„Five cohorts," Bragi muttered. „Sending in almost half his men, like the five rays of a star. Just to test our stubbornness." But he wondered. Hsung hadn't even made a pretense of negotiation. That suggested both an intent to destroy Kavelin's army, and a supreme confidence in his ability to do so.
Why? Ragnarson wondered. He doesn't have the man power to be that confident... . The sorcery. Of course. They have it and I don't.
Any minute the first smashing blow would fall. The air would scream with the torment of deadly spells.
The beat of the drums changed again. Five cohorts surged forward.
Ragnarson pointed at a trumpeter. The man blew till his eyes bugged, a screaming sound new to Kavelin's signal repertoire.
The army's drums began pounding out a beat which partially drowned that of the eastern drums. Somewhere on the flanks of the hill the attackers would reach a point where they could no longer be sure of their own signals. Hopefully, they would become confused.
The first arrows arced into the sky, rained down on the enemy. A few men went down, but, as Hardle had feared, they had adjusted their shieldwork to cope. „Come on, Talison," Bragi muttered. „Get those arbalasts down low. Let them get their shields up, then cut them off at the knees."
He paced, circled the hill, watched each enemy force for a moment before moving on to watch another. On the lee of the hill he cussed a regimental commander who was a little slow. Almost immediately smoke rose from the dry grass.
Flames leapt to life, began running before the breeze.
„Good. That ought to slow that bunch." He moved on.
The combination of confusing drums, flames, plunging arrow fire, and crossbow fire low had its effect. The attack ing forces were growing ragged. But they came on. They approached the first ditch.
The real test would take place there.
Bragi paused to stare at the enemy headquarters. „When are you going to come with the witchery?" he wondered aloud. „You're overdue." Unconsciously, he hunched his shoulders against his neck.
The blow didn't come. Instead, more troops crossed the ditches below, advanced up the aisles unused by forces already climbing the hill.
„So. You're going to go for it all first try."
The first wave reached his first ditch. The clangor drowned the sound of the drums.
After a while, Bragi muttered, „Yes, going for it all first time." Hsung had kept just two cohorts in reserve. Ragnarson guessed that six thousand men were trying to fight their way up the hill. The defenders of the first ditch began to waver. Only on the grassfire side had the assault broken down.
He selected an average-looking section of slope and tried counting bodies. „Not bad," he grumbled. „But it could have been better. A whole hell of a lot better." His bowmen weren't doing nearly well enough. He had no way to estimate his own losses.
The long, bloody day dragged on. Eventually the first ditch had to be abandoned. Casualties nearly filled it. His men had given a good account of themselves. The tentativeness of the advance on the second ditch proved that.
Bragi glanced at the sun. A quarter of the day gone. Already. While time seemed to drag so slowly. He wished he had a taller hill and more trenches. Three had seemed enough when he had thought the bowmen would massacre whole formations.
Where was the sorcery? Why was Hsung wasting all those lives? Did he have something especially nasty waiting for just the right moment?
Noon. The second trench had fallen. The enemy seemed to have left half his number lying on the hillside. But now the arrows and crossbow bolts were spent. Now it would be strictly sword and spear, hammer and dagger and maul. Does it come now? Bragi thought. The great nasty blow?
No. The legionnaires just stood there, this side of the second ditch, resting behind their shields, daring him to mount a counterattack. He did not. He would not. Not till they compressed his forces a good deal more. Not till they had taken more casualties and were even more tired.
The casualty ratio favored Kavelin. The battle was a bloodbath, but Shinsan was doing more of the bleeding.
Sir Gjerdrum took advantage of the lull. „We're doing good over my way," he reported. „Considering who we're up against. I'd swear we're taking three of them down for every one we lose."
„That good? Maybe we'll go your way when we try the breakout."
„Think the third line will hold?"
„Can't say. They'll have to come against mostly fresh men. They'll show just how good they are if they do break it."
„Something stirring down there. I'd better get back."
Hsung's reserves crossed the trenches. A thousand men, Bragi estimated. Would they lead the next assault?
Where was the damned witchery?
Shinsan's drums altered their beat. The battle resumed.
The third line proved less stout than Ragnarson had hoped. Soon he was rushing reserves here and there to shore up weak spots. „Messenger!" he finally howled. „Get me Sir Gjerdrum." He scowled in the direction of the Dragon's Teeth. „Wizard, you'd better hope I don't get out of this. Because if I do, I'll get you." Then he laughed at himself. „Fool. Blaming it on somebody else. All your own fault, you know."
Sir Gjerdrum found him readying himself for battle. His bodyguard had formed the drummers, trumpeters, cooks, and least badly injured into a final reserve pool. „Sire? You wanted me?"
„Damned right. Start extricating your horsemen. It's time to try a breakout."
Gjerdrum scanned the action. „That would weaken the lines too much, wouldn't it?"
„Maybe. I'm taking this crowd down to stiffen them."
„Is that wise? If you're injured the men will lose heart."
„They'd collapse right now if they could. Half of them would run if there was anywhere to go. Gjerdrum, we're going to go down unless we do something. I know there's no room to launch a decent charge, but give it a try."
„What about the ditches?"
„What about them?"
Gjerdrum held his tongue. The ditches would kill men and animals. „Nothing, Sire. I understand." The situation was worse than he had thought. The hour of desperation had come.
„Varthlokkur may still show, Gjerdrum. Hang onto that." Ragnarson glared at the enemy headquarters. A handful of Tervola stood watching the hill. „Why haven't they used the Power?"
„I don't know, Sire. I almost wish they would."
„Do it when you're ready, Gjerdrum. I'll be too busy to give orders."
„As you command, Sire." Gjerdrum strode away.
Bragi ducked into his tent, collected his personal bow and arrows, signalled his bodyguard to follow him. He marched down the hill, selected a good vantage, loosed shafts careful ly. Each found a mark. The damage stalled the enemy in that sector. During the disorganization he forced his way into the battle line. A ragged cheer arose. It rolled round the line and came back, and began rolling again. „Remember Baxendala! Remember Palmisano!" The enemy troops wouldn't know what the shout of defiance meant, but the Tervola below would hear it and be piqued.
Shield smashed against shield. Swords clanged. Bragi used every vile trick he knew. He sent an eastern soldier to his knees. Another took his place. The tides pushed them apart. Bragi faced a third opponent. The man on his right fell with a cry. Another bodyguard took his place.
The shout went up again. „Remember Palmisano!"
Bragi hardly noticed. His mind had gone on pure auto matic. Stroke. Heave shield. Kick. Parry. Stab. Howl. Curse. Sweat. Especially sweat. Curse again as a vicious blow hit his shield so hard his arm went numb.
He had been here a thousand times. All the battles of his life melded into this one. He no longer knew or cared whom he fought. Time stood still.
But time hadn't stood still for his flesh. He was a man in his forties. He didn't have the stamina of decades past. His legs were pillars of stone, his arms limp bars of lead. Sweat ran into his eyes, stinging. And still! he fought, lost in the dust and stink and bang and clang.