But for now, although he wouldn't say it, it was good to have the boy with him, to show him what he must do someday and a look at this Joke of a legion. Rhiwallon 231.

glanced back into the trees to the men waiting at their horses' heads. The day was warm- Most of them were naked except for sword and shield. Cadwa! tugged at his father's sleeve.

"Look."

The Faerie were in place now, the foot troops squar- ing off their ranks into columns of five abreast to cross the bridge. That was less interesting lo Rhiwalion than the two riders who walked their mounts back and forth in front of the perimeter line. The red-haired man on the big army black: that would be the priest said to lead them. But the other . . .

"Does he not have a notion now? That one's Faerie, Cadwal, one of the little folk. You won't see men or ponies like that this far south, not every day." He studied the small figure. A smile played about Rhiwallon's mouth.

"And if I've the kenning my good mother gave me, the wee man's no fool."

Not ordered, but Malgon wanted to see the woods at the crest of the hill. All the Prydn were on this side of the great bridge now. With Padrec's permission, he started up the slope, waving the two scouts from Hawk fhain to join him.

"Will see the woods, an be clear of tallfolk."

"An be not?"

Malgon looked at them. "Hawk rides the wind and knows its taste. What says thy heart;?"

"Not."

"Would know." Malgon urged his pony forward.

"Come."

He threw one more glance back at the bridge. The first foot ranks were stumping across, square as a tallfolk box, pilums all at the same angle, like grass bent in a hard wind.

He and the scouts moved up the slope, fanning apart.

Malgon's mouth felt dry and his stomach fluttery. He needed to relieve himself when he just had. He must keep his concentration on the woods, but some went to quiet his fear. He thought of Guenloie and the sweetness of her in their last loving. It was the first since her daughter was born, and Malgon burst almost as soon as he entered her.

But the power returned quickly, and the second time was

232 long and rich. Her skin felt like cleansing water as it brushed and crushed against his. She drew the long, heavy need from him, brought him balm, and he wished he could speak it in words like Drust. . . .

Almost there. No movement in the trees, not even birds. There should be birds. His pony worked effortlessly up the slope. Malgon felt his skin go clammy. Should be buds. He should hear or see them this close.

He drew up a few yards trom the tree line. Somehow he found it difficult to breathe deeply. The pony snorted its own question, and then Malgon smelled the foreign horse-scent. There were men and horses in the wood, or lately had been. Which was it?

He kneed the pony forward, bent low over its neck.

To either side. the scouts followed him. They were at the trees now. The hard knot in Malgon's gut swelled like a pig bladder, stretched tight-and exploded in a searing wave. The command that twisted the reins was a silent voice. The image of Gern-y-fhain flashed clear in his mind, arms up, warning him back. Malgon cringed into the pony's shoulder, part of it. He wheeled the animal about and kicked it into a flat run down the slope, the scouts dashing after.

Behind their covering log, the boy Cadwal turned wide-eyed to his father. "How did they know?"

"Because they are as much animal as the pony. And the rest is boucca-spirit." Rhiwallon watched the retreating figures with sour admiration. Agile as cats, they slid from one side to the other in the saddle, zigzagging to make harder targets, keeping the horse's body between them and the Coritani.

Clinging to his pony's shoulder, pounding down to- ward Padrec, Malgon heard the sound he couldn't identify at First. Out of range of the hilltop now, he hauled erect in the saddle to see the bridge alive with men from end to end, pouring onto and off of it, then-

"At, Jesu!"

The sound grew louder, drew out, ripping and splin- tering. The ranks on the bridge swayed in a brief, gro- tesque dance as the whole structure tilted and slid over to the downstream side in a surging stew of timber, spears, shields, and floundering men.

233.

And high above it all, Rhiwallon hummed as he stroked his long moustaches. "Is it not a dear sight, son? Just lovely." His arm swept forward and the Coritani horsemen boiled over the hill, through the last of the trees, and down the slope.

Under his natural flush, Gallius Urbi went pale and froze for an instant, seeing that force coming down at him, then roused, whirling about to his men.

"In ranks! Shields up!"

Padrec himself surrendered an instant to terror be- fore instinct propelled him to safety behind the line of archers. Less than two centuries had cleared the bridge. A few men were safe but astonished on the other side, the rest washed downstream, clutching at each other or frag- ments of wreckage, whatever would keep them afloat in their heavy gear. Malgon whacked his pony on the rump, sending it toward safety, then ran for the archers, who were beginning to shoot raggedly into the charging horsemen. Padrec found a hoarse quaver for a voice.

"That's it. Keep shooting. Keep shooting!"

He stumbled to Malgon. "Together, Mal. Tell them to loose all together on your signal. That's all will stop them."

Malgon ran forward of the archers, sword held high.

"Ai! Brothers!"

The flight loosed with the sound of a million mad- dened bees. Atop the bill, Rhiwallon almost lost his por- ridge at the sight. The men who rarely missed hawk, fox, or squirrel had much larger targets here. Rhiwallon swal- lowed hard. The leading edge of his charge lurched, buck- led, and simply folded under the next as it ran over them with no time to veer aside. Even as it happened, another flight was drawn and loosed. But his men pushed on. The first of them crashed through Padrec's unprotected men, the naked riders flailing viciously with sword or clubs before they were unhorsed or scampered away. The ar- chers, wherever hit, were simply run underfoot and lay where they tell. Helpless, Padrec cursed, running toward his last sight of Malgon. Where're my people? Oh, God, I'm frightened.

Someone was screaming at him; dimly he recognized Gallius' voice; then a tattooed rider plunged directly at him. Padrec leaped aside, and the man drove on. He'd not

234 Parkp Godwin

even drawn his sword, not that he could use it. How many dear men out there, still shooting, and won't they he trampled?

"Spears, Padrec!" The small, strong hand spun him about to Malgon's grimace. "Spears!"

The whirlwind of horsemen swept back up the slope, managing shields nimbly against the hail of arrows, wail- ing for stragglers before rushing in again. Malgon and Padrec panted up to Gallius, standing in place before his remaining foot ranks.

"Spears, Gallius. Move your men up in two ranks. A wall of spears in front. They need the cover."

Gallius didn't hesitate. A good idea; he should have thought of it on his own. He ordered the tirst three ranks forward through the archers but grabbed Padrec by the front of his grimy shirt.

"Why wasn't this bridge inspected, you fool? Anyone can see that-"

"Could you?" Padrec twisted himself free. "We weren't told to inspect it. Let me go. I've gol to get up there."

He sprinted away after Malgon to rally the archers.

Already they were dragging their wounded away from the line. Through a stinging veil of sweat that flowed too fast and hot, Padrec saw the Coritani force pause and shuffle about. The spearmen were out in force now, three stag- gered lines of them, pilums jammed into the ground. The Coritani hesitated. While the Prydn sent another flight at them. a raucous horn sounded from the wood and the horsemen broke formation, galloping back up the hill, losing another half dozen to the descending arrows.

Barely more than a few minutes, but to Padrec it seemed hours. His body was an open floodgate for sweat, and his head stung. No man should sweat that much. He didn't know just how or when he went down on the trampled ground, but it seemed an excellent idea. Lying on one arm, he wiped at his face. The hand came away red. Who . . . what? / never felt it. Then Artcois threw himself down on the grass at his feet, exultant..

"Did see me, Padrec? Was Lugh a's self with my arrows."

"Oh, aye and aye again," Bredei sang, skipping to- ward them, half walk, half dance. "ByJesu, do know who comes against them now, do a not! Neniane will hear, brother. Such tale-speaking a-nights in the rath. Ai!"

235.

Padrec could only shake violently. "Brothers, am I hurt? My head . . ."

"Oh, a scratch. A passing bee. Drust! Malgon! Here!"