The Crown of the Conqueror (57 page)

  Donar couldn't stop a laugh.

  "If you're worried about getting out of breath, perhaps you should retire with the baggage? I think we're both going to get plenty of exercise today."

  "Like I said, morning fights are better. Means I'm not tired before we start. General orders to hold?"

  "Yes, just keep the line strong, let the spear throwers and catapults goad them onto our spears. Put four companies in reserve behind your front, ready to plug any gaps."

  "And you should put your veterans next to mine at the centre to protect the machines," said Naathin, looking around as he examined the ground. "I think we should fall back about a hundred and fifty paces though, the ground levels out more."

  "Good point," said Donar with a glance over his shoulder. He shrugged. "Anything we haven't thought of?"

  "Probably," replied Naathin. "Let's just make sure we hold them off until the king is done with that bunch over there."

  "Pass the word!" Donar called out to the waiting captains. "No retreat! Fight to the last man!"

  It was an indication of the legionnaires' mood, and general humour, that this announcement was greeted by a resounding cheer all around the two First Captains.

  The air was still chill when the Salphors first sallied forth. They had evidently decided the war machines were the easiest foe to overcome and bunched together at the centre, coming on quickly with shouts and waving axes and spears.

  Four salvoes of devastating spears and boulders was enough to dissuade them of this notion before they had crossed half the distance. The defiant shouts were soon quieted and the Salphor chieftains urged their men to withdraw, all swagger gone. Donar saw a huddle of garishly dressed nobles in gilded armour gather about the largest banner for some time. They evidently decided that a full attack would be too costly. Instead, the tribes broke apart, bringing out their bows and arrows.

  Naathis and Donar called out the order to prepare for the archery attack. With only their machines to hide behind, the engine crews were vulnerable. The central companies were tasked with closing about the machines, forming solid ranks in front while they reloaded, parting to enable them to loose their deadly fire.

  Undaunted by this manoeuvre, the Salphors continued to target the engines with their arrows, and from amongst the gaggles of warriors came forward their next ploy.

  The Salphor chariots raced back and forth along the line, the riders casting dozens of javelins into the Askhan companies while the warriors laughed and jeered from further away. With remarkable bravery and dexterity, the two-man teams would take it in turns to climb upon the yoke of the moving chariots to throw their weapons while the other steered. Though the additional height was not great, this tactic meant the showers of javelins came in from a steeper angle than usual, forcing the Akshans to form up into their shield walls. The lupus snarled and yowled, eager to hunt, but the Salphor charioteers were too clever to allow themselves to be drawn into a fight with the closed ranks of their foes.

  The slap and thud of the war engines was near constant, a barrage of spears and rocks hurtling into the Salphor tribes. At first they tried to hit the harassing chariots, but their targets were too small and nimble to hit at the close range, so Donar passed the order to concentrate on thinning out the enemy numbers.

  The Salphors had responded by breaking apart, widening the gaps between their men to present fewer opportunies. Despite this, several hundred of them had fallen to the war machine onslaught.

  Donar fidgeted with a loose scrap of leather from his sword's binding, but refused to look toward the river. The loose formation of the enemy was ripe for counter-attack, but he knew that the Salphors could gather again quickly and press their numerical advantage. If the Askhans chanced their hand too soon, they would lose the benefit of a cohesive line and allow themselves to be drawn into a brawl in which their discipline and manoeuvring would be for nothing.

  There was more movement from the enemy after a little more than a half an hour. The lupus chariots drew together as one group and headed toward the flank of the Seventh. Meanwhile, the infantry gathered again under their standards and gonfalons and advanced to the call of hunting horns.

  "Seems they want to have another go," Donar said to the men around him, but he knew his bravado would seem thin compared to the bone-deep confidence of a man like Ullsaard. With a snarl of annoyance, he ripped the stray piece of leather from his sword hilt and settled his grip.

  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.

 

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.

 

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.

 

"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 legions 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.