by Gav Thorpe
The enemy split, some following the chariots to keep the Seventh occupied, the rest advancing toward the river. Donar wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and swallowed hard.
There were a lot of Salphorians bearing down on his legion.
V
Ullsaard saw another volley already in the air, the rest of the Salphors breaking into a run under the cover of their archers. It was a good tactic. The all-encompassing shield wall was a poor formation to receive a charge; with shields lifted overhead to protect against falling arrows the legionnaires were unable to direct their spears towards the enemy. If they lowered their shields too soon, the bowmen would take a heavy toll; too late and the phalanx would not be able to fight back against their onrushing foes.
"Stand ready!" bellowed Ullsaard as more arrows descended in a deafening clatter. He took another peak at the approaching Salphors. They were fifty paces away, more arrows streaming over them. "One more volley!"
His shield shook in his grasp under the impact of several shafts, but none pierced the bronze-plated wood. Ullsaard wriggled his fingers on the haft of his spear, getting a better grip.
"Break shields! Present spears!" he roared, pulling down his shield and lifting his weapon into position.
His eye was immediately drawn to a Salphor directly ahead, an axe in both hands as he sprinted at the Askhan line. You're mine, thought the king, sliding back his right foot and bracing his shield against the man next to him.
"For Askhor!"
The cry drowned out the shouts and curses of the Salphors as the enemy hit the line with an earth-trembling crash. Ullsaard thrust his spear at the throat of the axeman, catching him below the jaw as he swung back his weapon. Twisting and wrenching, he pulled the spear free as the man's body tumbled into the dirt.
Something smashed against his shield, but Ullsaard did not break his attention from the front; whatever happened to his left was someone else's problem. Kassil's shield, protecting Ullsaard, shuddered under an impact. The king jabbed his spear, feeling the tip hit something, gouging into flesh.
Then the press of the Salphors was brought to bear, the bearded, wild-eyed warriors slashing, stabbing, dragging at shields. Ullsaard's right arm was like a piece of an engine, moving back, slamming forward, moving back for the next blow. He barely heard the snarled insults, the cries of the wounded, the racket of clashing shields and snapping wood.
Jaw clenched, he adjusted his footing as something heavy fell against him. Glancing down, he saw a Salphor's face, a ragged gash from cheek to brow. He stomped on the man's throat to be sure.
After some time, both sides battering away at each other, the Salphor pressure began to give. With no word given, the first company began to push forwards, taking the fight to the enemy, stepping over the dead. There was movement all around Ullsaard as the ranks redressed, men from the back filling in where legionnaires had fallen.
As more and more of the Thirteenth arrived from the river, the Salphors' advantage of numbers dwindled. With natural momentum, the line of battle swung away from the river as freshly arrived companies ploughed into the fight from the ford, hurling back the Salphors on the right.
Ullsaard reckoned that more than an hour had passed since the first charge. The battle was breaking up into smaller combats as some of the tribesmen broke away, leaving companies free to flank and surround those that remained fighting. Sensing a pause in the immediate fighting, Ullsaard broke from the first company, heading back through the ranks to clear ground.
The Askhans had advanced more than three hundred paces from their original position, their progress marked by hundreds of bodies from both sides. The wounded lay mangled and groaning, the dead sprawled where they had been cut down. A short distance away stood Anasind, messengers running back and forth as he continued to direct the battle. Ullsaard strode between the piles of casualties and raised his spear to attract the general's attention.
Anasind broke off from what he was doing and met his king halfway.
"Any word from the other side?" asked Ullsaard.
"Not yet, but it does not look good," said Anasind.
Ullsaard turned his gaze across the river. In the full morning light, the situation was revealed. The undulating ground sloping down to the river was filled with battle, stretching for almost a mile in a curving line to dawnwards. The hills were awash with Salphors, many thousands of them, a swaying mass that charged, fell back and charged again at the thin line of Askhans holding them back.
"We have to finish here quickly and get back across," said Ullsaard.
"Yes, but how?" said Anasind. He pointed at the battle between the Thirteenth and their foes. "We're only just getting the upper hand. I suppose I could pull back a few companies at a time as they become free, send them over as soon as I can."
"That won't help," said Ullsaard, shaking his head. "They'll just get fed into the melee piecemeal. We need to do something decisive to turn the battle."
Anasind looked lost for ideas, brow knotted as he watched the ongoing fighting.
"Sound the withdrawal," said Ullsaard.
VI
It was almost impossible not to give ground under the relentless attack of the Salphors. Naathin was red in the face, his breath coming in gasps as he swung his sword at the next enemy, the blow cleaving into the bearded man's forehead. The First Captain wrenched the blade free, showering himself with blood. Spitting the fluid from his mouth, he brought up his shield to catch the spear of another Salphor.
There was no retreating, as had been decided. Despite that, his Seventh were slowly being pushed back. The Salphors were ill disciplined, but were fighting ferociously, defending their lands with their blood and lives. Every time his soldiers paused for a breath or faltered, the Salphors pressed on, taking a step forward for every backward pace by his men.
The Ersuan had to credit them for at least trying, even as he wished they had all surrendered peacefully and let him return to his wives and daughter. Another blow shuddered his shield. He thrust without looking, feeling the tip of his sword push into flesh, the blow eliciting a yelp of pain from the man in front of him.
"Move to the right!" he bellowed, realising that the companies on the flank were in danger of being pushed away from the rocky bluff that prevented them being flanked.
Javelins were still being hurled over the heads of the Salphors from the roving chariots, which loitered menacingly, waiting for the smallest break in the line to dash forward with a deadly charge. If they were allowed the get behind the companies, havoc would break out and the line would crumble; orders to fight to the last notwithstanding.
"Push them back! Regain the crest!" he roared, smashing his shield into the chest of his opponent.
"We're bloody trying!" the legionnaire to his left snarled through gritted teeth.
"Well bloody try harder!" the First Captain shouted in reply.
VII
"What? Withdraw?" Anasind was horrified by the idea. "But we're winning. The Salphors will hound us back to the river if we let them."
"Which is why when they come after us you'll sound the counter-charge," said the king.
Anasind looked uncertain.
"Pulling back from engagement is not easy," he said. "We'll lose a lot of men if we time this wrong."
"We'll lose a fucking lot more if that line breaks," snapped Ullsaard, jabbing his spear towards the battle on the other side of the river. "You have your orders."
"Yes, king," said Anasind, bowing his head. He signalled for the handful of trumpeters to approach.
Ullsaard turned away and stared over the water, willing Donar and the others to keep fighting. The arc of the legions was contracting slowly, each fresh Salphorian attack pushing back part of the line as other companies retreated to keep the formation coherent. From this distance it was clear to see that the Salphors were concentrating their attack to dawnwards, at the end of the line not guarded by the river. Like a rod slowly bending under a smith's hammer blows, the legi
ons were being forced into an ever tighter space, the far end of the line curling back towards the river.
Trumpet blasts split the air as the retreat was sounded. The signal was repeated three times, until all of the Thirteenth were falling back, still facing their enemies. For a while, the Salphors were taken aback by the move and a gap of a hundred paces or more opened between the lines. Faster and faster, the legion contracted, stepping back over the bodies of their own dead. Ragged volleys of arrows followed them, cutting holes in the tight ranks. Messengers and captains hurried to meet the retreating companies, bearing news of the plan to counter-attack.
"They'll be shot to pieces," said Anasind. "I'll have to sound the attack now."
"Wait!" said Ullsaard as the general lifted his arm to the musicians. "Just a little longer."
Anasind lowered his arm slowly and returned to his king's side. The shouts and yells of both sides could be heard, carried by the strengthening wind. Ullsaard glanced across the river. The Askhan line was still holding, though it was perilously close to breaking in places.
The noise of the Salphors recommencing their attack rumbled over the other sounds. Anasind again moved to raise his arm, but Ullsaard grabbed his wrist.
"Not yet," he said quietly. "We need to make sure the Salphors are fully committed."
"A legion doesn't change direction in a heartbeat," replied Anasind. "Too late, and they'll be caught anyway. We need to…" His objection trailed away as Ullsaard fixed him with a stare.
"In a moment," said the king. "This has one chance to work, let's not waste it."
Anasind fidgeted, arm still gripped by Ullsaard. In his head, the king was picturing the scene, obscured by the line of the legion. The Salphors had been no more than a hundred and fifty paces away. Allowing for the speed of their attack and the pace of the retreat, subtracting a little for the order to be enacted…
"Now," he said, letting go of Anasind.
"Sound the attack!" the general bellowed, raising and dropping his arm quickly.
The trumpets blared out. The Askhan companies came to a hesitant stop. As the signal rang again, they surged forward, meeting the Salphors head-on with a wall of bronze, a throaty roar drifting down to the river.
The line broke as some companies surged into the enemy while others met stiffer resistance. The soldiers closest to the river, where the freshest companies were found, swung inwards, sweeping away the Salphors in front of them. On the far right, the line was at a virtual standstill, while the centre advanced in determined fashion, the ring of weapons mingling with more screams and cries.
It seemed to take an age to Ullsaard, though in reality perhaps less than a quarter of an hour passed as the Askhan attack gained momentum. Having thought they were on the brink of victory, the courage of the Salphors crumbled quickly under the renewed assault, and they streamed away from the river in their dozens, leaving those fighting to their fate.
With open country behind and determined foes in front, the Salphor retreat spread into a rout. Here and there knots of Salphors fought on, their chieftains too brave, too stupid, or too trapped to run away. Some of the Askhans were pressing after the fleeing foe, and there was a danger of an ill-disciplined chase.
"Sound the recall," Anasind shouted to the musicians, just as the order was reaching Ullsaard's lips.
On the third sounding of the order, the pursuit was halted. Company by company, the Thirteenth came back in line and marched back to the river. A few companies detached as a rear guard, covering the withdrawal against a possible – though unlikely – resurgence from the fleeing Salphors.
Ullsaard looked at the legion, noticing that many of the companies had suffered heavy casualties. Those that had been fighting from the onset were at half strength or worse. It was with weary eyes and tired limbs that the legionnaires reformed on the general and king.
VIII
Ullsaard called for Blackfang and mounted. Spear in hand, he rode along the line.
"Congratulations on winning the warm-up!" he shouted to his men. He pointed over the river with his spear. "The real battle's over there. You're tired. Many of you are hurt. It would be easy to stop now. I can't let you do that. You're the Thirteenth. You're my Thirteenth, and that means you don't stand around while others do the fighting."
Ullsaard turned Blackfang around and rode back in the other direction.
"The Fifth and the Seventh are over there, trying to make a good show of things," he continued. "Looks like they're outnumbered by two-to-one at least. They're Askhans, so they're going to win anyway. But people will wonder what the Thirteenth were doing while the Fifth and Seventh earned such glory. Do the Thirteenth want to be known as the legion that were spectators at Askh's great victory?"
"No!" The shouted reply was a bit ragged. Taking a breath, Ullsaard pitched his voice even louder.
"Are the Thirteenth going to be remembered as the legion that won two battles in a single day?"
"Yes!" came the cry, stronger than before.
"Which legion is going to kill these annoying Salphorian bitchfuckers for me and march me to Carantathi?
"Thirteen!" The cheer was accompanied by the crashing of spears on shields and the stamping of feet.
With a shout, Ullsaard urged Blackfang into a run and headed like an arrow for the river. Excited by the blood and mayhem, she plunged into the water without hesitation as the Thirteenth quickly filed after at a trot, forming column company by company.
Ullsaard did not look back as Blackfang splashed over the ford. His eyes were fixed on the battle ahead. It would be easy to join the line where it was closest to the river, but the companies fighting there seemed to be doing well against relatively light opposition. The real danger lay at the far flank, where the Salphors were threatening to overlap or break through at any time. All of the reserves from the Fifth and Seventh had been committed, and still the Salphors were pushing them back.
Angling Blackfang for the further extent of the Askhan line, Ullsaard slowed her to a fast walk. Behind him, the Thirteenth followed at a swift march, hidden from the enemy by the fighting. Looking over his shoulder, Ullsaard checked the far side of the river and was reassured to see that the Salphors had all but disappeared. That problem had been solved for good.
When he was a few hundred yards from the fighting, he urged Blackfang on again. He waved his spear forwards and grinned as behind him the trumpets of the Thirteenth signalled the attack. It had been a long while since he had fought from Black fang's back, but he felt he owed it to the ailur after neglecting her for so long.
A gap opened up between two companies ahead and, reins in his shield hand, Ullsaard directed her into the opening, spear at the ready.
"Get ready, my beauty," he said to Blackfang, bracing himself as they hurtled towards a group of Salphors.
Just a dozen paces from the enemy, Ullsaard used the rim of his shield to knock loose the catch on the ailur's blinker-chamfron. The spring-loaded plates over her eyes snapped open, and Blackfang looked upon her prey for the first time in years.
The Salphors looked around in shock as a piercing snarl split the air. They turned to see a golden-speared warrior charging at them, upon the back of a spitting mass of claws and fangs with red flames for eyes.
Before the tribesmen realised their peril, Ullsaard and Blackfang were upon them, spear flashing, teeth and claws rending and tearing. Ullsaard clung to reins and saddle horn with an iron grip as the ailur pounced and ripped. With his spear held overhand, the king lanced its point into any foe he could reach, plunging his weapon into chests and backs, splitting faces and piercing limbs. He snarled and roared with his mount, spittle flying from his mouth as blood sprayed from Blackfang's jaws.
Just as they were recovering from the shock of Ullsaard's charge, the Salphors were confronted by the first company of the Thirteenth. Golden face of Askhos held aloft, the legionnaires plunged into the fray, chanting the name of their king.
This fresh assault smashed into the
Salphor line, company after company poured into the fray, driving deep into the tribesmen whilst behind them the men of the Seventh surged forwards with renewed strength.
Ullsaard's heart hammered in his chest and the Blood rushed through his body, lending its strength to every blow he landed. He kicked aside the shield of a Salphorian warrior and drove his spear into the man's gut. Blackfang leapt, crushing the helm of another with a swipe of a paw.
Something approached at speed from Ullsaard's right. Blackfang reacted quicker than the king, turning with a strangely disturbing shriek to leap directly at the lupus chariot. Ullsaard gripped tightly to the reins as feline and lupine collided, the ailur spitting, slashing with her claws, the lupus lunging at her throat with jaws wide. The king's eyes met with those of a charioteer, both of them slightly startled by the encounter.