An arrow buzzed past, close enough to make Ilandeh flinch. It punched into the macaw behind, stealing his legs from beneath him. Downhill, Calan’s slave warriors and dog warriors were falling too, ragged holes opening up in the front line. The eagles would go in last.

Slingers now, almost more dangerous than the archers, for an arrow in the arm could be removed and bandaged, but a stone in the same place would shatter bone. The storm of missiles got heavier and more macaws fell. Unlike Calan’s eagles, they didn’t have a screen of slave warriors to take the brunt of the initial fight. The small wooden shield in Ilandeh’s off hand was to bat away spear thrusts, but she angled it over her head as best she could and kept on running. The faster she got in with the enemy, the better.

The lines came together and shattered, the Tokob breaking up into their Paw formations, six groups of five fighting as a unit and supporting each other. The Yaloh split too, both tribes accustomed to fighting within the close confines of the jungle, where lines and large groups were impossible and battles were normally only a couple of hundred warriors fighting short, intense duels. It was easy to flow through the gaps they left in their own lines and so engage the rear fighters as well as those at the front. The defenders’ second wave was immediately engulfed, leaving them no reinforcements.

Ilandeh ducked under the swing of a club that would have taken off her head and punched out with her spear; the woman batted it away, stepped inside Ilandeh’s reach and swung again. The Flight dropped to her belly, rolled onto her back and stabbed up, raking open the woman’s leg. Her opponent screamed and smashed the club down, but she rolled again, made it to one knee and punched the flint tip of her spear through her enemy’s stomach.

There were still snatches of the war chant echoing across the hill, but mostly the sounds were grunts, curses, and shrieks of pain, the clack and clash of weapons, and the meaty tear of flesh and gristle.

Two Tokob came for her, one from each side, their paint bright and their faces hateful. Ilandeh took a hatchet on the small shield tied to her forearm, then wrapped her hand around one warrior’s elbow and yanked hard, pulling him onto her spear and spinning them both so the second man’s thrust killed him instead of her. He stopped in horror, screaming a name, and she wrenched her spear free and used it to steal his voice and the name both, punching into his neck and tearing back out.