He walked farther down the hill, toward Daggrande's company, which lay in ambush behind a low stone wall. A sense of excitement tingled through Halloran as he approached the crossbowmen and his own lancers, who waited beside Daggrande's men in a small olive grove.

This legion, these warriors, were his home. They had become the finest, most secure home he had ever known. When Cordell and Daggrande had discovered him nearly ten years ago, a gangly young tough wandering the streets of Mulsanter, Halloran could never have imagined himself feeling such a sense of belonging about anything. A hungry orphan, his magic-using days brutally ended by catastrophe in Arquiuius's tower, he had been suspicious of these silver-armored captains.

But he had served them, first as a page to the captain-general and then as a squire to Daggrande and then Broker. He had learned the ways of war, fighting and killing before his eighteenth year had begun. A natural horsemen, Halloran had found his true role as a lancer – much to Daggrande's disgust, since the dwarf had hoped to see him wield a heavy crossbow.

Now Broker was gone, terribly wounded by these pirates in the previous day's skirmish. Bishou Domincus had saved Broker's life with his healing magic, but the horseman had still lost the use of his legs. The memory of that loss gave Halloran's eagerness for battle a bitter edge. Today Broker would be avenged.

Halloran found Daggrande behind a low stone wall. The dwarf's unit of crossbowmen crouched behind the rocky barrier, patiently waiting for their captain's command. The motley collection of humans and dwarves wore an assortment of armor types, some clad in leather, others in chain. Many wore bloody bandages over wounds sustained in previous skirmishes with the pirates. All of the bowmen looked grizzled and disreputable, but Halloran well knew the lethal effectiveness of their heavy missiles.

"How much longer?" asked the young cavalryman. He tried to keep his voice steady, but anticipation of the coming battle filled him with nervous energy. His own unit of laneers waited restlessly in an olive grove behind the wall. Across the wall, still a half-mile distant but closing rapidly, came the charging wave of color, steel, and flame that was the pirate army.

The dwarf laughed, a sharp bark of sound. "Soon enough, I'll wager." Daggrande studied Halloran closely. "After all these campaigns, why are you acting like a young recruit facing his first foe?"

Hal returned his old companion's gaze with a sheepish grin. "Cordell gave me the standard of the lancers. I'll be leading all four companies."

Daggrande grinned. "You're ready for that. But what about Alvarro?" The impetuous redhead and his jealous nature were well known to the other captains.

"Second in command. He'll follow with the last two companies." I hope, he added silently.

The dwarf nodded. "Just don't lose your head. Wait till that trumpet tells you to go! Remember what Cordell and I have drilled into you, and you'll do all right."

"We hold the high ground," Hal said. "I won't give that advantage away!" Halloran's answer was deadly serious. "Cordell's right. If we time this properly, Akbet-Khrul will be broken once and for all!"

Daggrande laughed at his companion's earnestness. "And we'll be out of work!"

Halloran laughed, too, relaxing somewhat. "I expect the captain-general will find us something to fight." "Good luck. You'd best get to your men." "And to you. Try to shoot straight this time, will you?" Hal said, flashing a quick grin.

Daggrande huffed indignantly, but the cavalryman had already slipped into the grove. In moments, he reached his charger, Storm. The roan mare danced eagerly, anxious for battle.

"The standard, Sergeant-Major." A squire stood beside the mount, bearing the lance with the proud pennant of the Blue Lancers. The long banner, portraying a golden pegasus on a sea-blue background, snapped readily in the growing breeze.

"Captain, now." Halloran smiled as he slipped smoothly into the saddle and took the long staff. The squire grinned enthusiastically.

The olive grove screened their position from the advancing enemy, but the rows of trees provided good visibility to the right and left. He could see, within a few hundred feet to his right, the black, yellow, and green pennants of the other companies. At the far end of the line, Alvarro glowered at him from the back of a prancing stallion, his mouth split into a grimace that displayed his crooked, uneven teeth.

A full hundred sleek horses pranced anxiously as an equal number of steel-tipped lances came to rest at their riders' sides. Some of the steeds were black, others were brown or roan or gray. They were all impatient to charge. Be patient, Hal thought. Your time will come.

Halloran tried to suppress a giddy exhilaration. Helms-tooth, the longsword given to him by Cordell personally, hung lightly at his side. By Helm, what a glorious commander the captain-general was! Halloran's heart nearly burst with pride at the honor that had been accorded him.

But Cordell was the glue that truly held the legion together. His skill as a commander, his eloquence as a speaker, his courage in battle, all served to unite his men and propel them toward great deeds.

Through the olive trees, Halloran could see the pirates advancing as Cordell had predicted, still preceded by their twisting cyclones of fire. The horsemen had a splendid view of the developing battle.

The scrub brush withered beneath the fiery columns, many bushes bursting into flame as the cyclones passed. Hal still counted ten of the unnatural blazes, advancing in a long skirmish line ahead of the army.

Suddenly he saw a pale white flash, like a blast of moonlight potent enough to shine in the daylight. The cone-shaped whiteness exploded from a point ahead of the army, expanding to his left. In the same instant as the flash, three of the fiery columns hissed into vapors and disappeared.

Once again came the flash of light, from the same point but this time expanding to Hal's right, and four more of the cyclones vanished.

"Icetongue!" he murmured to himself, feeling relief mixed with a little horror. All the legion knew of Darien, the elf-mage. Aloof and distant toward all but Cordell, this made her affection toward the commander seem all that much more passionate to the men of the legion. And she was mysterious, always heavily robed during daylight, for her albino skin reputedly suffered acutely from the rays of the sun.

Yet her power! Of course she had her slender wand and its deadly blast of ice. But she also could call a searing wall of fire to burst from the ground, a lightning bolt to crackle into the midst of an enemy formation, or even a swarm of meteors to smash with crushing force to the ground. On more than one occasion, those powers had secured victory for the mercenaries during a heated, hard-contested battle.

He saw the black-robed figure of the wizard, standing alone ahead of the army, and then suddenly Darien vanished. Halloran guessed she teleported herself back to the safety of the legion's position.

The pirates continued to surge closer, not visibly demoralized by the damage to their fiery skirmishers. A pair of fire columns still swirled forward to Hal's left, and one lone blaze advanced off to the right. Then he heard the thunderous bark of a man's voice, carrying even over the roar of the enemy's approach, and Hal knew that Bishou Domincus had added the might of Helm to the battle.

The pair of fire columns advancing together separated slightly to pass on either side of a small, marshy pond. As the cleric's magic took hold, however, the waters of the pond surged from their banks and swept across the field in a small flood. They swirled around the bases of the flaming columns, which hissed and writhed in agony. Slowly the fiery forms sizzled into steam. Still the army surged forward, a hundred yards away, now and closing fast.