We will make them all suffer.
“Yes, we will,” Stiger said to Rarokan, then looked over at Eli. “What do you think?”
“Do you really want me to answer?” Eli asked, gazing outward at the enemy’s battle line. The elf had paled considerably.
The rain picked up from a cold drizzle to a near steady downpour. Stiger rubbed the back of his neck. He was already becoming soaked. He had a feeling it was going to be a long day.
“I do,” Stiger said. “Tell me what you are thinking.”
“I think…we’re in trouble,” Eli said. “Truth be told, I wish I were elsewhere about now.”
Stiger looked over at Eli and blinked, thoroughly astonished. The anger and rage retreated a little, but it roiled just beneath the surface.
“What?” Eli asked with an innocent expression.
“Weren’t you the one who started tagging along with me because you wanted me to find you some trouble and excitement?” Stiger gestured outward toward the enemy. “I found it.”
Eli sucked in a breath. “Ben, there is trouble and then there is trouble.”
“Well, I’ve gone and done it then,” Stiger said. “I’ve finally found more trouble and excitement than you can handle.”
“You have,” Eli admitted. “I give you permission to no longer trouble yourself at trying so hard on my behalf.”
“It’s a little late for that,” Stiger said and returned his gaze to the enemy.
The two of them fell silent for a few heartbeats.
“The grass will grow taller here next year,” Eli said somberly. “It always grows better the year after a battle.”
Stiger knew that to be true.
The two formations were continuing to advance and were now less than three hundred yards away. Both formations gave an enthusiastic cheer.
“It looks like there won’t be any attempt to parley,” Therik said. “They want blood.”
“Blood and bodies make good fertilizer,” Eli said.
“Right,” Stiger said at that cheery thought, then half turned, looking back down the hill from the crest. Lightning slashed the sky again. The thunder crack came a mere heartbeat after. It seemed to shake the ground. “Salt.”
“Sir?” The camp prefect had partially climbed the rise behind them and was only a few yards away. With him stood the legionary with the horn, Beck with the Eagle, and the Eagle guard. A dozen yards behind waited a group of ten dismounted horsemen. They were his messenger corps for the coming fight. Like the Eagle, they would follow him around the battlefield, only the messengers would hold back from any fighting. Their job would be to run orders from him to the cohort commanders. Such measures would keep him in touch with each cohort. It would help him better manage and fight the legion.
“Would you be kind enough to give the order to advance up the rise?” Stiger called.
Salt nodded to the legionary, who then blew his horn.
“Forward,” Salt shouted. The command was picked up and down the line by the cohort commanders. “March.”
The legion began to march up the rise. Within moments they crested and came in view of the enemy. With their shields held before them and marching in neat, orderly ranks, they must have appeared to be an armored wall springing up from the ground. Stiger felt his heart swell with pride at the sight of the legion looking so sharp, even as the rain poured down around them. They were fine boys, all of them.
“Legion, halt,” Salt shouted in a clear voice that, but for the rain, could surely have been heard across the way by the enemy. The legionary with the horn blew the call to halt. The cohorts dutifully ground to a stop. The cohort commanders began aligning and dressing their formations again, so the battle line was unbroken and straight as an arrow.
“They look good,” Therik said.
“That they do,” Stiger agreed.
A terrible cry rent the air. Stiger turned his attention back to the enemy as everyone stilled. Another savage cry sounded.
The wyrms had arrived.
Like a flock of harmless geese, the dragons were flying in a V-shaped formation and had just emerged from the clouds behind the enemy’s line. Stiger counted eight of the massive beasts, all jet-black in color. They circled over their army a couple of times and then, as one, with their wings extended, began gliding downward toward the ground. As they neared, each gave several powerful flaps to slow the rate of their descent. They landed a short way behind the enemy line of battle. Stiger could feel the vibration in the ground through his boots as each massive monster touched down.
One of the wyrms stretched out its neck and raised its head into the air. It gave a deafening screech, then shot a gout of flame upward into the rain. It was an impressive display and Stiger felt a tickle of fear run through him.
“Now,” Eli said, “I think would be a good time for Menos to make an appearance.”
Stiger could not disagree.
TWENTY-THREE
“That one, there.” Stiger pointed at the officer he wanted, less than ten yards away. “Behind the first rank, off to the right. See him? I think, by his rich-looking armor, he’s a company commander or better.”
“I do.” Eli had an arrow nocked in his bow and was tracking the target. The rain was coming down in a steady downpour, making such a shot a difficult one.
“Take him down,” Stiger said.
Eli released, and less than a heartbeat later, the arrow, perfectly placed, punched through the enemy officer’s collar, a hair above where his armor ended. The power of the strike drove the officer backward and out of sight.
With the press of the bodies struggling against the legionary line, he was likely being trampled to death by his own men. Eli calmly nocked an arrow as Stiger scanned for another officer.
The sound of thunder cracked loudly overhead.
“There’s another.” Stiger pointed at a man he thought to be a junior officer. His armor was just a little better-looking than the rest. He was pacing behind the first rank of the enemy’s line, shouting orders, encouragements. It would be a tricky shot, as this one was moving. “Think you can take him?”
Eli did not bother to respond. He aimed, following the target with his bow, and then released. As he did, the officer stumbled over something unseen. The arrow snapped by his head and struck a man in the rank behind. The arrow hammered into chest armor and bounced off with an audible crack.
“You missed.” Stiger looked over at his friend.
Eli had already nocked another arrow and released. As he straightened up, the junior officer took this arrow in the neck. The arrow had gone halfway through and emerged out the back side. Mortally wounded, with eyes impossibly wide, he reached out a hand and attempted to tug the missile out. All he managed to do was worsen the wound. Blood fountained from his mouth and sprayed out into the air from where the arrowhead had emerged. Then his knees gave out and he sank from view.
Eli lowered his bow and looked over at Stiger. “Occasionally, I do miss, Ben.”
Stiger scanned the fighting to their front. He could see no more officers within easy range. They had taken down four in rapid succession. Satisfied, Stiger took several steps back up the rise to get a better view of the fight. Eli followed. He was tempted to move to a different location and start afresh, but then he spied Therik standing with Salt and he made his way over, joining them. Beck, carrying the Eagle, trailed behind, as did Stiger’s protection detail and the Eagle guard. It was quite a procession.
He turned back and studied the fight. The struggle had been going on for almost an hour. The enemy had attacked with just the two formations that had started across the field. Only three of Stiger’s cohorts were engaged with them, Second, Third, and Fifth. The rest of his line remained where they had formed up, watching the fight unfold.
“They still have not moved.” Therik nodded toward the enemy’s main body across the field.
Stiger looked beyond the fight to his front. The enemy’s main line had not budged. They stood there,
like the rest of Stiger’s battle line, simply watching the fight. While the struggle had been going on, fresh enemy formations had continued arriving. Even now, a new company was moving into position on the enemy’s extreme left flank, extending the line there. Stiger figured the enemy had now brought up at least fifteen thousand men.
Behind the line, the enemy’s wyrms sat and, like the rest, watched. Stiger could not fathom why the enemy’s main body had not yet gone forward in strength or, for that matter, their dragons.
“We’re holding just fine, sir,” Salt said. “They’re not making any progress against us. That said, these they sent forward are good quality.”
“I agree,” Stiger said, “they are well-trained and disciplined.”
Stiger looked to the left and then right. The fighting along his own line was happening just to the right of his center. He had resisted the temptation to send two cohorts to flank the formations attacking him. Had he made such a move, he judged the enemy across the field might have started forward. If that happened, it likely would have proven difficult his get the cohorts back into line before the main body arrived. That might have been what the enemy was hoping and waiting for. But Stiger did not think so.
“They are certainly not second-rate,” Stiger added. “I’d not consider them fodder for the grind.”
“No, sir,” Salt agreed.
“A test then?” Therik asked.
“Of our quality?” Stiger asked, glancing over. “I seriously doubt it. With the dragons out there, there’s no reason to waste good men like this. At least none that I can think of.”
Stiger turned around and looked to the south, searching the road. It was still empty. He had not expected reinforcement yet, but he could still hope. Couldn’t he?
“We’re holding easily enough,” Salt said, “and giving more than we’re getting.”
Stiger had to agree with that too. Though the enemy were good quality, his men were chewing up the two formations. He studied the enemy directly to his front. They were not quite light infantry, but close. Perhaps they might be considered medium infantry, more than anything else, if there was such a thing.
The enemy’s soldiers wore simple chainmail shirts and basic helmets. They carried small rounded shields, which could not provide as much protection as their legionary counterparts, and they used long swords, which were proving difficult to wield within the press of the line.
As he studied the action, a whistle was blown by Centurion Nantus. The first rank was changed out, with the second rank stepping forward to take their place. It had been smartly done.
Stiger figured that since the fight had begun, the enemy thus far engaged had lost about a third of their number. A steady stream of wounded were working their way back across the field toward their own lines. They were paying a steep price for testing the legion’s mettle.
“I don’t like it,” Stiger said. “I don’t enjoy seeing good men wasted like this for no purpose.”
“There is a purpose,” Therik said. “We just don’t know the thinking behind it. They might want to keep us busy while they bring up more of their army.”
Stiger said nothing, but he conceded that Therik might be right.
“Why not use their dragons, then?” Stiger asked the orc and gestured across the field. “Why prolong this?”
Therik gave Stiger a shrug of his shoulders.
“Why give up the siege of Lorium when you have so many dragons?” Eli asked. “They could have hit us along the line of march at any time.”
Stiger glanced over at Eli and felt his friend was more than correct. It left him feeling disagreeable, for he did not understand what the enemy was hoping to gain. He blew out an unhappy breath.
“Whatever their reasoning,” Stiger said, “we will keep murdering them for the present.”
“We could give them a little shove, sir,” Salt said. “Speed up the murdering, if you will. I would not want to tire our boys out too soon, especially before the enemy decides to send more of their number forward.”
Stiger considered that. He could keep things going as they were, essentially prolonging the fight and dragging things out. That would, as Salt said, wear down his men. Was that the enemy’s purpose? If so, why bother? No, he decided that could not be it, especially with their dragons sitting across the field. This must be some test by the enemy. Pushing back against the two formations trying his line would speed things up considerably. There was only one outcome to the fight that was now raging, and that was the breaking of the enemy directly before him. It was a foregone conclusion. The question now was timing.
“You’re right,” Stiger said. “Do it. Once the enemy gives up the fight and breaks, I don’t want our boys chasing them all the way across the field. That would make them easy prey for cavalry.”
“Aye, sir. I will pass along that order.” Salt turned and made his way over to the messengers. He spoke with three of them, and then released them to hurry forward in search of the senior centurions of all three cohorts.
“Done, sir,” Salt said as he returned. “We can expect them to push forward momentarily.”
Sure enough, within moments, Second Cohort abruptly changed out its front rank, then, with their officers shouting orders, the entire formation gave a mighty push forward.
The enemy’s first rank was immediately put under great pressure as the legionaries put their shoulders into the effort. The enemy tried to shove back, but to no avail. The sound of the fight increased with intensity as men cried out, shouted, cursed, and struggled against each other.
Stiger could hear the agonized screams of the enemy in the first rank, who were literally being crushed against the legion’s shields, and the foreign shouting of the rank behind them as they tried in vain to push back at the legionaries.
Fifth Cohort pushed forward next, and a heartbeat later, Third shoved their way at the enemy. Caught completely by surprise, the enemy to their front began immediately giving ground. With all three shoving their way forward, there was no stopping them. The legionaries had the momentum.
The steady advance continued. Each cohort on their own shoved, taking the proscribed half-step forward, hammering their shields into the enemy. Then, the shields would inevitably scrape aside and the gladius, the deadly legionary short swords, jabbed outward. Screams followed. The shields would lock back in place and the senior officer of the cohort would give the order for the next push so that the effort was unified. This was why the legion trained hard and repeatedly. The advance and subsequent killing were efficient, brutal, almost machine-like.
Stiger stood silently and watched it all. The enemy were wasting good infantry and he did not know why. That bothered him. His men were murdering the bastards. Though they were the enemy, it still angered him no less.
Kill them…kill them all.
The sword fed him a sudden surge of hate, anger, and rage. It was almost enough to make him draw the blade and join the fighting himself. Stiger physically restrained himself and turned his attention inward, as Menos had taught him.
Enough from you!
Stiger pushed back against Rarokan. He felt the surge from the sword diminish and then recede to a mere trickle. He needed to keep his head and focus on the fight at hand. If it came to needing to join the line and making an example or doing his part, he would, but not until then.
He felt a sullenness from the sword, but also a grudging understanding.
Stiger returned his attention to the battle and continued to watch it develop. The enemy were being actively pushed backward, manhandled by the legion. They gave up five yards, then ten. A trail of bodies and wounded were left in their wake. Very few were legionaries, which Stiger thought encouraging.
Abruptly, the formation on the right thoroughly crumbled and collapsed. Its organization came apart. Keeping their lines for the most part, the legionaries surged forward as the enemy in mass gave up more ground. The enemy soldiers did not immediately run or flee. They fought as individuals or in smal
l groups, struggling to fight back. It was ugly and brutal. The legionaries cut the enemy down in great numbers. The second formation fell apart a few moments later, and with it, the remains of both formations completely broke. Leaving their dead and wounded behind, they fled back across the field as fast as they could run.
The entire legion gave a hearty cheer as the legionaries of the three engaged cohorts finally broke ranks and chased after the enemy. But with their officers shouting and cursing them, they did not get very far. Within short order, they slowly began to return to the ranks and reform.
“Sir,” Salt said, “as long as the enemy don’t advance their main line, I think we can spare a few men to help our wounded back to the surgeons.”
“See to it,” Stiger said, giving a nod. “Let’s get those we can some care while we have the time to do so.”
Salt called for another messenger and passed along instructions. As he did, a slow, steady, methodical beat rose up from the enemy ranks. Hundreds of drums began pounding out a steady rhythm that was ominous and menacing and clearly intended to intimidate. It went on and on. It told Stiger the enemy was coming. They were clearly working themselves up.
Stiger turned and saw Severus join them. The tribune had been working at headquarters. Stiger motioned him over.
“Kindly send a runner to Prefect Hux,” Stiger said. “Confirm his understanding that whatever the enemy cavalry does, he is to shadow them. If practical and without undue risk, take any action he sees fit. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Severus said and stepped back to the messengers. Within a matter of moments, a rider was galloping down the line for the cavalry wing.
The cohorts to his front that had just been engaged had almost finished pulling themselves back into a semblance of order. Centurions and optios were moving down the ranks of men, checking them over.
Stiger turned his attention back to the enemy. They had not moved. The drumbeat had continued unabated. His eyes shifted to his own lines. He got the sense his men seemed a little unsettled. No matter how disciplined and ready for battle, Stiger understood morale could be a fickle beast. He looked back on the messengers and came to a decision. He turned and jogged over.
The Tiger’s Wrath (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 5) Page 39