will have to look after themselves.'
'Are you sure, prince?' said Daariun. 'We have unknown enemies behind us. If they come at us while we are engaged on the ridge, we'll be trapped.'
Jutaar cleared his throat.
'All right,' he said. 'The most prudent stance will be to withdraw back to where we were and provide support for the rearguard. However, we will be prepared to turn if the Salphors come off the ridge.'
A shout from a returning Luusin broke the deliberations. The Second Captain was approaching at a full run, helmet crest flapping madly. As he reached Jutaar, he flopped to one knee, fighting for breath.
'It's the Second,' he managed between gasps. 'Coming up from dawnwards.'
'Well, that's all right,' laughed Daariun. He nodded towards the Salphorian army. 'That lot are fucked now. I bet they weren't expecting two legions.'
'Nor should they be,' said Jutaar. He pulled Luusin to his feet. 'You are sure it is the Second Magilnadan? From Dawnwards?'
'Yes, prince,' said Luusin. 'Blue and black shields, with Anglhan's stupid silver bosses on them. Pretty much following in our footsteps.'
'But they should already be at Arundonda, ahead of us,' said Jutaar. He looked at his captains, bewildered by the news. 'What are they doing here?'
'Delayed, maybe?' suggested Daariun.
'No, they were wintered more than fifty miles hotwards of where we were,' said Kasod. 'There's no reason they should be behind us, and certainly not with the orders they were given.'
'They must have received new orders,' said Jutaar. 'But orders from whom?'
'Prince!' Luusin burst out having regained his breath, drowning out Kasod's reply. 'They are marching on the rearguard. They're not just following us. They look like they're going to attack!'
'Well, that's clearly nonsense,' said Daariun. 'Why would they do that?'
'Anglhan,' said Kasod. 'Prince, where did our orders come from?'
'From the king,' Jutaar replied, confused by the question. 'Who else would have sent them?'
'From the king himself? Directly?'
'Well, no, not directly. They came in a letter, via royal courier.' Jutaar swallowed hard, the implication of what he had just said sinking in. 'You mean they were forged?'
'Yes,' snapped Kasod. The Second Captain darted a look over his shoulder at the legion. In the absence of orders, they milled around, uncertain and restless. Several companies had broken up, some soldiers looking back towards the rearguard, others keeping an eye on the Salphors. 'We have to get out of here. It isn't safe!'
The captains degenerated into a hushed, snarled argument. Jutaar was at a loss to say anything. He still found the situation highly unlikely. If Anglhan wanted Jutaar dead, there were other ways to achieve it. Even the pretence of having him slain by the Salphors was dubious, considering the cost and damage of setting two legions against each other. Jutaar could not figure out what was to be gained by pitching the two Magilnadan armies into battle with one another.
An answer trickled slowly into his mind, bringing with it a chill feeling in his gut. Jutaar stared at his army with suspicion. Some of the captains had left their companies and were gathered in their own group. They occasionally cast glances at their commander and his council.
'Captains, return to your companies,' said Kasod, noticing the same. 'Prince, we have to withdraw now.'
'You are not in command,' said Jutaar. 'I am your general and prince.'
'We don't have time for this,' said Kasod. He turned on his fellow captains. 'Anglhan has paid off the Magilnadans. Look at them! They're going to turn on us.'
In fact, the Magilnadan officers were returning to their companies, calling them to order. Looking back to dawnwards Jutaar could see thicker smoke rising from where the rearguard had been; they had either destroyed the supplies or the other legion had reached the baggage train. On the ridge to the front, the Salphors had also seen this and obviously knew what it meant. Horns clamoured again and the tribal warriors stirred themselves, picking up shields and spears in readiness for battle.
'First through Fifth companies, assemble on your prince!' Kasod bellowed, running back to his men. The other Second Captains scattered, repeating the order, leaving Jutaar standing on his own in front of the army.
The prince hesitated, unsure what to do. He was wrenched from his indecision by the jangle of armour as the first company gathered around him. The legion was quickly splitting as both sides realised what was about to happen; the Magilnadans formed a tight line slightly further up the gentle slope while Kasod and the other loyal captains set their companies in a solid block around Jutaar.
The prince felt hopeless. This was only his first command and his legion was in revolt. His father had entrusted this army to him and he had failed miserably in his duties. Out-thought and outmanoeuvred, he had blundered into Anglhan's trap like a boar into a pit. The king had tried to warn him, but he had fallen victim to his own trusting stupidity.
Urikh had been right all along; he was a disappointment to his father. A mediocre son, a poor brother, a pathetic husband; that would be his appalling legacy. Worse than any of that, Jutaar knew he would be remembered as the commander of the First Magilnadan, a legion of traitors.
Jutaar's eyes stung as he held back hot tears. Through misted vision he could see the turncoat companies advancing in wide formation, spears lowered for the attack.
III
'Shield up, prince,' muttered Kaasin next to Jutaar, lifting his shield in front of the prince, legion icon in the other hand. 'No point going down easy.'
The standard bearer's words cut through Jutaar's grief. That calm defiance rooted in the prince's spirit, reminding him that he was a prince of the Blood, but more than that, he was a legionnaire of Askhos. His father had told him with pride of how Cosuas had refused to surrender, preferring to die than witness defeat. Jutaar could remember listening to the old general's war stories, sitting on the veteran's lap as a child, his earliest memories filled with tales of blood and glory.
'Men of Greater Askhor,' Jutaar bellowed, bringing up his shield. 'Make your king proud!'
The prince watched the traitors advancing at an angle. There were four times as many of them as those loyal to Jutaar and their line extended far beyond the right of the prince's phalanxes.
'Watch the flank,' warned Jutaar. 'Fourth company, advance twenty paces. Second company, withdraw twenty paces.'
The order was quickly passed through the companies. The loyalists adjusted accordingly, the echelon of phalanxes arranged to steer the renegades back towards their extended flank. Jutaar knew that it would make no difference in the result of the fight, but true to Karin's urging he would not allow himself to do anything less than the best he could.
The traitors accelerated to a steady run when they were fifty paces away.
'Receive the charge!' bellowed Jutaar, pulling free his sword. Despair had been swept away by anger; anger he had never felt before in his life. The affront of the traitors burned his pride; the insult to Jutaar and his family raged through his blood. 'Let's make these cunts pay!'
With a roar from both sides, the legionnaires crashed together. Jutaar angled his shield to deflect a spear point away from the man to his left. The prince lunged forward, driving his sword into the narrow gap in the opposing line of shields. Shields rattled and spears clashed all around, accompanied by the shouts of loyalist and traitor.
Having weathered the brunt of the impact, the First Company pushed back under Jutaar's urging, stabbing with their spears. The prince hacked at the shield of the man in front, the repeated blows driving him backwards. A spear thrust over Jutaar's shoulder from the man behind, point ramming into his opponent's exposed shoulder. The prince swept his sword into the traitor's face as he fell back, the blade carving a deep wound across cheek and nose.
A shield rim smacked into Jutaar's hand, jarring his arm. Spitting with pain, the prince kept his numbed
