“God Almighty!” Pfc. Roscoe yelled. “Those are mean little mothers!”
“Kinda my sentiments too,” Murphy said. “Art, we going to get out of this?”
“We can sure as hell try.”
The LMG got in the act, bringing down nearly a hundred Westmen, and Art began to breathe a little easier. The mortar chugged away, lobbing WP and HE into the advance, and suddenly the Westmen didn’t look so confident—but they were still coming. It wasn’t going to be enough.
“Stand by to pull out!” Mason shouted in English, then switched to Tran dialect. “The First Guards will withdraw! Trumpeter, sound ‘Boots and Saddles.’ Rendezvous at Point Blue One.” That was the mouth of the valley where Beazeley’s squad was guarding the balloon and the reserve ammo. A strong place. Maybe not so easy to get out of, but easy to hold. Mason shook his head. Wish the captain was here. What would he do? Don’t matter. What I’m going to do is get my shit together. Then we can make a stand or run like hell, depending. That’s what the Drantos troops have done. Got a strong place across the valley where they can think things over. Wonder what they intend doing?
There were more arrows, and suddenly Bilofsky rolled over, staring at an arrow sticking out of his chest. The damned fool wasn’t wearing armor! His number two, Pfc. Arkos Passavopolous, took over, but the belt ran out a long time before the Westmen did. Mason rode over. “Hey Ark! Get Bilof sky onto a horse!”
“No hurry about that, Major. Best I save the gun first.”
“Shitfire. Okay, do it, fast!” Then his horse spooked, and while it was bucking another flight of arrows came in. The horse screamed and reared, and Art threw himself out of the saddle before it could fall on him. He went one way and the H&K went another, and now there was nothing left but the Colt. Mason held it in both hands and squeezed off rounds. One Westman down. Another, and another, but more were coming up, trampling over the dead and dying, lots more than he had rounds for the Colt, and Mason decided he hadn’t really wanted to live forever.
A great black horse loomed up behind the advancing Westmen, and a sword whirled and came down. A Westman tried to keep going with one arm off, and didn’t make it. Another fell headless. The horse trampled two more, and then calivermen and Tamaerthan troopers were among the Westmen. The calivermen used bayonets with effect, and a few had reloaded and were able to fire. More of the Tamaerthans charged in, and the Westmen began to thin out. Then there weren’t any at all.
Mason stood up as Caradoc rode up the hill. “Thanks.”
Caradoc grinned and pointed with his bloody saber. Squads of troops moved off to deal with dismounted Westmen. The archer captain waved again, and another trooper brought Mason a fresh mount, and now they had a few minutes breathing spell, but it was still going to be close.
Then he looked up and saw a new army of Westmen come over the ridge, and Art Mason wondered how many would make it to Point Blue One.
There was no water on the hill where the fighting men of Drantos were gathered. Wanax Ganton had been about to drink when a young staff officer brought the news from Camithon. “The spring was filled with dirt and dung, Majesty. It will be long before it flows again.”
Ganfon thrust the plug into the mouth of the Waterskin and handed it back to Morrone. So be it. “From this moment, the water is for the horses,” he said. “Tell the captains.”
“Aye, Majesty.” The young officer hesitated, then set his lips. “Lord Camithon bids me say we have lost above two hundred men at arms killed, and another five hundred have been given to the care of the priests of Yatar.”
“That many,” Ganton mused. He straightened. “Tell Lord Camithon I will join him soon, and meantime he is to do as he thinks best. And tell all about the water.”
“Aye, Majesty.”
When the messenger had gone, Morrone whistled through pursed lips. “An eighth, more than an eighth of our strength lost, and now we are at bay, trapped upon a hill without water. What will we do?”
“I do not yet know,” Ganton said.. “First we will show ourselves to the soldiers. As we do, we will discover how it fares with them, and whether they will fight. And then we will take counsel of Lord Camithon. He has seen more battles than I have of years. Doubtless his advice will be good.” And if not, I must yet listen. The Lord Rick has often told me that battles wander far from what we plan, and by Yatar this one has done so. Now we need harmony among the captains, and they must not believe I quarrel with Camithon.
He rode along the ridge with only his banner bearer and Morrone. Sometimes he stopped to hear a wounded man’s message, or to praise a deed he had seen or been told of; and always he listened as he rode past. They cheered him yet, and he felt glad. They would follow him.
Across the valley the thunder of star weapons grew, then died. He climbed higher on the ridge and used the binoculars. There was no doubt of it. The Lord Mason was retreating, taking with him all the mounted archers and other Tamaerthan warriors as well as the starmen. Ganton was shocked at how few Tamaerthans remained.
Yet there were no instructions from the balloon. It floated high above the battle, but Ganton could not see the men within it. Had they been killed? Despite all his warnings, the forces of the Alliance had become separated, and the balloon left guarded only by a few. No one had desired it, but the Westmen had poured from behind every hill, across every ridge and through every valley, more Westmen than anyone believed possible, and bands of them had got between the host and the balloon.
Perhaps there would be no messages from the balloon.
He recognized Caradoc’s scarlet Roman cloak, and saw figures in starman uniforms. Some lay still, lashed across saddles. The towering soldier they called “the Great Ark” rode a captured pony so small that his legs nearly touched the ground. Others had rigged poles out behind their horses and had lashed equipment onto them. They retreated in good order, fighting their way toward the balloon.
The valley below was a cauldron. Ganton swept his binoculars across the land again. The Westmen seemed divided in counsel. Some rode after Mason. Others milled about, shouting at each other.
And meantime there was nothing to do but wait, while the day grew warmer. Ganton cursed softly and once again looked toward the futile balloon. Where were the Romans? Were they gone as well?
Mad Bear was trying to keep his horse from drinking the foul waters of the river when Hinuta rode up. He had a score of Silver Wolves-and as well a hundred Two Rivers, and dozens more from other clans.
“Rejoice, Mad Bear, your deeds have been told throughout the Horse People, and many clans would follow you.”
“Ah.” Mad Bear looked again. There was one missing. “Where is Tenado, my son?”
“He turned his back on a dead Ironshirt,” Hinuta said simply.
“Aiiiy.” But this was no time for lament.
“I have brought the Ironshirt’s hair. You may offer it to the gods,” Hinuta said. He handed over a bloody bundle.
“You have my thanks,” Mad Bear said. He looked around the valley. “The Ironshirts are worthy fighters. They die well.”
“Many of them have not died at all,” Hinuta said. “And many of the Red Cloaks have gone off down the river, where they hold the small hills near the trees.”
“Ah.”
“Let us gather our people and go join the battle against them. Tens of tens of tens would follow Mad Bear-”
“Nay.” Mad Bear shook his head and pointed to the southern ridge covered with the horses and banners of Ironshirts. They had dismounted, and hid their horses behind their great shields. There were many of their archers as well. Ironshirt archers from the stone houses used a strange bow with metal parts to do the work of a man’s strength. The bows would not shoot so often, but they ranged nearly as far as those of the Horse People below them.
“Those have not died either, and their chief of the golden hat rides among them. Kill him and the others will flee,” Mad Bear said. He rode over to be near Hinuta. The loss of Tenado ate at his heart, but he could never show that. Instead he clapped Hinuta on the shoulder. “It is a great day!”
“A great day for the Warrior,” Hinuta agreed. He eyed the encamped Ironshirts and grinned. “It was well that we stopped the spring on that hill. And if the Ironshirts will stay long-”