and merged into the ranks of the infantry. The only ones who continued firing were Nark’s thousand men and a few crossbowmen, but even they were soon forced to stop. A ragged volley from the Crayfish archers was neutralized by a magician, who made most of the arrows burn up in the air. The enemy infantry pushed forward several hundred men armed with double-handed swords, with the clear intention of breaking the tidy formation of the center.
“Beavers, look lively now!”
The Beavers had their wits about them. The shields parted for a moment to let the warriors of the legendary force through. When the enemy has a sledgehammer, you need a sledgehammer, too—that’s an incontestable rule of war. Skirmishes sprang up along the front, men fighting with their double-handed swords one-to-one or in groups. The Crayfish fought well, but they were still no match for the Beaver Caps and the advantage was with Valiostr, but even so the king’s son gave his order to the bugler:
“Sound the retreat!
The bugle gave the signal several times, and the swordsmen pulled back behind the shields before the enemy infantry, enraged by the death of their comrades, could reach them.
“You’re a pretty good magician, lad,” Pepper panted to Roderick. “You should make more of those balls of fire, then you’d be absolutely invaluable.”
“I try my best, Mister Gnome,” the young magician said with a wry smile.
The magic that had scattered a steady line of infantry advancing against Slim Bows had obviously cost him a great effort.
“Well, centurion, you’re blowing hard already, but it’s only just past noon,” the gnome called to Honeycomb. “Are you alive?”
“Yes, I’m alive. Here, hold Invincible.”
“What do I want with that crazy rat of yours? Do you think I didn’t see the way he went for that barbarian’s face?”
“Hold him, I tell you! I’ve got to go and see the commander!”
The gnome grunted discontentedly and set the ling on his shoulder.
“I hope it won’t gnaw my beard off. Be quick, will you!”
“Rott, while I’m away, you’re in charge!”
“Understood!” the commander of the crossbowmen replied imperturbably.
Honeycomb found his commanding officer in the center of the village, where the temporary hospital was located. Someone had slashed his face open, and the healers were working on him. Honeycomb had to wait until they finished.
“Who’s this you’ve brought me? Who’s this you’ve brought?” one young man, wearing the badge of the guild of healers, was yelling.
“But all his clothes were soaked in blood!” said the medical orderly, trying to make excuses.
“He’s got a cut! Do you understand, you blockhead! An ordinary deep cut!”
“But he was yelling as if his throat was being slashed!”
“How many times do I have to tell you lot that the first ones to bring to the operating table are the ones who aren’t talking! If he’s yelling and asking for help, that means he’ll survive! Nothing’s going to happen to him! But if he’s lying there saying nothing and as pale as a corpse, then he’s in a bad way! And if you bring me any more walking wounded, I won’t answer for what I’ll do to you! Load them all into carts and take them to the main hospital behind the hill! They can sort them out! Bring me only the seriously wounded, the ones with abdominal injuries and lost limbs. Can you manage to hammer that into your men’s heads?”
“Did you want to see me, centurion?” the commander called to attract Honeycomb’s attention.
“Yes, commander. We need to put two hundred swordsmen and at least a hundred crossbowmen on the bank of the Kizevka. Do we have any reserves?”
“We can find reserves,” said the bandaged commander, looking hard at the Wild Heart. “I just don’t understand why we need to move the lads across there.”
“I don’t think the northern tribes will storm the wall again.”
“Where else will they go? They won’t swim down the river!”
“That’s exactly what they’ll do.”
“I understand if it was summer, but it’s perishing cold. Who’s going to jump into the water when it’s about to freeze over?”
“They’re well used to swimming in icy water. They live in the Desolate Lands, after all.”
“What a wild idea!”
“I just don’t want to find them in our rear all of a sudden.”
“All right. I’ll give the order. Get back to your men, we’re expecting another attack any minute. By the way, have you heard the Order got rid of all the ogres?”
The battle seemed to go on forever. The poleax in the prince’s hands grew heavy, but he kept hacking and slashing, like one of the dwarves’ magical toys. The straight line had disappeared a long time ago, and the entire front had broken up into separate skirmishes. They had managed to throw the enemy back four times, and four times he had come back at them, determined to crush the accursed infantry.
These were the finest men of the northern kingdom of Valiostr, those who had been in the heavy cavalry and served as sandmen, the kind of men that superb fighting forces were built around. Practically all the bowmen had joined in the hand-to-hand fighting, and only a small group of the most experienced Wind Jugglers, no more than six hundred of them, had moved aside from the seething action to fire selectively at the enemy.
Stalkon was guarded and protected, his back was covered, and the enemy was given no chance to fire at the king’s son. But even so, despite all their subterfuges, the heir to the throne found himself on the ground twice. The first time he was knocked off his feet by a blow from a battle hammer. Fortunately, one of the two Beavers detailed to protect him had survived the bloody melee and he held off the eager enemy with broad sweeps of his sword until Spring Jasmine was back up on his feet.
The second time a crossbow bolt caught him on the helmet. Fortunately it was only a glancing blow and the bolt bounced off without wounding the prince. But Stalkon was stunned and he fell to his knees, completely disoriented for a moment. One of the barbarians was about to grasp this opportunity, and if not for Ash—the commander of the Wild Hearts who had survived from the Lonely Giant—Spring Jasmine would not have survived the battle.
The cannons and the Crater were silent. It was pointless firing now—more of their own would be killed than of the enemy. All they could do was grit their teeth and keep slashing away.
Stalkon took another heavy blow from a barbarian on his battered shield, jabbed the bearded savage in the face, and split his skin and flesh open with the poleax. It was time to finish this battle, and the sooner the better. As if he had heard this thought, the king sent the right cavalry reserve of the center to support the infantry by attacking the enemy’s flank.
Nuad was holding. The position in the center had evened out and the sudden appearance of the cavalry had disconcerted the ranks of the Nameless One’s army. The Moon Stallions had appeared at exactly the right time. Slim Bows was calm for the time being—the barbarians, northern tribesmen, and units of Crayfish infantry had been forced back and now they had withdrawn to regroup. But things were not going so well for the left army. The left battalion was busy completing the rout of its opponents, the central battalion had just rammed into the second line detachment of infantry, and the right battalion was barely managing to hold, but its opponents were tenacious, and the ranks could falter at any moment.
“Vartek, gallop over to those two hundred Beavers. Tell them to attack the rear of the infantry pressing the right battalion! Do it!” Izmi ordered.
“Commander! It looks as if the elves are in trouble!”
“I can see! Do as I ordered! Bugler! Sound the attack!”
Purple spheres suddenly appeared in the ranks of the right battalion and started methodically annihilating the soldiers. The men faltered.
