When he could, he got up and washed the dirt and blood off his face. The Lenelli pounded his back, which hurt almost as much as getting beaten up had. They pressed mug after mug of that indifferent beer into his hand. He drank everything they gave him. Maybe it would numb him a little. Any which way, it was less likely to give him the runs than the local water.

Sholseth asked him something. The battered would – be tough guy was drinking beer, too. His head had to be killing him. Hasso didn’t understand the question, but it was bound to be something like, Where did you learn all that stuff?

Another Lenello made cut – and – thrust motions and shook his head as he asked his own question. That had to be, So how come you can’t use a sword worth a damn? Hasso shrugged. Nobody’d ever bothered teaching him a weapon like that. He had no trouble with a spear. If you could fight with a bayoneted rifle and an entrenching tool, spear drill was a piece of cake.

He could use a crossbow, too, once he figured out how to crank it up to reload. Its bolts flew flat and straight, like bullets. The Lenelli even had sights to aim along. A hunting bow, on the other hand … To call him hopeless gave him the benefit of the doubt.

Someone in the watchtower winded a horn. One long, flat note – the warriors relaxed. That meant more Lenelli on the road approaching Castle Svarag. A series of shorter blasts would have been trouble: the Grenye sneaking around again.

Hasso wasn’t sure how things worked around here. He hadn’t seen enough of this world yet. He hadn’t seen any of it, in fact, except for the swamp and the stretch of road between where he’d rescued Velona and this castle. But the Lenelli seemed to have Untermenschen problems like the Reich’s in Russia.