Always the Alaunt leapt out of the trenches the instant before the arrows, spears and pikes flashed down. Always they leapt out unharmed.
They had the devil’s own luck.
It was a slow and cumbersome method of attack, but by mid-morning Borneheld could clearly see that one by one, the front trenches were collapsing. It might take a day, even two, but Axis would eventually work his way through the entire trench system.
“We can’t defend ourselves from simultaneous attack from above and ground-level,” Borneheld growled. “-Why doesn’t the damn coward send his entire force to attack us?”
It was clear that Axis was determined to win this battle, and he wasn’t going to win it by leading his army into a death trap.
“We have no choice,” Borneheld finally said. “If Axis will not come to me, then I will have to go to him. I want this resolved today. Today.” He turned to Gautier. “Send the orders, Gautier. Mount up. This battle will be fought one against one across the plains of Tare.”
“The Icarii?” Gautier asked, so forgetting himself he gave the Forbidden their correct name.
Borneheld buckled his helmet on. “They will be dangerous only while we ride through the trenches to meet Axis. Once our forces meet and mingle, they will not dare to loose their arrows below. No, Gautier, this will be a one-on-one battle of attrition. The last one left standing wins.” Borneheld paused. “And your reserves, Gautier?”
“Ready to go, Sire, as planned.”
Borneheld’s eyes were cold. “Then perhaps we will win, after all. Send a message to the Corolean transports to start to move a little closer to Bedwyr Fort — but not too close. I want diem in position to loose their soldiers behind Axis’ lines.”
Gautier bowed. “Sire.”
It was, as Borneheld predicted, a battle of attrition.
For hours the two armies melded and fought entwined, knights, foot soldiers, spearmen, pikemen, archers, swordsmen. It was the largest battle any present had ever been engaged in; some fifty-five thousand men and women, all determined their side should win the day. All sense of time fled for those engaged in the heat of the battle; it was simply strike, withdraw, take a deep breath, defend, strike, withdraw, take a deep breath, defend, strike – and kill or be killed.
Axis fought in the thick of the battle, Arne always close at his back, his golden standard flying high above the field. Sometimes Axis found himself fighting beside a common soldier whose name he did not know, sometimes beside YsgryfF, sometimes by the side of Ho’Demi, sitting his horse with ease and confidence, sometimes by the side of either Belial or Magariz, both fighting smoothly and efficiently, faces grim with concentration. All, even Axis, took small wounds.
Axis eventually let Belaguez’s reins drop, guiding the horse by pressure of knee, by voice, and sometimes by thought. He wielded his sword with two hands, striking to the left and the right, and trusted Arne to cover his back. Above him Far-Sight had detailed two Wing to watch over Axis exclusively.
Azhure’s mounted archers were largely engaged at the edges of the battle, moving quickly to where they were most needed, driving their arrows cleanly to where they would do most damage. Axis could feel her, feel her excitement at battle, and he tried not to worry too much for her. Azhure was perfectly capable of looking after herself.
Sometimes Axis caught a glimpse of Borneheld’s standard, but he did not try to fight his way through to it. Their battle would not take place on this field.
It was a relatively evenly matched battle. Axis’ army outnumbered Borneheld’s, but they were also slightly travel-wearied. For hours they fought backwards and forwards, the tide shifting this way and then that – but always men died or were crippled to lie screaming under hooves steel-edged with terror. Above and about all stirred thick, choking dust.
By mid-afternoon every muscle in Axis’ body ached. How long had they been fighting? He took a quick glance at the sun and almost paid for it with his life as a sword suddenly arced down from his left. It was stopped only inches from the juncture of his neck and shoulder by the quick action of Arne, and Axis heard him grunt in satisfaction as he sliced the Corolean swordsman’s arm from his body. The man screamed and fell from his horse.
Axis took a moment to catch his breath. He knew almost nothing except what was happening in the small circle about him, and he desperately needed to know the overall state of battle.
“Arne, watch over me,” he muttered, and his eyes drifted out of focus as he looked down over the field through the eagle’s eyes.
What he saw appalled him. Countless men lay dead and dying. How many? Thousands, at the least, and they wore the emblems and uniforms of both Borneheld’s men and his. As with men, so with horses. There were thousands of riderless horses, some dying and kicking out their life in great gouts on the ground, others running wild-eyed with fear through the chaos. Suddenly he spotted Azhure, Sicarius running at the heels of Venator, leading a squad of her archers into battle at the northern edge of the mass of seething soldiers. She was unharmed, although she swayed with exhaustion.
Be strong, Azhure, he whispered into her mind, stay safe.
She hesitated as his thought reached her, and Axis cursed himself for a fool. She could not afford to be distracted — for any distraction might easily kill her – but in the next instant an arrow flashed from the Wolven, and Sicarius leaped for the throat of a foot soldier who thought to thrust his spear into her side.
As he gazed across the field Axis thought he could see more of his men left standing than Borneheld’s, and Borne-held’s standard looked like it was being forced, step by step, back towards the trenches.
Is the day mine? he wondered. Will another hour or two see this bloody and senseless civil war finished once and for all?
But then the eagle drifted a little further out over the battlefield and Axis saw something that appalled him.
Eight massive Corolean transports were moving inexorably towards Bedwyr Fort. How many men did they carry, Axis wondered desperately, how many? Four or five thousand, at the least, and four or five thousand fresh men would swing the battle Borneheld’s way. They had been fighting now since the break of dawn — nine hours — and many of his men were succumbing through exhaustion rather than lack of skill or lack of will to fight on. Five thousand fresh men?
“Stars save us,” Axis muttered, and Arne glanced at him, worried.
Another movement caught Axis’ eyes. As well as the transport ships, smaller barges, packed with Corolean soldiers, were moving along the southern edges of the Grail Lake and the Nordra above Bedwyr Fort, moving to outflank Axis’ army, attack from the rear. There were perhaps fifteen, containing some two and a half thousand men – enough to prop up those areas where Borneheld’s force was beginning to fail.
Azhure! Ho’Demi! Those two were the only commanders who Axis knew he could reach with his mind. Look to the waters to the north! Stop those men before they can join thejray!
Axis watched as gradually Azhure and Ho’Demi rallied their units, and directed them to the shoreline where the barges were disgorging their loads. Axis desperately looked about for the Strike Force. They had been hovering over the battlefield all day, doing what they could. Finally he spotted FarSight and sent the eagle reeling in his direction.
“Ware to the north!” the eagle screamed as it flashed past FarSight, and FarSight sent five Crest of Icarii winging to Azhure and Ho’Demis aid.
That should stop the barges, Axis thought desperately, but what about the transports? If they manage to land their soldiers then I am finished!
Even though the battle had closed about him again, Axis continued to watch through the eagle s eyes, relying on Arne to protect him. He had to watch – for those transports meant the death of his hopes and the death of the Prophecy.
Bleeding from numerous small wounds, his sword hanging limp from his hand, Borneheld also watched the ships with worried eyes. What were they doing this close to Bedwyr Fort? He had sent clear instructions that they were to disgorge their soldiers much further south so that, together with the barges to the north, Borneheld could attack both flanks of the battlefield with fresh soldiers.
“By Artor!” Borneheld swore, “you’d think they were intent on attacking us rather than Axis.”
An awful premonition gripped him, and his voice dropped to a horrified whisper. “Is this more infernal treachery? Has the Corolean Emperor forsaken our agreement and turned against me?”
Almost as one the Corolean transports dropped anchor by the banks of the Nordra and dropped their landing ramps. Each began to disgorge hundreds of men, hundreds and hundreds of them, running screaming with delight and battle-lust straight towards Borneheld’s standard.