and slingers advanced at the now static Maidun line. Dug gulped. There were a lot of them and they all seemed to be coming at him.
Shields went up over Maidun heads as slingstones rained down. Soon those shields would be needed to stop swords. It was a nasty situation. Retreat was tempting, but if they fled the Dumnonians would part ranks and the bladed chariots would stream through and cut them down.
There was, Dug realised with a mixture of terror and disappointment, only one thing to do.
Atlas worked it out at the same moment and five blasts rang out on his whistle. It was the signal to charge. Dug shook his head. So it was time to attack. No choice in the matter. He shuddered. Just as he thought his growing fear might overwhelm him, it morphed into raging courage. It felt like a monster was growing inside him, expanding out from his stomach, widening his shoulders and burning in his head hot as a bone-fed furnace. His battle lust was coming, he realised with a mixture of shame and excitement, and it was time to bid rational thought goodbye for a while.
Dug gripped his shield in one hand, warhammer in the other, and sprinted at the broad enemy line. The ground flew under him as he pumped his legs. He ran full tilt, no thought of pacing himself. He didn’t need to. He had all the energy in the world. Slingstones whistled past his ears. The front line of Dumnonian troops, a mass of bearded men, shaggy haired women, sharp iron weapons and flying stones, zoomed towards him.
A grin split his face and he screamed with joy. He smashed spears out of his way with hammer and shield. He swung the hammer, felling three of them. A sword came down. He whacked it aside with his shield and drove his hammer’s top spike into the underside of the sword swinger’s jaw.
Mal shook his head as he jogged towards the Dug-shaped breach in the enemy line. He’d seen it before, but it always amazed him when Dug, who was possibly the most workshy man Mal had ever met, burst into this rampaging ball of fury on the battlefield.
“Stay behind me!” he shouted to Nita as he knocked the first spear thrust aside and smashed his sword into a Dumnonian head.
“Will I fuck!” shouted Nita, pushing past him, her slim sword flashing in one hand, wheel iron whacking down in the other.
“Don’t get too close to Dug!” Mal shouted at her unheeding back.
Chamanca licked blood from her lips. She was soaked in Dumnonian gore from her brief foray into their lines, but it wasn’t nearly enough.
“Not so fast!” she shouted at her charioteer, cuffing the girl. The Dumnonian infantry had slowed its charge and the Maidun chariots were getting too far ahead. Chamanca wanted to be ready for any overzealous and speedy Dumnonians who ran clear of the main group. Killing a dozen or so had only enhanced her appetite. She yearned to champ her teeth into someone’s neck. It had been ages since she’d sucked Weylin’s life away, and Queen Lowa’s rule wasn’t going to provide as many blood-drinking chances as King Zadar’s. Not that she didn’t like Lowa. What wasn’t to like about the brave, king-toppling, hot-bodied beauty whose blood had tasted so silky and skin felt so smooth when they’d fought on Mearhold and in the Maidun arena? But Lowa had rejected the Iberian’s offer to prove her loyalty by biting the throat out of anyone who opposed her, and made it clear that she wasn’t going to ask her to drink anyone’s blood. Chamanca was going to have to take her sanguineous dining opportunities when she could. So it was somewhat annoying to be running away from tens of thousands of racing-pulsed Dumnonians.
The enemy kept coming in their annoyingly regular line, and her chariot bounced on. The shaking and jolting was doing nothing to improve her mood. If Chamanca had been commanding this side of the line she would have ordered a charge, despite Lowa’s orders for this retreat, and despite the fact that she could see the insanity of attacking the multitudinous Dumnonians. Unfortunately, Lowa had not only put someone else in charge, but also told the other charioteers not to listen to Chamanca.
The only person Chamanca was allowed to be in charge of was her young driver. She cuffed her again, then hooked her blonde hair aside and ran her fingers down the back of