"Company, advance! On the double!" Daggrande bellowed the command without bothering to check the corporal's observation behind them. He had served with Cordell long enough to have expected the order.

He saw the swordsmen advancing to the right and left. He ordered a dozen men of his company to fall back to each side, providing missile protection for the outside flanks of Captain Garrant's company.

"Tighten up there!" he called as his ranks started to waver. Sergeants growled their way along the line, keeping the crossbowmen advancing in tightly packed straight lines, even at a steady jog. The dwarves, especially, huffed and panted to maintain the pace, but Daggrande knew they would not falter.

The swordsmen on their flanks also remained tightly packed as the natives howled closer and closer. Garrant's men suddenly broke into a run, hoarsely invoking the name of Helm as they charged.

And then, before the two groups could clash, the natives paused. We're breaking them already! Daggrande glimpsed a brief prospect of victory, but immediately discarded it in alarm.

The colorful horde slowed its rush, then stopped altogether, still a hundred paces or more away from the charging swordsmen. They continued to taunt and whistle and clash their weapons against their shields, even as they started to fall back. Then they quickly sprinted away from the armored swordsmen, but Daggrande sensed that these were not troops in terrified retreat.

Indeed, so did Captain Garrant.

"Halt!" Garrant bellowed to his companies as the spearmen drifted away. Most of the swordsmen finally ceased their charge, though a few still lumbered on.

"Stop, you idiots!" The captain finally collected his companies, forming again into tight ranks and falling slowly back around the crossbows.

Suddenly the plain around them swarmed with new troops, warriors who had been lying concealed in the tall grass while the legionnaires charged. These attackers quickly sent a shower of stone-tipped arrows soaring toward the companies. Other natives raced forward, swirling slings and sending heavy stones flying toward the invaders.

"Fire! Reload! Fire at will!" Daggrande bellowed his command and cracked off a bolt into the mass of archers before his troops. He bent to crank another shaft into the weapon as the enemy missiles began to fall.

"I'm hit!"

"Helm's curses, I'm down!"

Men cried out all around Daggrande. Arrows slashed into the legionnaires, but their armor stopped most of the stone heads from penetrating deeply. The stones from the slings were more painful, occasionally crushing a cheekbone or smashing an eye with a blow to the face.

Daggrande's men reloaded their weapons, ignoring the steady barrage of missiles showering around them, and fired another volley into the natives. While the arrows of the Payit inflicted painful wounds, the crossbows of the legionnaires cut a broad swath of death through the ranks of archers. The heavy steel bolts lanced through the quilted cotton armor as if it were not there. Sometimes a bolt passed clear through a victim to inflict further damage beyond.

Still the natives stood firm, firing again and again. The wounds became more severe, and Daggrande saw several of his men fall and lie still, or writhe in excruciating agony. Their own volleys of steel death slashed into the native archers, and hundreds of bodies soon bled their lives onto the field. But always more archers raced forward, more slingers advanced, to step across their fallen comrades and shoot.

"Company, advance! Charge!" Daggrande heard Garrant's command and immediately echoed it with his own. Only by driving these archers back could his own formation retire safely.

The swordsmen rushed forward. The crossbowmen raised their weapons and fired, laboriously reloading as they, too, broke into a run. The name of Helm resounded from every throat.

The archers stood bravely, launching missiles at point-blank range before they died from the swift strikes of Garrant's swordsmen. In scarce moments, the legionnaires had hacked their way through the bowmen and slingers. With still greater shouts to the glory of their god, the two companies of legionnaires rushed toward the bulk of the native army.

Gultec stood amazed at the carnage inflicted upon the archers, at first by the metal darts of the invaders and then by their long silver knives. But now these men had rushed far ahead of their companions. The men of Ulatos stood ready to meet them, javelins and macas poised for combat. The warriors who had performed Gultec's opening feint now closed to crash into the strangers' ranks.

The enemy warriors expanded their line to meet the natives. The men with the metal darts dropped their casters and took up metal daggers, long weapons but not as great as those carried by the men with the metal shields.

But all of those keen weapons cut easily through the armor and skin covering the men of Ulatos. Even Jaguar Knights, protected by hishna, talonmagic armored hides of the great cats, fell easily before the deadly silver blades.

Still, Gultec knew they had to exploit this opportunity, even as the men of Ulatos died to provide it. "Now!" he urged Lok beside him.

The Eagle Knight hesitated for just a moment before nodding. "Now!" he cried, raising his fist. Behind him, his standard-bearer twirled his great feathered symbol. "Send in the Eagles!"

More than two hundred warriors, resplendent in their black-and-white-feathered costumes, capped with the colorful beaked helmets, waited behind the house where the chiefs stood. Now these warriors suddenly wavered and crouched. Their costumes blossomed into true wings and the forceful beat of their power sent miniature whirlwinds through the grass.

The eagles rose into the air, shrieking, their voices harsh and powerful enough to penetrate the din of the battlefield below. Black and white feathers shone gloriously on each of the magnificent birds. Their claws extended, they slowly climbed into the sky. Soaring forward, they passed over the melee raging on the ground. Legionnaire and Payit alike fell back, gasping for breath and watching the graceful formation.

Then the eagles tucked their wings and plummeted earthward, diving toward the bare ground behind Daggrande's and Garrant's companies.

"Time for you to go, my dear," Cordell said quietly. He and Darien stood at the front of the observation tower, watching the approach of the eagles for a moment, seeing them settle toward the earth behind the two companies. The rest of the legion's infantry advanced steadily on each flank, but Daggrande's and Garrant's companies were still far ahead.

The elf woman was completely swathed in her hood and robe to protect her albino skin from the hot sun. Nevertheless, she heard Cordell and nodded.

In the next second, she disappeared from sight, vanishing with a sorcerous suddenness that unnerved the signal officers with Cordell on his battle tower.

Her teleportation spell took her instantly to the ground below the descending eagles. She swiftly looked skyward, squinting against the bright haze that nearly blinded her. Holding up a finger, she pointed at the lowest eagle and barked a harsh command.

A sizzling missile of light bolted from her finger to explode in the breast of the bird. It screeched and tried to arrest its descent, but another blast, and another, sizzled into its bare flesh. With a pathetic flutter, the bird's wings collapsed and it crashed to earth, a shapeless pile of feathers.

Darien turned her attention immediately to another bird, shearing off its wing with several more magic missiles. At the same time, she sensed more of the birds circling behind her.

Wheeling like a swordsman, Darien snatched Icetongue from its sling at her belt. Raising the wand, she uttered the command word, once, twice, and again, moving the wand slightly each time.