thigh. The Linghar let go of his shield and splashed into the mud, cradling his wounded leg.
A startled cry on the right caused Gelthius to turn. He did not recognise who had shouted, but saw one of his fellow legionnaires dropping to his knees, red gushing from a gash in his throat. Gelthius had no time to wonder who was down; Kalsaghan was rising to his feet, one hand clamped to the wound in his midriff, a dagger in the other hand. With quick feet, the chieftain's son dodged the weaving tip of Gelthius's spear and closed with his knife, slashing at the legionnaire's chest. The blade rang against the bronze breastplate and scored across Gelthius's left arm. Gelthius kicked out, driving his foot into Kalsaghan's groin. Blood pouring down his arm, Gelthius rammed the rim of his shield into the fallen warrior's face, splitting open the youth's cheek with a crack of bone.
Another tribesman hurtled out of the gloom, tackling Gelthius to the ground in a spray of muddy water and flailing limbs, the legionnaire's spear spinning out of his grasp. The warrior punched Gelthius across the jaw, loosening several teeth. His hands tightened around Gelthius's throat. Stunned, the legionnaire swiped wildly with his shield, smashing the other man in the ribs, but the Linghar's grip did not weaken.
The helmet crest of a legionnaire appeared over the tribesman's shoulder a moment before a sword erupted from his shoulder. Kicking the man from him, Gelthius grabbed a proffered hand and allowed himself to be dragged to his feet.
'That's the last of this lot,' said Muuril, wiping his bloodied sword on the dead tribesman's jerkin. The sergeant had lost his shield in the melee and held his spear on his left hand, the water washing blood across his kilt. Muuril looked around as Gelthius recovered his spear. 'Haeksin's dead.'
Gelthius paused to take a deep breath, and could hear the shouts of the warriors that had been sent after Loordin. Gebriun was down on one knee, ripping the shirt of one of the dead Linghars to make bandages.
'Do you think they've caught him?' asked Gelthius.
'Not yet,' said Gebriun. He drove the butt of his spear into the muck and gestured for Gelthius to hold out his wounded arm. Binding the cut with a strip of the ripped shirt, Gebriun then turned his attention to a ragged hole in Muuril's calf. 'We'll just get ourselves straight and head after Loordin.'
Feeling groggy, Gelthius spat out a mouthful of blood and tested his teeth with a probing finger. He winced as one came out with little effort; two others wobbled at his prodding.
'We'll get that sorted out back in camp,' said Muuril. 'Let's get going. Give the word to the others to come down the track. There's no point fighting here if they get caught by a band coming from the top of the hill.'
Gelthius's shout was answered by Gannuis, his voice almost drummed out by the rain. Hefting his shield, Gelthius signalled to Muuril and Gebriun to move off.
The Linghars pursuing Loordin were shouting to each other in the darkness. It was hard to be exact about their whereabouts, but it was clear they had broken into at least two groups, one of which was coming closer, their cries echoing from the rock face not far behind the legionnaires.
'Can't see anything,' muttered Gebriun.
'Stop a moment and listen,' said Muuril.
All Gelthius could hear was the thudding of his heart and the splashing of rain. After a few moments, there came a clang of metal, followed by a cry of pain and the splash of something heavy falling.
'Off to the right,' said Muuril. 'Not far.'
They broke into a trot, grass and ferns whipping at Gelthius's bare legs, the thorny branches of bushes scratching at him as he pushed through the tangle of vegetation clinging to the shallow slope.
A hazy figure appeared in the gloom, running full pelt. Gelthius brought up his spear out of instinct, teeth clenched despite the pain in his jaw.
The shape resolved into Loordin, without shield or helmet, the broken haft of his spear in one hand. He shouted in alarm and turned away before Gebriun's call halted him. Wide-eyed, the legionnaire approached, wiping the rain from his face with a bloodstained hand.
'Fuck me,' said Loordin. 'I thought you were all dead.'
'No such luck for you,' said Muuril. He pointed at the blood staining the soldier's fist. 'Been having your own fun?'
'Got the drop on two of them,' said Loordin, chest still heaving. 'Ran away from the other three. One of them's got a bow. Almost winged me, the bastard.'
'Where's your shield?' asked Gebriun.
'Too fucking heavy by far,' Loordin replied with a smirk. 'I didn't want those arseholes catching me, did I?'
A warning shout from behind caused the legionnaires to spin around, weapons at the ready. The three surviving tribesmen emerged from the dark, looking this way and that as they headed back to the road. They stopped in their tracks as they saw the four legionnaires, ready and waiting. The two groups stood about twenty paces apart, eyeing each other cautiously.
'What's your names?' Gelthius called out in Linghar.
'It doesn't matter,' the tallest of the three called back. Water streamed from the unkempt braids of his beard, his thick hair plastered across a helmetless scalp. He held up an open hand. 'Look, we didn't have to see you, right?'
'You were going to kill my family,' Gelthius said. 'What makes you think I'm gonna let you walk away?'
'Nah, we weren't going to kill nobody,' replied another of the group. He glanced at his two companions. 'We was just told to stop you leaving.'
'You tell me what Naraghlin's planning to do, and I might persuade my friends to let you go. It better be quick, cos they're not happy about having to leave their nice, warm beds in the middle of the night.'
'We're abandoning the town,' the first warrior shouted. 'Naraghlin's got no stomach for a fight. It was Kalsaghan's idea to stop you returning to your camp. Him and Mannuis was going to use your family as hostages; send you back to your new king with a false surrender.'
Gelthius thought about this for a moment.
'Naraghlin's right, you have to leave,' he told them. 'We'll be back with the legion in two days at the most, and another two days before they get here. The tribe's got three days to get moving.'
'You want us just to up and leave our homes?' This was from the third man, the youngest of the group, his blond hair tied back with a leather thong, his beard not long enough to plait. 'Kalsaghan won't stand for it. He'll fight.'
'He's fucking dead!' snarled Gelthius. 'You'll all be dead unless you leave. That's the choice, right enough. Stay here and die, or go somewhere else.'
'What are you talking about?' said Muuril, stepping next to Gelthius. 'They're keeping us busy until the others arrive. Tell them to fuck off, or we're going to kill all three of them where they stand.'
'My friend here isn't happy,' Gelthius told the Linghars. 'If I was you, I'd start running now.'
The tribesmen gauged the legionnaires carefully. Not liking what they saw, they backed away until the darkness swallowed them. Gelthius heard the splashing of their feet as they broke into run, until even that noise was swallowed by the downpour.
'Let's get the cart and get going,' said Gelthius. 'It's a ways around the mound back to the town, but it won't take them long to bring back more warriors. We need to get out of here.'
V
The rain stopped after midnight, some time around the turn of Gravewatch by Gelthius's guess. His wife, daughter and youngest son dozed in the back of the wagon while Faeghun drove the abada. The others walked beside the cart, sloshing across the muddy plains in silence. As the first glow of dawn smudged the horizon in front of them, Muuril had to concede to the pain in his wounded leg and ride on the wagon; a decision that provided shallow entertainment for the other legionnaires for the next few miles.
The sunrise ahead revealed low cloud, the whole sky tinged with foreboding grey. The wind kept the chill of the night and Gelthius marched on trembling legs, his face and arm sore. Though occasionally he looked back towards the place he had been born, he doubted the tribe would have pursued them any distance; the death of Kalsaghan would have dampened any spirit amongst the Linghar warriors. He hoped that Naraghlin would heed the warning and move the tribe away without a fight.
As the morning brightened, the legionnaires agreed to take it in turns to ride on the wagon and snatch some sleep. All of them had been awake for most of a whole day and the fight of the previous evening had taken its toll, despite their conditioning and determination. Although Gelthius was supposed to be in charge, he was happy to
