Dream of Legends (50 page)

“Soon enough. The Avanorans are fierce in battle, and will soon test the shield wall,” Aethelstan replied. He gave the young man a brief smile. “We will be able to fight them back with our full strength soon. Keep your axe at the ready.”

The young soldier nervously returned the smile, and looked back out from behind his shield. The few rounds of missiles that the Saxans had levied had indeed weathered down the foremost line of Avanorans, bodies lying on the ground peppering the full length of their ranks.

As Aethelstan had predicted, the enemy did not wait overly long to challenge the shield wall. A braying chorus of horns sounded, and the following ranks surged forward at once. A wall of warriors engulfed the archers and crossbowmen, leaving them behind as the solid rank of infantry marched in long strides up the incline of the ridge. A thick mass of triangular shields and long spears crept steadily forward, approaching the shield wall.

Light glinted off iron helms and coats of mail. Aethelstan knew that these warriors were no lesser levies. They were heavy infantry, well-equipped with excellent weapons and armor. They were likely bolstered by dismounted knights, as Aethelstan could see a number of men with swords withdrawn, trudging up just behind the front line of spears.

“Get ready!” Aethelstan called out down the Saxan lines. “They come!”

A host of long spears were lowered along the shield wall, points facing down the slope, extending well beyond the overlapping shields.

“Fight for your lands! Fight for your families! Fight for your Faith!” Aethelstan shouted, as the Saxans braced behind the wall of spears and shields for the imminent clash.

“Out! Out!” thundered the Saxan ranks towards the invaders.

Just before the lines clashed, the deeper ranks of the Saxans released a thick hail of javelins, arrows, and sling-stones into the masses of oncoming Avanorans. Despite the heavy, tall shields, helms, and coats of mail, the missiles were coming at full force, from a much closer range. A number of advancing spearmen crumpled to the ground, some even tumbling backwards down the slope, and knocking still others awry.

The shield wall then met the impact of the oncoming Avanoran line, as a cacophonous din erupted throughout the wooded hills. The attackers were not limited to just spears, as the swordsmen and others bearing hand axes worked feverishly to puncture holes in the Saxan shield wall. Shields shattered, steel rang against steel, and men loosed cries of pain or fury. The deadly hiss of missiles continued to pass overhead, some heading down the hill and others passing up it.

At a few points along the Saxan line, wherever there was tight coordination between thanes and their household warriors, the men swinging the long-hafted war axes lashed out fiercely into the Avanoran ranks. The shield bearers by them protected their exposed sides, as the axe-wielders attacked with unimitigated furor. Even mail was of little use in stopping one of the broad axe blades, swung with such determined power. Like trees being felled, many enemy warriors were swiftly cut down wherever the axe-bearing household guards fought.

Aethelstan could not hold back for long himself. Sword raised, he dived into a couple of places where Avanoran knights appeared to be making inroads towards forcing a gap in the shield wall.

Wherever men in the front Saxan lines fell, the more inexperienced men of the levies patched up the gaps. With cruder weapons, some wielding nothing more than wooden clubs, and largely devoid of armor, the levy men presented a much easier opponent for the highly-skilled Avanoran knights. Once they moved into a breach, it did not take long for the knights to begin to hack a swathe through the Saxan defenders.

The ferociously swung war axes of Aethelstan’s household guards and the heavy sword blades of the thanes quickly turned the momentum back in places where the enemy was making a little headway. Aethelstan gripped his shield tightly, swinging his sword in his right hand, as he found himself at the front of the line after driving a number of Avanoran spearmen and a few knights back from one gap.

Aethelstan’s shield soon began to grow heavy, as it was embedded with the upper part of a lance, as well as a couple of arrows from below. He would soon be forced to discard it, if he could not take the time to cut the hafts off to tiny stumps, but he had little time to think as a number of spears, axes, and swords were bearing down on them again.

After two more arrows struck, the great Saxan thane was forced to discard the sorely riddled shield in back of the shield wall. He turned just in time to engage two mailed warriors, one a knight, and one a spearman. The Avanoran fighters had just broken through the shield wall, just to the left of him.

Rotating, he raised his sword with a passionate cry and advanced. Catching the spearman unawares, Aethelstan dropped him with a crashing blow to the side. He then traded two powerful strikes with the knight, sword to sword, before landing a clean slash to the neck that hewed the Avanoran down.

Whipping back to his right, he brought a heavy blow to bear on the mailed side of a third opponent, who was about to thrust a spear at him. The man had a look of utter shock on his face, as he collapsed to the ground in the wake of the crushing impact.

Without hesitation, Aethelstan turned the grip on his sword, and stabbed it straight downwards to finish the fallen warrior off. He instinctively grabbed the triangular shield of the dead man, clean of any shafts in its hide-covered surface.

Though different in design than the shields he was used to, with a wide, rounded top, narrowing sharply in convergence downward into a small, rounded lower end, the shield nonetheless provided him ample protection for the moment.

He used the Avanoran shield to deflect an oncoming sword strike, swiftly putting his weight forward and thrusting his own blade out, catching another knight of Avanor flush in the chest.

A gasping, desperate cry arose from next to him, as his eyes took in the sight of the young Saxan who had spoken to him just before the Avanoran infantry had pressed forward. The young man’s eyes were already glazing over as he slumped to the ground. A short-hafted axe had been buried deep in his neck, and the attacker was stooping down to wrench it free.

With an enraged outcry, Aethelstan slew the young man’s killer, bringing his strongest blow yet to bear on the man’s own neck. The Avanoran did not free the axe, nor did he threaten any more Saxans, falling lifeless to the ground.

Another rumbling ran through the ground underfoot, but this time it was from a small, mounted group of Saxans that Aethelstan had cleverly placed behind a rise on the far end of the right flank. They were from Annenheim, cavalry men that had been spared for Aethelstan’s use while most of their brethren had proceeded onward to the great muster at the Plains of Athelney.

With the battle fully enjoined, the riders had emerged and were now bearing down upon the enemy forces. There was no time for the enemy to erect a shield wall of their own.

The mass of horsemen curved back inward, falling upon the left flank of the enemy, thrusting spears, slashing swords, and vigorously swinging axes until their weapons were drenched in the blood of their enemies. The stallions they rode exacted a toll of their own amongst the enemy ranks, using their lashing hooves.

Aethelstan’s men in the front lines, seeing the enemy’s left flank folding, fought with renewed vigor. A loud roar emerged up and down the Saxan ranks as they hewed, stabbed, and thrust. In just a few moments, the battle was tilting back towards their favor.

A number of frenzied horn blasts again filled the air, the sound of which brought feverish commands from enemy officers spread throughout the forward ranks. The enemy forces, wherever they could disengage, fell back in a disorganized flurry. The temptation to pursue and attempt a route was very inviting. For a great many Saxans, it was impossible to resist, and they charged down the hill at the heels of the retreating enemy.

“Hold! Hold!” Aethelstan cried, and his commands were repeated up and down the ranks. Horn signals were sounded, holding the small group of cavalry and the bulk of his front lines from continuing their pursuit of the retreating enemy warriors.

Shooting a glance upwards, he could see the Harraks flying above. He knew that they possessed a full scope of the Saxan troop movements, and would help the enemy ground forces to engulf any pursuit. What might start as a rout of Avanor’s forces could well end up in a decisive defeat of the Saxans. However tantalizing the situation appeareed to be, it was not a risk that Aethelstan could afford.

Turning, he shouted, gesturing urgently back towards some men who blew out a series of horn signals a moment later. The Saxan forces, including most of those that had begun to pursue the Avanorans, tightened up, reforming into denser lines a little farther up from the base of the ridge. Well out of arrow range now, they reorganized to form another strong shield wall.

Aethelstan looked out to the battleground before him, down the slope and towards the stretch of land spreading beyond it. Dead and dying from both sides filled the ground. He steeled his gaze, peering out towards the enemy lines, which he could barely make out through the trees.

His ears were then filled with great shouts, thumps, and clinks of metal, as a huge wave of enemy cavalry rolled towards them. The enemy horse riders were followed by a rushing mass of armed warriors. The forms of a few monstrous creatures, bearing great war axes, could be seen interspersed within the enemy ranks. Had the men who were low on the ridge’s slope continued in their pursuit, they would have been decimated.

“Hold the wall!” Aethelstan cried, his command echoed by some further Saxan horn bursts.

The enemy cavalry soon turned and raced alongside the front facing of the shield wall, hurling javelins upon them, even as a second rank of archers fired over the cavalry’s heads to strike deeper into the Saxan forces. The shield wall was effective, holding strong through the thick exchange, and few new casualties were incurred. Many of the men jeered derisively from behind their round shields at the passing Avanoran cavalry.

As the cavalry pulled away, a replenished mass of troops followed, and the two sides clashed in hand to hand combat once again. Mailed warriors of Avanor were mixed with a large force of lightly armored spearmen, most bearing rounded shields, lances, leather jerkins, and leather caps.

Aethelstan withheld his small cavalry force, as the melee ensued in strength again. The giant beasts, where they lumbered up, were the worst elements of the second attack by far. Their powerful axes cleaved through mail or jerkin alike, although their clumsy movements often resulted in maimed or killed soldiers from their own side.

Archers, spear-throwers, and those with slings concentrated upon the immense targets, as the front line of the defenders rallied another stalwart defense, repelling the attackers’ momentum again.

A couple of the towering, tusked creatures were soon dead, while the remaining ones roared defiantly, though they obeyed the Avanoran commands to retreat, along with the rest of the attackers. The shield wall was intact. The senior warriors, knowing Aethelstan’s wishes, did not charge when the enemy offered a second, inviting pursuit.

A loud cry was generated among the Saxan forces, as they realized the success of their initial defenses. They shook their weapons at the retreating enemy ranks, taunting them. Those who had lost shields or weapons scrambled to grab replacements from the dead. Others pulled wounded comrades away from the front areas of the battle, along with those of the enemy that did not exhibit mortal wounds.

“At the least, the Avanorans know it will not be an easy fight,” Aethelstan stated firmly to the squat, thick-chested warrior standing to his right.

“They have a fight on their hands, though we have fewer surprises to meet them with the next time,” Cenferth, one of the guards of his own household, commented. His long, two-handed axe, helm, shield, and knee-length mail coat were spattered copiously in blood.

“We need to win more time, whatever the outcome may be. If this army gets through, they will fall upon an unprotected flank of Aelfric’s army at the Entrance,” Aethelstan replied.

“Then we must hold,” Cenferth stated resolutely.

Aethelstan looked out towards the enemy, and saw that their full ranks, including all archers, crossbowmen, and infantry, had retreated well out of sight.

“It has suddenly grown very quiet out there. I wonder how long we have until their next attack?” Cenferth asked him, after a pause.

“They have tried two methods and failed,” Aethelstan commented. “My thought is that their commander will take a moment to be cautious, and will ponder strategies for the next strike. Those from Avanor are not rash. They know, as we did not pursue their retreats, that we are not rash either. That will give them something to consider.

“I think we will have some time before they strike again. Even so, keep the form of the lines together and ready. If some food can be brought up to those in the lines, then have it done now. Have scouts out there immediately. If they attack again, it will be with little notice. We need every moment.”

“I shall, my lord,” Cenferth answered dutifully.

“Also, have our men strip the enemy of their mail shirts, helms and forged weapons, as well as from our own that have fallen. Try to retrieve as many swords as we can. Our levies could make use of them,” Aethelstan ordered. The task was grim, but practical. “If we win this battle, know that I will give all warriors an honorable burial. But the living must take what can be used.”

“Well spoken,” Cenferth replied, nodding, and already turning to begin delegating the order.

*

Saxany

*

Though the morning favored the eyes of the defenders, the sunlight cascading from behind them towards the western horizon, there was a perceptible heaviness in the air as the Saxan forces marched out and deployed into a massive, living wall.

There was no sense of the characteristic joviality of the Saxan people present out on the great plain. No riddles to be uttered, or songs to be sung, even the most spirited of the Saxans had a grave sense of the reality facing them on that fateful morning.