He didnt make it halfway before the encounter ended. The enemy tried to turn the flanks. The friendly natives pushed them back. Trumpets sounded. Hawkwind led the heavy horse through aisles in the infantry, formed for a charge. The enemy flew away, vanishing over the hill as swiftly as he had come. He remembered Wadi el Kuf, and had no taste for another bout with the men in iron.

Though Bragi had perceived their undisciplined rush as an endless tide, there had been no more than five hundred of the riders. Outnumbered by a disciplined foe, they had done nothing but probe. Even so, several dozen fallen comrades were left scattered across the regiments front. Bragi was one of only four casualties on the Guild side.

The camp followers rushed out to cut throats and loot. The Guildsmen remained standing at arms while their native auxiliaries went scouting again.

Bragi settled down with his back against a wagon wheel, cursing himself for the stupidity that had gotten him hurt. All he had had to do was keep his head down, just as he had been taught.

Some people will do anything to get out of walking.

He looked up, lips taut. His wound hurt bad now.

Sanguinet dropped to one knee. Might have known youd be the first one hurt. Let me look at it. He grinned. Close, eh? Dont look that bad, though. He squeezed Bragis shoulder. Theres a reason behind every lesson we try to teach. Hope you learned something today. You paid a cheap enough price. He smiled. Ill send the surgeon around. Youll need stitches. Ride the chow dray the rest of the way in.

Do I have to do KP? Sir?

Got to pull your weight somewhere.

Ill walk, then. Just stay with my squad.

Youll do what youre told, son. Laziness isnt a good enough excuse for losing a leg.

Sir

You have your orders, Ragnarson. Dont compound foolishness with more foolishness. Today Sanguinet spoke as a Guildsman to a brother, not as a drillmaster belittling a recruit.

Birdsong let Haaken and Reskird drop back to visit the afternoon the regiment started the long climb up the slope leading to the Eastern Fortress. They lifted him down off the chow wagon so he could look at the castle. Gods. Its big, he said.

They call it the Eastern Fortress, Reskird told him. Been here for like eight hundred years, or something, and them all the time adding on.

Bragi looked around. How did the people of Hammad al Nakir survive in such desolation? The castle turned out its garrison in welcome. Ranks of silent men, dark of eye and skin, often beakish of nose, observed them without expression. Bragi sensed their disdain. The were all old, weathered veterans. He tried hard not to limp.

If he could impress them no other way, his size ought to stir some awe. He was six inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than the biggest.