The Crown of the Conqueror

III

It was hard to make any sense out of the confusion. Nemasolai sat upon the back of his xenosaurus, a blanket for a saddle, looking left and right across the groups of warriors fighting under the shadow of the Askhan camp. He tried to direct the attacks of his tribe with shouts augmented by gestures from his wand — a crooked branch from an irsakki tree tipped with the skull of a sand weasel. He could not tell if his orders were unclear, unheard, or simply being ignored.

From the parapet above, Askhan youths pelted the Mekhani warriors with stones. The slingers did their best to reply, but the protection offered by the wooden wall proved impossible to overcome. Nemasolai had sent fifty of his warriors around the camp to attack from the other side, but there was no sign of them and he guessed that they had been slain. Ahead, the melee surged back and forth, companies of Askhans giving ground and advancing with the tide of battle as the tribal warriors attacked and regrouped.

Dozens of dead and wounded from both sides littered the trampled grass and mud. Broken spears and discarded shields added to the debris of war. A few dozen paces to Nemasolai's left, the two sides parted for a moment and the shaman saw an Askhan crawling through the gore, dragging himself over the fallen with blood flowing from the stump of his right leg. A Mekhani warrior, himself bleeding from spear cuts across his arms and chest, heaved himself out of the murk and smashed his shield into the back of the wounded legionnaire's head. A spear thrust from freshly advancing Askhans finished him off in turn.

Nemasolai heard a shout to his right and turned to see Manamosalai waving frantically with his stave. Nemasolai grabbed the rope rein hooked into the fronds behind the xenosaurus's head and tugged in the direction of his fellow shaman, urging the beast into a waddling trot.

"What is it?" he called out as he approached.

"Are we winning?" Manamosalai asked. "I cannot see what is happening."

Glancing over his shoulder, Nemasolai could see nothing beyond the mobs of warriors around him; the lay of the hill obscured everything beyond a few dozen paces to his left, though the sound of fighting seemed to come from everywhere.

"I do not think we are losing," he told his companion with a shrug. "I saw Orlassai striking down the Askhan dogs without pause."

The clear notes of Askhan horns rang out over the din of battle, signalling some change or manoeuvre. Nemasolai had no idea what they meant, but as far as he could see, nothing changed. Shouting warnings, a cluster of red-skinned fighters fell back from a charging Askhan phalanx, some of them tumbling as they retreated down the slope. Manamosalai bellowed at his own warriors to press forward into the flank of the advancing spearmen, urging them on with shakes of his feather-hung staff.

"I think we have killed as many as we have lost," Manamosalai said, returning his attention to Nemasolai, his words almost lost in the whooping war cries of his followers as they leapt to the attack. "That must be a good thing."

"Watch out!" bellowed Nemasolai as he saw figures appearing at the camp wall not far from where he was. Manamosalai guided his reptilian mount away from the wall as a new hail of stones rained down on the Mekhani. The two of them rode a little bit further down the slope, out of range and were joined by a third chieftain, Annomasai.

"We have some of the bastards pinned up against the wall," the new arrival declared with a grin. "Push your warriors forward and we shall finish them off!"

"Which way?" asked Nemasolai, craning his neck to see what was happening. Annomasai pointed up and to the right, but nothing particular could be seen past the throng of bodies.

Manamosalai kicked his xenosaurus into motion and called out the names of the senior warriors under his command. He waved them in the direction Annomasai had indicated and several dozen Mekhani peeled to the right and headed back towards the camp, shields raised against the shower of missiles that greeted them. Nemasolai looked to see if any of his men were able to help, but they were all fighting hard, trying to encircle two Askhan companies, jabbing with their spears and hollering.

Nemasolai wiped the sweat from his face with the cloth of his poncho. It was hot work, even for warriors raised in the desert. The wind had died to nothing and the air was heavy with a gathering spring storm. As he turned his mount towards Annomasai, he happened to glance back to coldwards. He caught sight of metal and with a sensation that felt like a kick in the gut, he saw a column of Askhan soldiers curving around the hill on which the Mekhani had made their camp.

"Look! Look!" he shrieked, stabbing his wand at the enemy reinforcements. The other shamans gave startled shouts as they saw what Nemasolai had seen.

"What do we do?" said Manamosalai. "Do we press the attack? Do we turn?"

Annomasai seemed frozen in place, staring in horror as company after company of Askhans marched into view.

"I shall seek the wisdom of Orlassai," said Nemasolai. "Keep fighting! Break the Askhans!"

With that he wrenched on the rein of his mount and kicked his heels into its flank, forcing it into an ungainly run. Steering to the left, Nemasolai saw that others had witnessed the arrival of the fresh legion. Some were calling to their warriors to pull back; others were doing the same as he, running and riding in the direction of their king.