The Crown of the Conqueror

IV

There were a lot more than a few thousand Salphors pouring out of the woods into the early morning light. Donar sent a messenger running for First Captain Naathin of the Seventh, while he continued to watch the dark patch of men spreading from the forest.

The Salphors advanced with purpose though not precision. Their tribal groups were gathered about cloth standards in clumps of warriors rather than proper lines. With them came small chariots pulled by large wolf-like beasts with spiked bronze collars and coats of mail armour, two warriors in the back of each waving spears and javelins as they trundled past their foot-bound comrades.

They kept coming, horn blares signalling the arrival of three more tribes from duskwards. Donar guessed there were at least fifteen thousand of the barbarians, almost twice his own command. The general glanced toward the river, but was unable to see much at all past the glitter of the dawn light on the water. He could hear shouts and see clouds of arrows, but had not yet heard the clash of spear or sword on shield. The battle there was only just beginning.

He could not expect help from the king any time soon.

"What's the plan?"

Donar turned at Naathin's voice. The Seventh's commander was of a similar age to Donar, his skin less weatherworn, thin strands of blonde hair trailing from under his helmet. Naathin was a stocky man with a bit of a gut, but his arms were as thick as many men's legs and his chest bulged under his breastplate. Donar was surprised to see that he was smiling.

"What are you so happy about?" demanded Donar, jabbing a finger toward the Salphorian army. "Do you like unexpected visitors first thing?"

"Better to fight in the morning, it's going to get hot later," replied the First Captain. Naathin's expression turned solemn as he saw the extent of the enemy force. "Oh. I wasn't expecting that many guests."

"Let's thin out their numbers, perhaps then they'll think twice about spoiling our breakfast arrangements." Donar swept his hand from one end of the Salphaorian army to the other. "Form crescent line, left flank anchored to the river, right flank over by that bluff to dawnwards."

"Do you want the river or the bluff?" asked Naathin.

"Not fussed," replied Donar. "We'll combine our engines between the two legions and form a screen in front with a few companies. That'll stop the Salphors trying to press into the divide."

The jingling of armour and shouts of the second captains increased in volume as the legionnaires were brought to line around the two First Captains. A gaggle of messengers was gathering behind the pair, waiting for orders. Donar acknowledged them with a raised hand and looked at his companion.

"I'll take the bluff, if it's all the same to you," said Naathin. He looked down toward the river and patted his armoured belly. "Less of a walk, you see?"

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.

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.