It was common sense, of course, for the Husaria took pride in their mounts, and to shoot directly over the horses’ heads would be to risk burning the precious beasts’ ears. And each rider had been taught to bring those arms to bear by turning his horse to the left, drawing the pistol holstered on the right-hand side of the saddle, and firing at right angles. Antczak’s men each carried a brace of pistols. He had brought his remaining horsemen to within fifty paces of the river while the men on foot were blinded by their own powder smoke. Lujan Antczak could not believe his good fortune. And Stryker knew that he should have stayed with the wagon. More cracks rippled out in response, but these were different, higher pitched and crisper, the sounds of pistols. A couple of sporadic shots coughed from the foot soldiers’ position, fired by men too slow in loading their weapons. ‘The rest of you,’ he addressed the other pikemen, ‘come with me.’Īnd then he was away, stumbling over the treacherous rubble of the ford, water spraying liberally up his breeches as his boots kicked on, the smoke-wreathed east bank in his sights. Matthias clung to Stryker as a drowning man might cling to driftwood, but Stryker shook him off roughly.
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