Stiger scanned the battlefield as the century continued to drive deeper into the fight. The racket to his front increased in volume as they met more resistance. The orcs began throwing themselves not only against dwarves, but also at the legionary shield wall.
The enemy carried a mixture of swords, spears, and war hammers. They were large and intimidating. However, the orcs wore only a simple studded black leather chest armor with pants. It could only be described as light armor, the sort of lightweight protection that scouts would wear. They carried no shields. For the moment, against the better-equipped, trained, and disciplined heavy infantry of the legion, it was an unfair contest, even considering their superior numbers.
Stiger swung his gaze from left to right, taking in all of the action as the Fifth drove deeper into the dwarven encampment. His line, twenty yards in length, did not extend the width of the fight, which had spread out beyond the confines of the dwarven camp. The farther Stiger pushed forward, the more orcs they passed by who would be able to get around on either side of his line. This included dwarves as well, who were struggling for survival. It ultimately meant that the deeper he pushed forward, the more dangerous it would become for the Fifth. It was not an acceptable situation.
Stiger glanced around, understanding he had a problem that would compound itself with every step forward. To the right, an orc attacked the man at the very end of the line in the second rank. The legionary saw it coming and turned, raising his shield. He blocked the attack and then countered, jabbing outward with his short sword. The strike took the orc hard in the belly. The legionary pulled his sword back, opening up the creature’s stomach. The orc fell on its back, screaming in agony as it held its destroyed stomach with both hands. Without hesitation, the legionary stabbed a powerful blow downward, killing it. The orc twitched a couple times and went still.
Sabinus clearly saw what had occurred. Stiger was pleased to see the centurion take the initiative and immediately order men in the second rank on his end of the line to form a flank guard of sorts. Sabinus formed a new line of ten men, almost at a ninety-degree angle to the main line, which faced forward and continued the advance, making the formation look more L-shaped.
Father Thomas apparently had also seen what had occurred on Sabinus’s side of the line. Without a word, the paladin left Stiger and joined the right flank’s action. Stiger followed Father Thomas’s progress along the line. As the paladin arrived, an orc approached, attempting to get behind Sabinus’s new flanking line.
Father Thomas placed himself in the orc’s path along the extreme flank. The creature pointed a large metal hammer at the paladin, said something, and then charged. Saber in hand, Father Thomas calmly stood his ground. The orc raised its hammer above its head to strike. The paladin just stood there, as if scared into immobility. He did not even crouch or cringe. Stiger could hear the creature’s triumphant shout of victory over its opponent.
The orc brought the hammer down in a crushing blow that would surely kill Father Thomas. At the last minute, the paladin nimbly dodged aside and around the creature. The saber flashed from the light of a nearby fire as it slashed outward toward the creature’s exposed belly. The orc stumbled onward a few steps, then crashed to the ground, where it lay still and unmoving.
Satisfied the right flank was in good hands, Stiger glanced to the left side. Pixus had not yet set a flank guard, as the enemy had not tested his flank. Stiger, unwilling to give them the opportunity, stepped forward and tapped a man on the shoulder in the second rank. As he did so, the line to his left broke open to move around a campfire. Once past the campfire, the line closed up again. Stiger, ten feet away, could feel the fire’s heat.
“Sir?” the legionary asked.
“Tell Centurion Pixus,” Stiger hollered to be heard over the battering of shields and clash of arms, “to detail men to protect his side of the flank. I don’t want any of the enemy getting in around and behind us. Understand me?”
The legionary gave a nod. He was young and his eyes were a little wild. They darted nervously around. Stiger chalked that up to facing orcs for the first time. It was even possible this was the boy’s first fight.
“Repeat it to me,” Stiger ordered, adding steel to his voice. He knew the effect it would have. The eyes of the young legionary widened. It was better the boy fear his own officers more than the enemy. “Speak up! I want to hear what you will tell your centurion.”
“Yes sir.” The legionary stiffened almost to a position of attention. “Centurion Pixus is to form a flank guard so the enemy does not get around behind us on his side of the line. Is that right, sir?”
“You got it, son,” Stiger said, “and pass along my compliments to your centurion as well, will you?”
“Yes, sir.” The legionary gave a hasty salute and dashed off.
Stiger looked up over the ranks at the fighting. He saw a tight knot of dwarves being heavily pressed, just twenty yards ahead. One of them held the thane’s standard. It waved about wildly in the air as the dwarf who was holding it used the sharpened end as a long spear. Over the shoulders of his comrades, he was stabbing the vicious weapon at the enemy.
Stiger studied the knot of defenders. The dwarves were clustered tightly around the standard-bearer. They were fanatically defending, giving up ground grudgingly. They were not quite surrounded, but Stiger could see it was only a matter of time ‘til they were. He hoped they were protecting more than just the standard, but their thane as well.
Pierced through the chest by a heavy blade, one of the defenders fell. Another dwarf took a hammer to the face, eliciting a sickening spray of blood that spattered across his fellows. So tight was the press around the knot that the deceased dwarf was held upward.
The orc that had killed the dwarf gave a roar of irritation, reached forth, gripped the dead dwarf’s tunic, and threw him bodily aside, knocking several of his own over in the process. Free to strike at the next dwarf, he raised his hammer to attack, but one of the defenders holding a shield stepped forward and slashed outward with an axe, cutting the orc deeply in the thigh.
The orc screamed in pain and fell backward, disappearing beneath the crowd of orcs behind him. Eager to get at the dwarves, the mass of orcs gave no thought to their wounded. Stiger had seen this before. He understood that any unfortunate enough to become wounded were likely being trampled to death by their own side.
As Fifth Century drew closer, Stiger finally saw Brogan in the midst of the knot of dwarves, fighting alongside his warriors. Stiger gave a thankful breath of relief at the sight of the thane. There was no sign of Jorthan. Wearing only a blood-spattered tunic, carrying a shield and sword, the thane was calling out battle cries and oaths as he fought.
Brogan’s long beard swung about as he worked his sword and shield, blocking blows aimed to kill him while looking for an opportunity to strike. In the blink of an eye, the thane laid open an orc’s belly. He screamed out his exultation before jamming his sword into another. He then brought his shield up and stepped back as the knot of defenders fell backward several steps with him.
A dwarf to Brogan’s left fell, and a heartbeat later another to his right went down. Stiger had seen enough. He understood there was no time to waste. Brogan and his defenders would not last much longer.
As the mass of the enemy before the shield wall compressed, Stiger’s front rank had slowed its advance. The legionaries were now struggling for each step forward. The time had come to bring some order to the killing. He would make it more efficient—more of a killing machine.
“Lock shields,” Stiger hollered. “Close order, now! Tighten up that line. Lock those shields.”
The shields thunked together in a ragged clatter.
“Prepare to push,” Stiger called to the left and then repeated himself to the right. He waited a five count to give the men time to ready themselves.
“Push!”
Together, the legionaries shoved forward, throwing their shoulders into their shields, and took the p
rescribed half step. The sudden advance forcibly pushed the orcs before them. Shields scraped aside and swords jabbed outward. There were cries of pain and agony. The shields closed up again.
“Push!”
Another half step and the shield wall scraped aside. Again, there were screams. The shields closed up.
A loud clatter to the left mixed in with cries and screams snapped Stiger’s head around. He saw that Pixus had ordered a javelin toss from the second rank along his side of the line. It had been aimed at a group of orcs attempting to flank the formation. The men in the second rank had been holding the first rank’s javelins. Pixus called for a second toss. They pulled their arms back, aimed, and released. The javelins arced up into the air and slammed down amongst the group of orcs. From the screams and scattered sounds of impact, he knew it had been a successful toss. The second toss broke the group, and they disappeared into the darkness, undoubtedly looking for easier game to tackle.
Stiger was gratified to see Pixus had gotten his message and, like Sabinus, had set a second line to cover the formation’s left flank. Satisfied that all was well in hand there, he turned back to the line and the fight to his front. The killing machine needed to continue its advance.
“Push!” Stiger yelled.
The line advanced, and once again, after the half step, shields parted. Swords punched out. There were more screams as the legionaries stepped over dead and wounded orcs.
“Push!”
Relentless, the advance continued, as Stiger knew it would.
To the left side of the line Stiger saw a wounded orc who had fallen and been passed over by the first rank reach out and grab at the back of a legionary’s leg, causing the line in that spot to the buckle. A legionary in the second rank stabbed downward with his javelin. The orc released the leg and grabbed at the javelin, which had pierced its belly. Another javelin darted downward into its throat, killing it. From that point onward, any orc the front rank passed over, whether dead or alive, received a poke from a short sword or javelin in the second rank.
The first of the men went down. An orc wielding a spear had reached over the shield wall and thrust downward, taking the man through the neck. Like a felled tree, the legionary stiffened and then toppled backwards, taking the spear with him.
The man directly behind in the second rank dropped his javelin and, drawing his sword, took the vacant place in the first rank, bringing his shield up as he came on. He blocked a blow with his shield and stepped into place. The legionary did not miss a beat, as he jabbed outward with his short sword, taking an orc in the arm.
Another man on Sabinus’s end of the line went down. Still the relentless advance continued, the machine chewing up the enemy before it. Stiger called out one push after another and then the shield wall parted. The legionaries of the first rank admitted Brogan and ten of his weary defenders, including the standard-bearer, who was badly injured. Stiger was relieved to see that Theo was one of those who had been fighting with the thane. His friend appeared unhurt. He was covered in orc blood, his sword fairly dripping with it.
“I thought you’d never get here.” Theo flashed a relieved grin. He gave Stiger a wink as he made his way over to Brogan. The thane had planted the tip of his sword in the ground and was leaning on the hilt. He looked exhausted.
“I will work on my timing,” Stiger called back to Theo.
“Do that, because yours is terrible.” Theo paused. “On second thought, it’s not so bad.”
That brought out a chuckle from Stiger.
The shield wall parted in other places and dwarves were admitted through. Without Stiger having to ask, Brogan ordered those uninjured of his dwarves to the flanks. There they helped to provide security.
Stiger called several more pushes, hoping to shove the orcs back to the point where he might encourage them to temporarily disengage. That would allow him room to maneuver.
Abruptly, the sounds of fighting to the immediate front of the line died down.
Apparently understanding that they were, for the moment, outmatched by the armored killing machine of Fifth Century, the orcs before his line had begun backing away. Stiger was certain that they had never seen anything like the legionary century. The thought of such killing efficiency made him proud. Pixus had trained his men well.
“Halt,” Stiger hollered, bringing the advance to a stop. The legionaries in the front rank, breathing heavily, brought their shields up defensively. They watched the enemy but went no farther.
“What are you doing?” Brogan had come up to Stiger. Theo was with him. The thane had a small cut on his brow. It bled profusely, running down his face and onto his beard. He was also splattered with orc blood and greenish bits of gore. Thin strips of skin hung from the thane’s sword. “Why are you stopping? We must kill them all.”
Stiger studied the fighting around the century. They were still badly outnumbered, even with the surviving dwarves, many of whom had made it through to the safety of the century. Of those, Stiger estimated there were at least forty.
Out of the near two hundred Taithun had marched in with, forty was a paltry number. Stiger was reminded of his time as a lieutenant, when his captain had led a mad dash out into a field after a broken company of spearmen. Exposed and in open ground with no cover, much of the Seventh Company had been run down by enemy cavalry, who, until the moment of the charge, had approached unseen. The thought of such slaughter born of thoughtlessness made him angry.
Instead of responding to Brogan, Stiger’s eyes swept the battlefield. He came to the conclusion he had underestimated the number of orcs. There were more than five hundred, and that was likely a conservative estimate. Many of the enemy had stopped fighting and were busy looting bodies, tents, and the supply wagons. Fights had even broken out amongst them over loot.
Outside of the bubble of order he had created, there were still a handful of dwarves who remained cut off. They were fighting desperately for their lives. He understood that when the fighting around the century slowly died out, as it most certainly would, the orcs would turn on his legionaries. Then, the Fifth would be in serious trouble. Seventy legionaries against several hundred of the enemy, no matter how well-armored, were not good odds.
The orcs were now giving the century a wide berth. Stiger understood their hesitation was only temporary. All it would take was someone on the other side with authority to take control, establishing some semblance of order, and the enemy would be on him. However, the unwillingness of the orcs to press him created the opportunity he had desired.
“It’s done here,” Stiger said, turning back to the thane.
“How can you say that?” Brogan demanded of Stiger.
It was clear the thane’s heat was up. Brogan wiped blood from the cut on his forehead out of his eyes. If it had been his men out there, Stiger wouldn’t want to leave either. Still, Stiger knew his duty and had to impress that upon Brogan.
“Look around,” Stiger said, pointing with his sword. He felt his anger mounting. “They outnumber us, and there may be more out there in the darkness we don’t know about. We must pull back to my encampment. It is the only thing to do. There, with its defenses, we stand a chance to hold until morning.”
“No,” Brogan yelled back at him. “We have to punish them for this betrayal! We have to make Therik pay!”
“Brogan,” Theo said and placed a hand on the thane’s arm. “He’s right. It is over. Listen to the legate. We’ve lost here.”
“Never.” Brogan shook Theo off and advanced on Stiger. “Now is the time to hit them back!”
“No,” Stiger said.
Brogan raised his sword, as if he were working himself up to strike.
Ears back, with teeth bared, Dog growled and placed himself directly between Stiger and the thane. Brogan was clearly beyond caring.
Brogan’s sheer pig-headedness enraged Stiger. He had lost good men coming to Brogan’s rescue and with every moment they delayed in withdrawing, even more were put at risk. The a
nger shifted over to a full-blown rage, and he took a step nearer the thane. Rarokan fed him power and Stiger enjoyed the feeling of it. He even welcomed it. Stiger reached out and grabbed Brogan’s tunic with a fist, twisting it, as he pulled him closer. The move appeared to surprise Brogan, and the thane’s sword lowered.
“We must pull back if we are to have a chance for survival,” Stiger yelled at the thane and shook him slightly. “I lost good men rescuing you. Don’t let their sacrifice go to waste. It is time to withdraw.”
The thane blinked, and Stiger saw his eyes shift away from him to Rarokan. The sword had begun glowing a bright, fiery blue, small tongues of flame licking at the air. Stiger released the thane and took a step back, abruptly realizing he had gone too far. He forcibly calmed himself, controlling his breathing, pushing back on the flow of power from Rarokan. The sword’s fire slackened, but the blade still glowed ever so slightly. The power of Rarokan receded from whence it had come.
“It’s over, Brogan,” Theo said, tugging on Brogan’s shoulder. “We must pull back.”
Brogan tore his gaze from Stiger’s blade to Theo and then looked around. His shoulders slumped, seeming to deflate. He glanced back over at Stiger, giving a miserable nod.
“You are right,” the thane said in a low tone. “It is time to give up the field.”
Satisfied the thane had seen reason, Stiger glanced around as Brogan moved off toward the rear of the formation. It was indeed time to withdraw, and it needed to happen quickly.
“Second rank,” Stiger hollered, “about face.”
The second rank neatly spun around.
“Thoggle told Aleric’s company your sword was magic,” Theo said. “He warned us never to try to take it or touch it, said it was dangerous. Until now, I never fully believed it.”
“Even after it burned Geligg?” Stiger asked, sparing his friend an unhappy look.
“Even then,” Theo said with a shrug. “I didn’t see it actually burn him, so I guess it made it harder for me to believe . . . if you know what I mean.”
The Tiger's Time (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 4) Page 33
