Final Campaign

was not going to work. However,before I could make another lunge, he came at me with the rapidityof a striking serpent, his weapon a sword in the Thracian style,except it was slightly different, being more slender through thewaist of the blade, then flaring out a bit towards the point. Atfirst, I could not understand the logic behind the design, until hewhipped the blade in a sideways arc, aiming for a spot just belowmy kneecap and above my greave. He came up a little short, a goodthing, but even so, I felt a burning sensation across the top of myshin, telling me I had been grazed by his blade, which he was usingas a slashing weapon. That was when I realized that he was tryingto hamstring me, attempting to cripple my mobility before either heor one of his comrades next to him moved into finish me. His swordwas counterbalanced so that when he made a slash, the tip wouldmove faster, and with the extra weight, cut more deeply when itstruck. It was a dirty, nasty way of fighting, causing the angerthat had been fizzling out to flare anew, tightening my chest as Isnarled a curse at the Serdi. Feinting once again with my shield,my opponent reacted like I had hoped, repeating his backward hop ofhis first move, instead of ducking sideways, except this time, ashe did, I went with him. Using my longer legs to my advantage, Itimed my movement to coincide with his so that the moment both ofhis feet landed on the ground, the space between us was exactly thesame that it had been before he had made his move. I punched outagain with my shield as I stepped, catching the Thracian flush inthe face, before he could bring his shield up and across his bodyto block. I could hear even over all the other noise the crunchingsound of nose and probably cheekbone giving way. His cry of painwas muffled by the blood filling his nose and mouth, and his eyesfilled with the tears that come when one is punched in the nose. Iam not sure why, but a good blow to the nose always makes a man’seyes water, obscuring his vision, meaning that even as I feinted athrust with my blade, his shield was already moving to try andblock what he anticipated would be coming but could not see. Thatwas when I hit him again with the shield, harder this time, with myweight behind it instead of just using my arm, and I felt all thebones of his face give way under the blow, crunching like aneggshell. As he fell to the ground, I saw that I had flattened hisface completely, pushing his nose back into his skull, along withhis jaw. Even if he was not dead before he hit the ground, I didnot envy his chances of being able to survive not being able to eator drink, or breathe, for that matter. Still angry, I gave him asavage kick to the body before I stepped over him, but he made nosound or movement so I supposed he was dead.

About that time, I heard a great shout go upand, turning to see its cause, I saw one of our men grab at a Serdibanner, a triangular patch of red silk with what looked like a bullstitched on it in bright green inside a geometric pattern. Some menof the First Cohort had fought their way to the standard that wasobviously a personal standard of a Serdi noble, and I could seethat he and his standard bearer still stood, except they were nowalone and surrounded, kept at bay only by the frantic efforts ofthe nobleman. Slashing and thrusting with a controlled ferocity, hewas able to fend our men off with his longer blade, at least untilhe finally had to stop, exhausted. The moment he did, theLegionaries pounced like a pack of wolves, closing in from allsides, and I saw the man’s head drop in recognition that he hadfailed. The standard bearer was swinging the staff of his standardwildly, managing to strike at least two men that I saw before hewas overcome. There was a brief struggle, but this time betweencomrades, each trying to claim the prize. I had seen this turn uglyin the past, even witnessing one man strike down a close comrade,the holder of his will, killing him over an enemy standard.Fortunately, this ended without bloodshed between comrades, whilethe loss of this standard seemed to signal to the Thracians in theimmediate vicinity that their cause was lost. Unable to watchbecause there was still unfinished business to my direct front, Iturned back to those Serdi standing before me, none of whom seemedeager to engage. Gaius was still on my right, and I waited for himto take a breath. There was a narrow strip between the leadingelement of our wedge and the Thracians, who had backed up and werewaiting for us to come after them. Standing on my toes, I could seeover the heads of the Serdi in the front ranks that they hadessentially run out of room. Men were ducking into the barracksbuildings; others were trying to get up to the rampart, presumablyto take the risk of jumping over the wall in an attempt to escape.Those Serdi facing us looked resigned to their fate, still willingto fight but without any real hope of victory, which was trueenough. That did not make them any less dangerous; nor did theyshow any sign of surrender. I suppose they had seen us riddingourselves of those men that did try to give up. For the first time,the balance in terms of numbers had tipped in our favor, ourwhittling down of the enemy garrison and subsequent pressurefreeing up more space inside the fortress for the rest of the8^th Legion. Even then, Centuries had been sent up theramp to destroy the artillery and kill the remaining archers, butas it turned out, the reason they had not been firing at us wasthat they had been almost completely eliminated by ourscorpions.

Calling to the men around me to rally onelast