Dream of Legends (67 page)

With the closer positioning of the enemy lines, the impressive range of their composite bows reached even deeper into the Saxan ranks, as the first of the javelins flew in high arcs over the shield wall. The head of one javelin buried itself in the small gap of space between Wulfstan and Cenwald, who flinched at the quick hiss and ensuing thud of the impact.

The narrowing of ground between the opposing forces also benefitted the Saxans, who were finally able to draw blood. Saxan horns blasted, and the shouts of thanes went up, as their own archers, slingers, and javelin throwers unleashed a ferocious response. Flurries of missiles arced high over the tall shields of the enemy line to fall down within the Andamooran ranks. Cries of pain erupted in the wake of the retaliating hail, and a deafening cheer went up among the Saxans.

Wulfstan’s sword grip was on the edge of turning his knuckles white, as he was still largely helpless during the current course of the battle. He kept his mind steeled upon keeping his shield raised up, knowing that even a moment’s lapse in concentration could be deadly.

The shield itself was already a little heavier, as an arrow shaft was embedded into one of the lime-wood planks. The thwack of the arrow, as it burrowed into the wood, had caused Wulfstan’s heart to skip a beat. He had uttered a brief prayer of thanks to the All-Father for having the good fortune to possess a shield of modest quality.

He could only imagine what the highly exposed, vulnerable levy men towards the rear of the Saxan lines were going through in their minds. There were probably several men huddling together under each of the few old, battered shields held amongst their ranks.

After the first wave of javelins, Wulfstan angled his shield a little higher. The downward trajectory of the javelin stuck in the ground by his right leg prompted him to make the adjustment, as it would have made it past the rim of his shield in its former position, had the thrower’s aim been a little more to the right. Another deep thud of steel into wood sounded. A quick sideways glance revealed a wide-eyed Cenwald, who had just caught one of the thrown missiles with his own shield.

“It can do you no harm, while you keep behind your shield,” Wulfstan said to Cenwald, while trying to keep his own nerves steady.

Just in front of him, he could see the tensed forms of many axe-bearing household guards, who were tantalizingly close to being able to strike at the enemy. Thanes cried out exhortations to keep the shield wall tight.

The sky above was blurred with the streams of missiles flying back and forth. There was little to do but wait, for either the thanes to call for a march forward, or for the enemy to do something similar. The inaction was torturous to endure, as the lethal torrents continued to exact a bloody toll upon the Saxans. The only consolation was that cries continued to arise from the enemy’s ranks, too, derived from Saxan arrows, javelins, and sling-stones.

The sound of a muffled gasp emitted suddenly from behind Wulfstan, as a javelin claimed the life of a man with gray-streaked locks of hair. He felt the man’s body bump against the back of his legs, as the dead Saxan slumped to the ground.

Wulfstan recognized the fallen levyman. He had known the family, and he was aware of the terrible price that had just been paid. In one flashing moment, seven Saxan children had lost their father, and a generous, warm-hearted woman had lost a caring, hard-working husband.

Wulfstan hardened his mind, as the pang of sorrow bit sharply into him, forcing himself to keep his focus squarely on the battle at hand. There would be time enough to agonize over the horrible fragility of life, and the mounting losses around him that were far from over. He quickly reset his feet, sliding about half a pace to his left. Tripping on a fallen body, in the midst of combat, could easily mean a quick death.

“Watch your step,” he called to Cenwald with a downward glance towards the body. Cenwald’s expression showed that he understood the warning, as he nodded back to Wulfstan.

The ground then reverberated with the thrumming sound of a great mass of hooves striking the earth. Wulfstan chanced a glance around the edge of his shield, elated to see a force of Saxan horsemen charging into the zone between the two opposing forces. He could see the mounted warriors flowing across his view, just above the heads of the Saxan warriors forming the front line.

The mounted Saxans hurled javelins as they neared the enemy, bringing the horses around quickly to angle back for the Saxan ranks. Wulfstan watched their arms rear back and snap forward, sending iron-tipped shafts whistling into the dense, enemy ranks.

Simultaneously, as if it was the signal the enemy had been waiting for, the wall of spearmen surged forward to engage the Saxan cavalry. Bait had been taken, as Wulfstan witnessed a keen strategy unfurling.

The famed warriors of Bretica, bearing the proud standards of Count Gerard II, suddenly emerged from behind the lighter, javelin-throwing horsemen. Their horses, resplendent and proud in their trappers of iron scales, gleamed brightly as they bore down heavily upon the freshly-opened channels in the Andamooran ranks. Their stalwart riders, mirroring the steeds in their own scale armor, held spears in high overhand grips, or underhanded ones out from their bodies. Others carried swords, holding them high in the air as they cried out loudly, charging into the fray.

The Bretican horsemen’s eyes blazed as they sliced through the fissures in the Andamooran ranks, scattering panicking infantry spearmen. Wulfstan eyed a lone Bretican pennon that seemed to glide forward above the melee. The white horse on its green field appeared to fly defiantly above the fury of the battle.

Buoyed by the strong, sudden shift in momentum, the Saxan forces around Wulfstan could not be restrained any longer. A clamor arose as thanes and household warriors alike shouted, and the Saxan shield wall rushed forward in an outpouring of martial ardor. They fell furiously upon the breaking ranks of the Andamoorans, swinging axes and swords with reckless abandon.

Wulfstan and those around him hurried forward within the massive outflow, swiftly finding themselves amongst the enemy warriors. Reacting fast, he knocked aside a spear thrust from one of the veiled fighters, before bringing his sword back in a slaying blow to the attacker’s neck.

A helmed enemy warrior, armed with a long-bladed, single-edged weapon, then charged him. Wulfstan smashed his shield into the man’s face, driving the iron boss into flesh and bone, and knocking the man backwards. A half-maddened Saxan ceorl in the grip of a fiery bloodlust pinned the man to the ground with a frenzied spear thrust, before Wulfstan could even move to finish off his stunned enemy.

The ceorl glanced towards Wulfstan with a wild look dancing in his eyes, giving a loud outcry as he ripped the spear loose, and shook it defiantly in the air. He charged off into the depths of the uproar spreading around them.

The enemy’s front ranks were clearly disintegrating, and the Saxans were making tremendous progress, following in the wake of Count Gerard’s elite heavy cavalry. The Bretican cavalry had pressed deeper into the teeming enemy, cutting a broad swathe through ranks of lightly armed fighters. A more determined, heavier-armed force of enemy cavalry, consisting of dark-skinned men with fierce countenances, would soon be matching blades with the Breticans.

Indescribable exhilaration filled Wulfstan as he flowed along with his battle-maddened Saxan brethren. The left flank of the overall enemy force was in the process of being eroded. The Andamooran ranks were teetering on the edge of a widespread breakdown in morale, which would lead almost certainly to the flank being rolled up entirely.

Many of the Andamoorans bravely accounted for themselves as they were swept up within the Saxan swarm. Wulfstan engaged in a few blistering moments of combat himself along the way, but it was plain to all eyes that the great mass of Andamoorans were being driven steadily backwards.

Wulfstan saw a household warrior bring his two-handed axe crashing down on an enemy swordsman. The sheer power inflicted by the blow elicited a wince from Wulfstan, as the heavy axe blade cleaved deep into the hapless Andamooran’s body.

Wulfstan then caught sight of a thane vigorously assailing two of the veiled Andamoorans. Whether they were archers, or spearmen who had lost their main weapons and shields in the fighting, the pair wielded nothing more than long daggers. They had an enormous disadvantage against the thane’s robust, heavy sword blade.

The two Andamoorans rushed at the thane, who deftly thwarted one of them with an outward shield-thrust, while lancing his sword with accuracy and power up under the chin of the second man. A couple of heavy, hacking blows later, the first Andamooran was sent by the thane to join his comrade in whatever afterlife beckoned to them.

Flurries of blows transpired all around, as Wulfstan hurried by with a number of Saxans to fall upon several dagger-armed, veiled warriors, standing amid a number of composite bows that had been hurriedly cast aside. The sight of the bows lying all around told Wulfstan everything that he needed to bring himself into an inferno of rage.

The Andamooran archers that had killed so many Saxans from a distance were now engulfed in a maelstrom of vengeance, as Wulfstan and others cut viciously into them. With their small round shields, lack of armor, and daggers, they were hewn down rapidly, as the Saxans moved through them like brushfire through drought-parched grasses.

One Andamooran howled in agony, as a heavy, chopping cut of Wulfstan’s sword removed the hand that had pulled arrows and a bowstring back so very recently. The Andamooran was given no time to contemplate the disastrous wound, as Wulfstan condemned him to lasting silence with a brutal slash.

Wulfstan squared off with another, striking out from behind his round shield and bringing the Andamooran down with a cutting stroke below the man’s left knee. Another Saxan pierced the Andamooran with a heavy spear, as the man lay writhing, and crippled, upon the ground.

Resistance dropped precipitously, as a great panic began to spread and take hold throughout the splintering Andamooran ranks.

Wulfstan was afforded a few moments to glance around at the progress of the Saxan attack. His eyes widened, as he took his first close look at the strange, hump-backed mounts that the Andamoorans had brought along with them, all the way from their distant homelands.

They were odd-shaped creatures, each with singular, distinctive humps, elongated necks, and strange facial features. To Wulfstan’s eyes, the beasts looked quite ungainly in form, though it was clear that the animals were well-accustomed to riders and saddles.

The horses of the Saxans reared as they drew near to the unfamiliar mounts of the enemy. The infantry riding the humped beasts had dismounted to form up ranks, utilizing their mounts as a type of makeshift, living field fortification. It was a manner of fighting that they were evidently well accustomed to, as Wulfstsan watched the enemy fighters hastening to create a fallback position.

The sounds of more horns filled the air, coming from the south. The ground rumbled anew with the pounding resonance of approaching horses, as Wulfstan and the other Saxans heard their own side’s distinctive horn signals rising into the air. The Saxan signals carried an edge of urgency, commanding an immediate fallback.

Wulfstan looked over towards the weird, humped beasts massed just a short distance ahead. The hastily assembling ranks of Andamooran spearmen were allowing their retreating brethren to stream through their ranks, while their cavalry labored to slow the vigorous Saxan advance. Though still very numerous, the spirit of the Andamoorans had been broken, and a heavy blow to the invaders was now within the Saxans’ grasp.

The rumbling drew steadily nearer, as the Saxan horn calls were redoubled. The Bretican warriors, their once-gleaming armor now anointed in the blood of the aggressors, began pulling away from engagements with the Andamooran cavalry.

Wulfstan eyed a mass of dark-skinned warriors, arrayed tightly around a proud-looking man, mounted upon an exquisite-looking steed. His bearing, attire, and the vivid, ornate standards around him announced to all that he was a man of great importance, and that the men around him were serving as a type of bodyguard.

The sight of the obvious Andamooran leader, almost within reach of Saxan swords, was tantalizing. The Saxans were so close to finishing off the Andamoorans, and the loss of their leader would break the back of their pummeled morale.

Wulfstan knew that the Saxan cavalry, and especially the elite Bretican forces, would not pull away from such a bounteous opportunity unless a dire situation loomed. He cursed the abrupt twist of fortune, but shouted out to the men around him.

“Fall back,” he cried out. “Fall back, Saxans, now!”

The Saxans near to Wulfstan began pulling back with reluctance, as he noticed the Bretican cavalry moving off towards the south, where the reverberations were growing in intensity.

Wulfstan realized then that the enemy was falling upon them from the center. The deep Saxan penetration into the Andamooran ranks had overreached, leaving an inviting, highly exposed flank to the Avanorans occupying the center of the invasion force.

Understanding what was happening, Wulfstan broke into a full run back towards the Saxan lines. He gestured and called out urgently to Saxan warriors wherever he could, warning them of the fast-approaching threat.

Many Saxans were still mopping up trapped pockets of Andamoorans scattered across the battlefield behind him, and there were also a number of individual combats sprinkled amid the chaos. Wulfstan slowed down as he came upon one such melee.

He slashed his sword down upon an unsuspecting Andamooran from behind, where two of them had been embroiled with a lone Saxan thane. With one less opponent, the thane quickly finished off the remaining Andamooran, as Wulfstan exhorted the thane to fall back.

Wulfstan looked farther ahead, shouting as he gestured with his sword towards a great number of Saxans in the distance, ahead of him. His heart leapt and his fears spiraled as he saw hand axes and picks of the type used on village farms, and set his eyes upon even more crude weapons, such as stones lashed to stout clubs of wood.