Damn! They knew we were here, he reasoned, furious at himself for not sending scouts of his own out sooner. Then Vambran's eyes narrowed in suspicion. They knew we were here because they're serving the same curs who sent the pirates against us. The lieutenant's sudden insight made his stomach churn.

No time for worrying about that now, he thought, turning and rapidly working his way back across the rocky point so he could join his men. We're going to get slaughtered if we don't get out of this trap.

Once down on the sand, Vambran sprinted toward the formation he had ordered, which he saw was already formed up. Men armed only with blades were positioned in the middle in a single tight rank, while those with crossbows took up spots on either flank, spaced out a bit more. With only twenty-three men, the formation was pitifully small.

When he joined his soldiers, Vambran knew what they had to do, and he didn't hesitate for a moment. "Crescents!" he said, running into a position in front of his troops, turning his back to the enemy for a moment and facing the remains of his company. "We're pinned between two larger forces, coming from either direction." Vambran gestured both ways along the beach. "This is a lawless land where anyone you meet is an enemy until proven otherwise. Their intentions are clear, and there are too few of us to stand and fight. Once again, I must ask you to retreat from the battle, though I know it leaves a foul taste in your mouths to do so." There was some muted rumbling among the men and women formed up in front of Vambran, but he held up his hand for silence.

"We'll make a break for the trees," he said, pointing behind himself. "Keep together as much as you can because we're going to have to plow through their skirmish line to get to the woods. They are mounted, but they are strung out enough that we ought to be able to punch a hole through them and melt into the forest. Once there, we can use the cover to our advantage and convince these bastards to go find easier pickings elsewhere." A handful of encouraging shouts issued forth, but most of the twenty-three were subdued, silent.

Knowing that delaying any longer would cost them opportunity, Vambran wasted no more time. He nodded to Horial, who issued the order for the troops to begin moving forward. Initially the Crescents moved in a smooth, cohesive block, with the center portion remaining in a straight line and the flanks, the crossbowmen, trailing out to either side, so that the whole formation appeared to be something of a blunt-nosed wedge, moving right toward the thin line of skirmishers.

As they drew closer to the tree line, Vambran saw that the lead soldiers among the cavalry had met up, closing the line, and several had dismounted and turned toward the advancing Crescents. He saw the archers among the enemy begin to bunch together in front of them, preparing for the confrontation. To either side, the marching columns were also deploying, spreading out into lines and beginning to advance more quickly, hurrying to cut the Crescents off before they could defeat the more lightly armed skirmishers and slip away.

It would be close.

Vambran began to realize his miscalculation as soon as the first magical effects materialized among his troops. It naturally occurred to him that some among the enemy would be able to draw upon magic to aid them, as he often did himself, but he had not expected them to be concentrated so heavily among the mounted skirmishers. But it made sense, he realized, for they could wield their magic from afar and on the move, much in the same way they often engaged the troops from a distance with their ranged weaponry. Plus, the lieutenant realized, they might have expected the Crescents to make a run for the forest and needed to be prepared for it.

All of that understanding of military theory did nothing to change the fact that Vambran's plan to break for the trees was being thwarted. In the very center of the line, the coarse sea grass that grew heavily in the sand came alive, growing and squirming about, wrapping tendrils of plant fiber around the soldiers' feet. Several men went down, thoroughly entangled in the animated, writhing growth that had a hold of them. As they tumbled into the sand, more of the greenery latched on, pinning them helplessly.

At another point, on the left flank where the crossbowmen moved obliquely, the ground seemed to become as slippery as a lard-coated floor, causing several more Crescents to stumble and fall to the ground. They scrabbled about, trying to find some purchase on the greasy, slimy terrain, but it was pointless. They could not maneuver effectively at all and fell behind.

"Keep moving!" Vambran ordered. "Run!" He hated the words as soon as they issued from his mouth, but the lieutenant understood the tactic all too well and realized he couldn't save everyone. To stop and aid the other men would only allow the larger forces to close in and cut them all off.

Just like in the water, Vambran lamented. Damn you, Lavant!

The remaining Crescents began to charge the skirmishers' position, and Vambran sprinted along with them, peering ahead. Beside the mercenary officer, three soldiers stumbled and dropped to the ground, apparently unconscious-or asleep, Vambran decided. He considered stooping down and trying to wake them, but he had already given the order not to pause, and he knew hesitating would only mean his capture or death. His heart heavy for the fate of the three, Vambran pressed on. He tried not to think of their names, their families, as he moved away. He shoved the knowledge to the back of his mind as he fled. He could grieve later.

When a wave of fear washed over Vambran, he was able to maintain his composure and ignore it, but two more soldiers on either side of him froze in mid-step, turned, and fled back the way they had come. Even as he lamented the loss of two more devoted members of the company, Vambran spotted the spellcaster responsible for the magic. The man was still mounted and was issuing orders as he prepared another incantation. The lieutenant stopped momentarily, bringing his crossbow up. He had only a handful of bolts, having received a share from the remaining ammunition, but he did not hesitate to use it. The cord on his weapon was fresh and dry, and the missile flew true, striking the spellcaster squarely in the chest. The man let out a panicked scream and clutched at the bolt. He lurched in the saddle, drawing back on his reins such that his mount spun away awkwardly, dropping him to the ground.

Vambran ran on.

Other members of the company had slowed in order to fire a bolt or two in the direction of the enemy line blocking their path to the trees, and the missile fire was doing its work well. Already Vambran could see that three or four skirmishers were down, and numerous riderless horses milled about in their midst. The rest of the lightly armed soldiers were moving aside, unwilling to stand before the charging remnants of the Crescents' double-wing formation.

Vambran felt a missile of some sort whistle past his head as he rushed toward the cover of the trees, and when he was a few paces from the initial foliage, one of the skirmishers loomed up before him, a staff held out in both hands threateningly. The other soldier was sallow-skinned, his facial features long and narrow. Absently, Vambran guessed he might have been from the plains of the Shaar. He monitored the man's stance warily as he rushed toward his enemy, and just when the skirmisher shifted and began to bring the staff around to swipe at the lieutenant's head, Vambran altered his direction and lowered his shoulder.

The maneuver sent Vambran plowing into his opponent, who managed to get a single, feeble strike in against Vambran's back, the blow made ineffectual by both his breastplate and the too-close distance between the two. As the lieutenant collided with his adversary, he heard the other man's breath leave his body in a rush, and the pair tumbled across the ground haphazardly.