Attis waved a dismissive hand. “I am in no condition to fight. But in a conflict of this scale, I will contribute the most to our cause by coordinating the efforts of others and determining sound courses of action. I can do that very nearly as well from this wagon as I can from my horse.”

Ehren frowned and glanced up at Lady Placida.

She shrugged one shoulder. “Provided his thoughts remain clear, I believe he is correct. He’s the best we have when it comes to tactical and strategic decisions, his staff are already in place, and his structure and methods are already established. We should use him.”

Are you sure you didn’t mean, “use him up,” Your Grace? Ehren thought. There is little love lost between you.

Not that Ehren had any right to be casting stones. He inhaled deeply and guarded his tongue. “I... see. Your Highness, Count and Countess Calderon came to me. They urgently request that you meet with them to discuss how best to utilize the Calderon Valley’s defenses.”

“No rest for the wicked,” Attis murmured. “Yes, I suppose they’re right. Please send them to me, Sir Ehren.”

Ehren bowed his head. “As you wish.”

* * *

One of the legionares in the rear guard collapsed when the long column of refugees and soldiers were within sight of the entrance to the Calderon Valley. Instantly, vord warriors rushed into the break in the Aleran defenses, not pausing to attack. They only pushed ahead, bringing ever more of their numbers into the weak point of the broken Aleran line.

Ehren realized what had happened when he heard refugees begin to scream.

He stood up on the wagon’s seat and stared back behind them. They were currently moving up a gentle grade, and he could clearly see the mantislike warrior forms plunging left and right through the column, scythe-arms whipping about to sprinkle blood and death on the defenders. Horns called wildly. Legionares marching on the column’s flanks formed up to engage the enemy.

The vord were not executing their typical, gruesomely enthusiastic assault. They never stopped moving, even when they struck a badly aimed blow. Casualties were far lighter than they might have been—but the sheer, screaming presence of the creatures among the refugees was doing something far more deadly. Terrified refugees scattered, racing for the shelter of the tree line.

Horns cried out in answer from the vanguard, and High Lord Phrygius turned his Legion in its tracks to begin marching double time back to the battle. An instant later, several forms leapt skyward from the command tent. Ehren thought he recognized the Placidas, old Cereus, and a figure that might well have been Countess Amara. The High Lords and Lady went west. The lone flier turned east, and shot off like an arrow from the bow.

“Rally!” Ehren cried. “Sound the rally here! Get those people out of the forest!”