Clan and Crown

"The cowards flee!" the bheroman shouted.

They must hold, Ganton thought. He drew the Browning and fired toward Lord Epimenes's ba

Epimenes reined in. It wasn't clear whether he had been won over by Ganton's words or by the ax and pistol the Wanax carried, but the futile pursuit was stopped.

"Trumpets, sound the walk," Ganton shouted. In a more normal voice he spoke to the group around him. "We have broken through the first line. When we reach the top of yonder rise, we charge again. Morrone!"

"Sire!"

"Ride to the right flank, where Lord Enipses commands, and be certain that he follows where we lead." He pointed up the valley. "Lord Epimenes will remain to guard me. And return safely-"

"Aye, Majesty."

Ganton rose in his stirrups and gri

The host swept north and east.

"Major!" Hal Roscoe ran up shouting. "Here they come again!"

"Yeah, I see 'em," Mason said. He looked up and down his line and prepared to hold off yet another charge from the enemy.

If there'd been more ammo for the mortar It's no friggin' good. Mentally he counted magazines. Enough to get out of here, he thought. Hold 'em off until dark and go for it. We'll lose the wounded, and a lot of the equipment, but I don't see what else to do. We can't go after 'em, and these damn little hills give us too little clear field of fire for the rifles.

"Make ready to shoot!" he shouted. "Rolling volley from the left. Take aim! Fire!"

The calivermen fired and reloaded as fast as they could, and Mason used his own H amp;K to good effect. No point in acting like an officer now, he thought. I'm not all that good a one anyway, and there ain't that many orders to give "Cross the valley, Art!" Murphy yelled. "For God's sake, look!"

Mason stared across the river. "Holy crap! Look alive, troops! Looks like our little king's remembered us."

The Drantos heavies were coming down the hill. All of them. At least all that had horses. A few had drawn right up to the top of the ridge and set up a shield wall, but damn near the whole army of Drantos was riding down that hill.

The wild charge came down the mountain like a wall. From Mason's distance it looked like a huge wave that washed across the line of Westmen, leaving a wake of dead and dying behind it as the armored men simply rode the lighter horsemen down.

The front ranks were damned near solid with ba

Then they swerved left, pivoting around the golden helmet.

"What now?" Murphy asked.

Mason frowned. "Don't know. But I'll bet you anything you like that kid knows what he's doing."

Murphy shaded his eyes and watched the last of the Drantos heavies vanish into the dust, then turned back to picking off advancing Westmen. "I sure hope you're right," he said.

Julius Sulpicius, primus pilus of the Fourth Legion, rode up to Titus Frugi and saluted. "Those scouts we sent forward are late coming back," he said. He could have said that it was unlikely that they would return at all; but there was no need for that. One didn't work up to First Centurion of a legion by chattering at generals of Titus Frugi's years and experience.

Frugi cursed under his breath. That was the fourth scouting party he'd sent upriver. One had returned, unable to pierce the combination of Westmen and dust. The other three had not come back at all.

From time to time Titus Frugi had made out a gleam on the tip of a ridge far up the valley; a gleam and what seemed to be a ba

Certainly the starmen and their Tamaerthan allies were holding another hilltop across the river.

"Third Cohort says the barbarians are thickening up toward the rear," Sulpicius added. His fifteen years of following the eagles gave him the right to say more, but with Titus Frugi that wasn't needed. His tone made the implied question clear enough: isn't it about time we get the hell out of here?

It was, but that didn't much appeal to Frugi. Withdrawing without orders would endanger an alliance that was all that stood between the Westmen and the Roman borders-if the legends were right, these Westmen had once come all the way to the gates of sacred Rome herself! No. Better to stand here, even if it cost the legion.

But-are we doing well? he wondered. We have taken positions here, and none will come past us, but what good do we do? From time to time the Westmen would try the Romans' mettle, but when they found they could not induce the Romans into futile wild charges they soon abandoned the sport. Now there were thousands-perhaps tens of thousands-of Westmen somewhere out in front of the legion, but they would not stay to receive a charge. Titus Frugi had fought many enemies in his service to Rome, but never one that he could not find! Yet between the dust and the hills that was precisely the difficulty; and if he thrashed about in that dust searching for the enemy, the horses would tire, and then he would indeed be lost.

Trumpets sounded at the forward outposts, and now the decurion and men he'd stationed out there as a screen were galloping back toward the main lines. More trumpets. "TO HORSE!" they sang, and if the centurions ordered that without asking Frugi's permission, the enemy was in sight! As he rode forward, the first of the Westmen came over the brow of the small hillock in front of the Roman lines.

The centurions knew their business. The cohortes equitates came forward with their shields and spears to protect the horse archers, while the cataphracti shot the Westmen down- Shot them down, and the Westmen hardly resisted!

"This is no charge!" Titus Frugi shouted.

"Legate, you are right!" Sulpicius shouted. "They flee! But-what?"

Could it be a trick? No. The Westmen were clever, even devilishly clever, but they had not the discipline to sacrifice so many as a ruse. No, they fled an enemy behind them, fled in terror "Trumpet to arms!" Titus Frugi called. "Sound the 'Make ready.' The legion will advance! Fifth and

Sixth Cohorts to the wings to cut off enemy escape." A cheer rang down the lines. Even the iron disciplined Romans hated standing in place to be shot at.

"At the walk!"

The Roman line moved forward, down the slope and up the next, into the dust beyond. As they did, more Westmen poured out. The centurions hastily put men with shields and lances in the front ranks, spacing them so that the archers in the next rank could shoot between them. The cohortes equitates clung to the saddles of their mounted comrades; when the Westmen charged they moved expertly forward with spear and shield to catch the Westmen from below while the cataphracti threatened them from horseback. More Westmen died.

Then they were over the brow of the hill. The narrow valley below was a cauldron of dust and noise, trumpets of Drantos mingled with the screams of the Westmen and their horses. The Westmen were bunched together, trapped in the small valley so that they could not use their weapons, and with the Drantos force between them and the river, and the Romans coming in from behind, they could not run away.