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.
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.
