lid back on top of the gun. "Ten years ago, the witches began to re-equip with a better weapon." He patted the MP5: "These are deadly, are they not? But it is a side-arm. They held the M60s to defend their castles and keeps. But they're heavy and take a lot of ammunition. They have a new gun now, the SAW. And it takes different ammunition, lighter, with a shorter range- still far greater than anything we have, though, near as far as a twelve pounder can throw shot, and why not? A soldier with one of the new demon-guns can carry twice as much ammunition, and war among the witches is always about mobility. So they gradually forgot about the M60s, leaving the crates of ammunition in the cellars of their houses, and they forgot about the guns, too." The royal smile reap-peared. "But their servants remembered."
"Sire. How would you have me use these guns?"
The royal smile broadened.
"The foe has been informed, by hitherto unimpeachable sources, that I will be attacking Castle Hjorth in the next week. They will concentrate in defense of the castle, which as the gateway to the Eagle hills would indeed be a prize worth capturing. Baron Drakel, who is already on his way there at the head of a battalion of pike and musketry, has the honor of ensuring that the witches have targets to aim their lire at. Meanwhile, the majority of the forces camped here will leave on the morrow for the real target. Your task is to spend a day with your best hand-men, and with my armorers, who will remain behind, instructing you in the use of the machine guns, and the explosives. Then you will follow the main force, who will not be aware of your task."
"Sire! This is a great honor, I am sure, but am I to understand that you do not want to bring these guns to bear in the initial battle?"
"Yes." Egon stared at the baron, his eyes disturbingly clear. "There are traitors in the midst of my army, Otto. I know for a fact that you are not one of them-"Otto shuddered as if a spider had crawled across his grave"-but this imposes certain difficulties upon my planning."
Otto glanced round. The two royal bodyguards stood! with their backs to him. "Sire?"
"The witches cannot be defeated by conventional means, Otto. If we besiege them, they can simply vanish into their shadow world. There they can move faster than we can, obtain weapons of dire power from their demonic masters, and continue their war against us. So to rid my kingdom of their immediate influence, I must render their castles and palaces useless as strong points."
