The First Aleran had hacked down the taken Shuarans, suffering ruinous casualties in doing so-anything taken by the Vord was enormously strong, oblivious to pain, and fought with mindlessly suicidal ferocity. Though the taken Canim were down, several Alerans had joined each of the fallen enemy upon the earth-and the enemy’s ruse had paid a dividend. The Legion’s ranks had been badly disrupted, and the Vord’s first thrust came hard on the heels of their opening gambit.
The Legion was being driven back from the breach in the earthworks, while more Vord-always more Vord-assaulted the rest of the defensive positions, preventing the Canim from coming to the Alerans’ aid. Now the Legion fought to defend a twenty-foot-wide corridor, the opening in the earthworks. Ten-foot walls flanked the opening, and legionares with spears crouched in ranks atop those walls, thrusting their weapons into the press of armored Vord bodies below, while the infantry fought with shield and sword to keep the Vord from forcing their way through the engineered bottleneck and past the fortifications.
Tavi drew his sword and flung himself from the plunging taurg as the beast began to ride through the scattered and reeling legionares who had been driven out of position and away from their various centuries. “Legionares!” he bellowed. “To me!”
“Captain!” called a dazed legionare.
“Form up on me!” Tavi called to the scattered soldiers. “You, you, you, you’re spear leaders! Line them up! Legionares, fall in on this line!”
Once he had the men organized into a fighting century, a block ten files long and eight legionares deep, he sent them forward, to the support of the men already fighting. He did it over and over, until the scattered soldiers were accounted for, and realized as he did that the Vord had imitated the enemy yet again. Tavi’s group might have hunted down and killed the nearby queen a few days before, but the Vord were returning the compliment-the taken Shuarans, it seemed, had focused their efforts upon killing the centurions within each century. Crested helms lay far more thickly among the fallen Alerans than they should have and in the press of battle, without the leadership of the men wearing them, the organization vital to the Legion’s order of battle had frayed.
The additional centuries helped to stiffen the lines, though Tavi knew that it would only be for a few moments-fortunately, those moments were enough.
The air screamed as forty Knights Aeris swept down upon the battle. Tavi lifted his sword, signaling Crassus, who flew at the head of the Knights-each of whom flew paired with another Knight, carrying a third armored form between them.
“Crassus!” Tavi shouted into the din of battle, pointing to the walls overlooking the bottleneck. “On the wall!”
But the young Tribune hadn’t needed Tavi’s gesticulations to see where his help was needed. Signing instructions to his men, Crassus touched down on the wall overlooking one side of the breech, along with half of his flight. The other half landed on the other side, where each pair of Knights Aeris deposited the men they’d brought to the fight-the Knights Ignus of the First Aleran.
Tavi couldn’t see what happened from his vantage point on the ground, behind the Legion’s wall of shields, but heartbeats later, there was an enormous roar and hellish blue-white light flared ahead of him, burning the black silhouette of the massed ranks into his vision. The Legion let out a shout of exultation at the return of their Knights, and surged forward, driving the Vord back into the sudden vacuum the Knights Ignus had burned into their ranks.
Tavi sprinted up to the earthworks to join Crassus, but by the time he got there, the situation was in hand-at least for the moment. The Vord had reeled back from the breach, and every time they began to press in more closely, one of the Knights Ignus unleashed a blast of fire in their midst.
“Max is coming,” Crassus panted to Tavi. His face was streaked with sweat from the effort of his recent furycrafting. He turned to point back toward the city, where Max and a column of armored figures were marching at the quick step from the Legion camp outside the city walls. “He’s bringing the engineers and our Knights Terra. We’ll close up the breach and-”
On the outer earthworks, Canim horns blared and brayed, and at that signal, dozens of ritualists appeared among the Canim on the walls. All of the hooded figures threw back their pale mantles, dipped their hands into the pouches of blood they wore slung at their sides, and cast scarlet droplets into the air. Again, Tavi wasn’t in position to see the results of the working, but he saw the great, billowing clouds of greenish mist form and fall, and heard the screams of agony among the Vord as it descended upon them, scouring the earthen walls clean of attackers.
“Form up!” bellowed a strident voice from the breach below. “Crows take your idiot eyes, form up! Dress the ranks before they hit us again!”
Tavi looked down to see Valiar Marcus-absent his crested centurion’s helmet-striding among the Aleran lines. The First Spear’s armor was horribly dented over his left shoulder, and that arm hung limply at his side-but he carried his centurion’s baton in his right hand and made liberal use of it, shoving soldiers into line, rapping them sharply on their helmets to get their attention. Marcus had thought quickly, Tavi saw. The scarred veteran must have realized that his crested helm had marked him as a target when the battle had gotten under way and he’d removed it. A quick scan showed Tavi that there was a notable absence of crested helms among the ranks-but the centurions were still visibly doing their jobs, maintaining their presence by virtue of their batons, voices, and sheer force of will.
“It’s going to take us several hours to load the supplies and all the refugees,” Tavi said. “We have to hold them. Marcus is in charge of the breach. Support him. I’m going to talk to Varg.”
“Aye, Your Highness,” Crassus said, slamming a fist to his heart. “We’ll do our part, never fear.”
Tavi rushed up to the walls, taking advantage of the brief respite in the battle as the Vord recoiled from the massive scourge of acidic blood magic the ritualists had released upon them. He had to pace almost half a mile along the walls until he found Varg, who was striding the wall among his own people.
Tavi nodded to him and began speaking without preamble. “Three hours. We have to hold them that long at least.”
Varg looked from Tavi out to the field, where the Vord were still pouring in from all over the countryside. The base of the wall was a ruin of melted chitin and half-formed bodies, all that was left after the ritualists’ counterattack. “Three hours. That could be a long time.”
“It will take that long for the transports to dock and for our people and supplies to load on,” Tavi said. “There’s no point in rescuing them now only to let them starve to death at sea.”
Varg growled out his agreement. “What of our fighters?”
Tavi laid out the withdrawal plan for him. “None of which matters if we can’t hold now.”
Already, the Vord had recovered from the sting of the first repulsion, and were beginning to mass again, preparing to assault the earthworks once more en masse.
“We will hold,” Varg growled. “We will wait for your signal.”
For three hours, more and more Vord poured in from all across the countryside, their numbers growing ever larger, their attacks more focused and cohesive: and for three hours, the last defenders of Canea cast them back.