Whatever it was, the object was too large for a bird, too slim for a boat, too streamlined for flotsam . She pressed her face closer to the glass, fascinated and terrified at the same time . My eyes could not block out the sight of the shapes, flopping, wading, barking as they inexorably massed in my direction . the texture of their skins bore the suggestion of the final stages of gangrenous flesh . The sound of battle clamoured through my brain. The field of Arderydd, soaked in blood; Liddel Water running with blood; Gwenddolau’s fortress splattered with blood . Perhaps it was not Myrddin’s great age that sapped him of his powers. Perhaps it was the Romans and their priests . The texture of Mars, the texture of its red facade, the subliminal texture of its history and mythology and the baggage of the many fictions. Mars was larger than itself . and more . eighteen stories of horror, fantasy and science fiction from award-winning editor and writer David A. Sutton.