Free Reign of Iron by Angus Watson Page B

said.
    Atlas and Chamanca shrugged at each other and nodded. They were the finest Warriors that Spring had seen, with the exception of Dug and Lowa, of course, but Spring thought they looked happy for an excuse not to follow whatever murderous force was sweeping through the German camp, and she didn’t blame them.
    “You thinking what I’m thinking?” Chamanca said to Atlas.
    “Felix’s legion?”
    “Without a doubt. I want to see them. I want to kill them.”
    “Not here. Come on.”
    Senlack led them to an opulently decorated tent, where they found Atlas’ axe, Chamanca’s ball-mace and blade and Spring’s bow, quiver and hammer.
    Happier now that they were reunited with their weapons, they followed Senlack north, towards the Renos river. Throughout the camp, the carnage was extraordinary. At times the ground was so thick with bodies that they had to step on them. There were survivors, too. People emerged from tents and from under carts, mouths agape. Senlack gestured for them all to follow.
    “Where are we heading?” Chamanca asked a woman jogging along with a toddler in her arms.
    “To the bridge,” she replied, “back across the Renos, and hope that the devils cannot follow us.”
    “I will run no more,” Chamanca said to Atlas. She’d never been part of a fleeing crowd before and she did not like trotting along in the panicked ranks like a terrified sheep, not one bit. “This legion of Felix’s might kill Germans with little bother, but have they fought an Iberian? I think not.”
    She looked about. On second thoughts this was not a good place to make a stand. There were in a narrow avenue between tents, surrounded by refugees. She strained her ears. Possibly she was mistaken but …
    “Spring,” she said, “can you hear what’s happening?”
    The girl cocked her head. “Sounds like they’re coming back towards us.”
    Chamanca nodded. That’s what she’d thought, too. She guessed they’d reached the other side of the camp and were retracing their steps to kill those they’d missed on the first pass. The screams were fewer now and more isolated, which supported her theory.
    “As soon as there is room to fight,” Chamanca said, “I will stop fleeing.”
    “We’ll see,” said Atlas.
    They burst out of the camp and on to an expansive riverside meadow. It was short-grassed and busy with small brown sheep. A track across the centre of the meadow led to a thin wooden bridge. There was a trickle of Germans pounding across it. Given the size of the camp, the number escaping was pitiful.
    “Right,” said Chamanca, “I will fight here. Atlas, Walfdan and Spring, cross the bridge and prepare to break it down in case I cannot kill them all.”
    “I’ll stand with you,” said Atlas, “but let’s get closer to the bridge. These … things are fast. I want to see how they move before they’re on us. It may be that retreat is our best option.”
    “Fine. I’ll pander to your African cowardice.” She was secretly a little relieved. She wasn’t worried for herself, but she’d rather Atlas didn’t throw his life away unnecessarily.
    They chose a place fifty paces from the bridge. Atlas stood on one side of Chamanca, Senlack on the other. Spring and Walfdan headed for the bridge and safety. Chamanca was not surprised. Spring was a child and would be ineffectual, so it was sensible for her to live to fight another day, Chamanca would have done the same in her position. Walfdan’s retreat, on the other hand, was shameful. Now she knew how he’d survived the Roman’s purge of the Fenn-Nodens – by fleeing!
    Chamanca was keen to see the monsters. She wasn’t frightened. Wounds that would have done for others had never killed her. She’d often wondered if she was immortal, but had decided that if she was injured badly enough – her head removed, for example – then she would die. Perhaps she’d find out today? It would be interesting to know.
    She looked at Atlas. He was hefting his