his arm with the flat of her sword. “Lowa knows what she’s doing.”
“Then why,” said Mal, “has she used the one unusual weapon we’ve got that might actually surprise the enemy to bombard the gap left by the Dumnonians attacking us? What did she hit?” Mal stood on tiptoes to peer over soldiers’ heads. “Yup, thought so, a grassy space where the enemy used to be. I’m sorry, Nita, but she really doesn’t know what she’s doing with those catapults.”
Nita didn’t have an answer.
Dug looked to Atlas to see if he’d seen what had happened. He had. Two hundred paces away along the front line, the large African had climbed on to someone’s shoulders; Carden Nancarrow’s probably, since those two were always together and Carden was about the only man in the army who could have born Atlas’ armoured weight. The Kushite blew an iron whistle twice.
The Maidun line doubled the speed of its retreat, jogging diagonally backwards, away from the pursuing Dumnonians and out from the battle’s centre, spears brandished to keep the heavy chariots at bay. They were headed for a thickly brambled band of wood, which would protect their flank from the light chariots and their slingstones. Given the speed those chariots were coming, though, there was no way they were going to make it.
Dug was glad he wasn’t on the far right. Very soon they were going to be hit hard by a hailstorm of lethal stones. Still, it didn’t really matter whether he was there or not. If the far right collapsed under the onslaught, they were all fucked.
Dozens of balls of burning thatch crackled over Lowa’s head.
She looked across to Samalur’s position. She had a clearer view of him since both armies had split down the middle, hers retreating away from the centre, his following, leaving a gap in front of his central command position. Like her, he was perched on a burial mound, surrounded by a few guards and probably the same group of hangers-on from the day before. For an instant she was sure he was looking directly at her, but then he was obscured by smoke from the burning thatch.
Atlas’ whistle sang out three times, the signal to pick up the pace again. It would be difficult for the ranks to maintain form at that speed, so it meant that something was going wrong.
Oh aye, thought Dug, as he saw over on the right the first of the light chariots come into range and unleash a volley of slingstones. Those holding pikes in the front rows – the ones holding the blade-wheeled heavy chariots at bay – didn’t have shields. A lot of them fell. The heavy chariots charged.
“Now?” asked Spring.
“Now,” Lowa agreed, putting her hand over the ear that was nearest to the girl.
“Horrrrr – sesssssss!!!” screeched Spring. She might not be able to use her magic, but her scream, louder than all the battle trumpets combined, was proving useful.
From their hiding place behind a low rise, Ragnall and two hundred other riders armed with swords and bows heard Spring and mounted. For the first time in a while the young man felt brave, confident and full of purpose. He roared a battle cry. That drew some disapproving glances from his mostly older and more sensible fellows, but he didn’t care.
He was off. He was leading the charge.
Lowa saw then coming and sped ahead, followed by Spring. So Lowa was leading the charge now and Spring was at her shoulder. How annoying, thought Ragnall. Although also something of a relief. The first enemy stones and arrows were not usually targeted on the third rider from the front.
Up ahead, the catapulted bales burnt merrily, gushing smoke away from them, obscuring the Dumnonian army, then Lowa as she and her horse plunged into the fog, followed by little Spring on her mount. Ragnall willed his horse on. The beast complied. Ragnall took a deep breath. Gripping his horse with his thighs and his sword in his hand, he followed the new queen into the smoke.
They reached the trees and stopped retreating, but it was far from the end of problems for the right of the Maidun army. In fact, Dug realised with a snort of annoyance, it was the beginning of his.
The far right was now, as planned, protected from Dumnonia’s chariot-mounted slingers by a stand of bramble-skirted trees, but the slingers leapt from their chariots and ran across to join the warriors from the heavy chariots. Together, the Dumnonian heavy infantry