He peered down at the tent where the standard of Western Army stood. The standards of two legions flanked it. He scowled. Two legions? There weren't that many men out there... . Maybe it was elements of two legions, survi vors of the fighting in the south.
He began pacing round the hilltop, studying the enemy lines. They were extended temptingly thin. A captain less familiar with the legions would not have been able to resist.
He put temptation aside. „They have to come to me. Pray they don't try to do it the easy way by starving us out." Idly, he wondered if there were some way he could get a message to Yasmid asking her to step up her activities. Put Hsung under pressure to finish here, and... . Had Hsung beaten her already? But the way that prisoner had talked, Hsung's people had gotten the worst of it down there.
He shuddered. The legion drums had been pounding constantly since their arrival. The ceaseless rumble was getting on his nerves.
What was going on? Hsung being here had to have some meaning he couldn't fathom. Had to have. Something had happened. He looked north. „How much longer are you going to let me roast, wizard?"
The tenor of the eastern drums changed as the sun's lower limb cleared the horizon. Enemy troops began crossing their ditches and assembling facing the hill.
„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."