Flurries of blows transpired all around, as Wulfstan hurried by with a number of Saxans to fall upon several dagger-armed, veiled warriors, standing amid a number of composite bows that had been hurriedly cast aside. The sight of the bows lying all around told Wulfstan everything that he needed to bring himself into an inferno of rage.
The Andamooran archers that had killed so many Saxans from a distance were now engulfed in a maelstrom of vengeance, as Wulfstan and others cut viciously into them. With their small round shields, lack of armor, and daggers, they were hewn down rapidly, as the Saxans moved through them like brushfire through drought-parched grasses.
One Andamooran howled in agony, as a heavy, chopping cut of Wulfstan’s sword removed the hand that had pulled arrows and a bowstring back so very recently. The Andamooran was given no time to contemplate the disastrous wound, as Wulfstan condemned him to lasting silence with a brutal slash.
Wulfstan squared off with another, striking out from behind his round shield and bringing the Andamooran down with a cutting stroke below the man’s left knee. Another Saxan pierced the Andamooran with a heavy spear, as the man lay writhing, and crippled, upon the ground.
Resistance dropped precipitously, as a great panic began to spread and take hold throughout the splintering Andamooran ranks.
Wulfstan was afforded a few moments to glance around at the progress of the Saxan attack. His eyes widened, as he took his first close look at the strange, hump-backed mounts that the Andamoorans had brought along with them, all the way from their distant homelands.
They were odd-shaped creatures, each with singular, distinctive humps, elongated necks, and strange facial features. To Wulfstan’s eyes, the beasts looked quite ungainly in form, though it was clear that the animals were well-accustomed to riders and saddles.
The horses of the Saxans reared as they drew near to the unfamiliar mounts of the enemy. The infantry riding the humped beasts had dismounted to form up ranks, utilizing their mounts as a type of makeshift, living field fortification. It was a manner of fighting that they were evidently well accustomed to, as Wulfstsan watched the enemy fighters hastening to create a fallback position.
The sounds of more horns filled the air, coming from the south. The ground rumbled anew with the pounding resonance of approaching horses, as Wulfstan and the other Saxans heard their own side’s distinctive horn signals rising into the air. The Saxan signals carried an edge of urgency, commanding an immediate fallback.
Wulfstan looked over towards the weird, humped beasts massed just a short distance ahead. The hastily assembling ranks of Andamooran spearmen were allowing their retreating brethren to stream through their ranks, while their cavalry labored to slow the vigorous Saxan advance. Though still very numerous, the spirit of the Andamoorans had been broken, and a heavy blow to the invaders was now within the Saxans’ grasp.
The rumbling drew steadily nearer, as the Saxan horn calls were redoubled. The Bretican warriors, their once-gleaming armor now anointed in the blood of the aggressors, began pulling away from engagements with the Andamooran cavalry.
Wulfstan eyed a mass of dark-skinned warriors, arrayed tightly around a proud-looking man, mounted upon an exquisite-looking steed. His bearing, attire, and the vivid, ornate standards around him announced to all that he was a man of great importance, and that the men around him were serving as a type of bodyguard.
The sight of the obvious Andamooran leader, almost within reach of Saxan swords, was tantalizing. The Saxans were so close to finishing off the Andamoorans, and the loss of their leader would break the back of their pummeled morale.
Wulfstan knew that the Saxan cavalry, and especially the elite Bretican forces, would not pull away from such a bounteous opportunity unless a dire situation loomed. He cursed the abrupt twist of fortune, but shouted out to the men around him.
“Fall back,” he cried out. “Fall back, Saxans, now!”
The Saxans near to Wulfstan began pulling back with reluctance, as he noticed the Bretican cavalry moving off towards the south, where the reverberations were growing in intensity.
Wulfstan realized then that the enemy was falling upon them from the center. The deep Saxan penetration into the Andamooran ranks had overreached, leaving an inviting, highly exposed flank to the Avanorans occupying the center of the invasion force.
Understanding what was happening, Wulfstan broke into a full run back towards the Saxan lines. He gestured and called out urgently to Saxan warriors wherever he could, warning them of the fast-approaching threat.
Many Saxans were still mopping up trapped pockets of Andamoorans scattered across the battlefield behind him, and there were also a number of individual combats sprinkled amid the chaos. Wulfstan slowed down as he came upon one such melee.
He slashed his sword down upon an unsuspecting Andamooran from behind, where two of them had been embroiled with a lone Saxan thane. With one less opponent, the thane quickly finished off the remaining Andamooran, as Wulfstan exhorted the thane to fall back.
Wulfstan looked farther ahead, shouting as he gestured with his sword towards a great number of Saxans in the distance, ahead of him. His heart leapt and his fears spiraled as he saw hand axes and picks of the type used on village farms, and set his eyes upon even more crude weapons, such as stones lashed to stout clubs of wood.
A sizeable contingent of Saxans from the general levy had spread deeper into the battlefield, most in the process of gaining their first taste of battle. Against fragments of the enemy infantry, their overwhelming numbers offset their lack of skills and good quality weaponry. But in the face of mounted Avanoran knights, they were little more than plump sheep standing before an oncoming horde of ravenous wolves.
As nervous and timid as many of them were, the levymen needed little encouragement to begin a hasty retreat. Hearing the cries of those such as Wulfstan, and seeing the Saxan ceorls, thanes and other veterans hurrying back, the levymen shouted out to each other, with panicked countenances. Turning, they rushed away in a sprawling cavalcade before Wulfstan.
Wulfstan glanced to his right, and his heart caught in his throat as he saw Avanoran horsemen amongst the Saxans. The muscular stallions and their heavily-armored riders were a deadly, terrible combination. The Avanorans leveled their spears in a technique whereby the far ends of the long shafts were held securely beneath their arm pits, orienting the shining, sharply-honed tips towards Saxan flesh.
Caught out in the open, and in disarray, it did not matter whether one was a household warrior, a thane, a ceorl, or a simple farming peasant from the General Fyrd. The brushfire was now blowing back onto Saxan grass.
Wulfstan cast his lot with a number of mailed household guards and thanes that had gathered around a fallen warrior, whose blood-caked chain mail was rent in more than one place. The older warrior’s helm still lay upon his head, but his eyes stared lifelessly skyward, as if gazing into another world.
“Lay as befits a thane, at his lord’s side! Fight to the last!” roared one of the other thanes defiantly, delivering the words with a booming passion that smote the very air around them.
From all appearances, fighting to the last was exactly what the small band was intending to do, but Wulfstan did not have any other options if he wanted even a remote chance to survive. The forward elements of the oncoming Avanoran cavalry now surrounded them.
Wulfstan had never before witnessed the Avanorans up close, but now saw why they possessed such a legendary reputation. Their discipline was extraordinary, as they maintained tight, small units that appeared to act as if they were of one mind.
The knights among them were easy to spot. Had they not been wearing colorful surcoats, they would have displayed bodies entirely covered in chain mail. Mail hose covered their legs and feet, long-sleeved mail coats encased their upper bodies, with mail mittens protecting the backs of their hands.
Some wore conical helms with nasal guards, but several looked impassive and foreboding in their flat-topped, cylindrical he
lms. Iron visors affixed to the brows extended downward, covering their faces, and giving them cold, expressionless visages of war. Only horizontal eye slits, and tiny holes piercing the iron visors for ventilation, broke the metallic surfaces.
The barrel-chested destriers, to Wulfstan’s dismay, showed themselves to be well-trained for combat as they drew near the Saxans. Biting and lashing out with their hooves, the tall, robust horses created a menacing combination with the armored riders skillfully wielding weapons from their backs. Wulfstan watched several Saxans die horribly under the explosive hooves of the war horses. The gruesome sight instantly erased any qualms that he might otherwise have had about driving his own sword into the body of one of the majestic beasts.
Behind the enemy knights came a mass of other mounted fighters. The accompanying Avanoran squires and sergeants were not as encompassed in iron links as were the knights they followed into battle. Yet, for the most part, they were equipped as well, or better, than virtually any Saxan that they engaged. Most of these secondary fighters wore helms with iron nasal guards, and a large majority had their upper bodies sheathed in coats of mail.
As a whole, their horses were not as dangerous or powerful as the brawny, ferocious stallions of the knights, being a little smaller in size, and less aggressive.
The initial strikes of the knights were made with lowered, couched lances. Several Saxans caught on open ground were brutally impaled upon the long shafts, as the great power of the warhorses’ momentum coursed into lethal, deeply penetrating blows.
Once the long lances were lodged into their victims, or were abandoned by necessity in close-quarters fighting, most of the knights resorted to secondary weapons. Wulfstan saw that most of these weapons were long, tapering swords, while a few were flanged, bronze-headed maces, of a kind that could deal crushingly powerful blows.
Even though the Avanorans displayed a propensity for aggression, they were not foolhardy. They rapidly showed great wariness for the long, two-handed Saxan axes that indiscriminately slew horse or rider, whichever offered a better target for the axe-wielders.
The caution allowed a few Saxans caught within the killing ground to reach their comrades. A few peasants and ceorls, finding refuge in the presence of the small island of Saxans around Wulfstan, held their long spears outward to ward against sudden charges, allowing thanes and household guards to emerge to strike at the enemy with sword and axe.
Seeing yet another Saxan run down by a mounted knight, who drove a lance right through the unfortunate man’s body, Wulfstan was relieved that even the staunchest of the warhorses were loathe to rush upon a concentration of lowered spears.
In front of Wulfstan, several Avanorans whipped their heads about, as a cluster of Saxan horns sounded from just beyond them. With his back, left, and right amply protected, Wulfstan risked taking a couple of paces forward.
A horseman directly in front of him, likely a sergeant, was holding a lance above his head, as Wulfstan advanced upon the horse’s right side. Wulfstan kept his shield raised, acting as if he were about to strike the horse with a forward thrust of his sword. The Avanoran reacted to the perceived threat, twisting in his saddle to thrust his spear downward at Wulfstan.
Wulfstan side-stepped quickly to the left, sliding by the shoulder of the horse as the spear jabbed nothing but air a few scant inches behind him. He brought his sword racing up in a sweeping, backhanded slash, feeling the crashing impact of the heavy blade into the exposed side of the Avanoran warrior. A mail coat could not stop the bludgeoning impact, and the large, heavy Saxan swords could pulverize as much as they could sever.
Absorbing the entire force of the blow, the shocked Avanoran sergeant collapsed forward in his saddle. Wulfstan whipped his sword around, bringing it up, over, and downward in a thunderous, cleaving blow that found a narrow space between the hapless man’s iron helm and mail coat. The horse was left riderless, as the sergeant’s maimed body slid to the side, toppling heavily to the ground.
The Avanoran knights, sergeants, and squires were now reeling backwards, finding themselves beset from both sides in the sudden shift of battle. Other Saxans had rallied, streaking to the aid of the throng gathered around Wulfstan, arriving in force at a most unexpected moment.
It was one of the most welcome sights that Wulfstan had ever seen. Saxan cavalry charged down from the left, rugged men from the lands of Count Einhard. Medium and light cavalry were both thrown into the desperate fighting, penetrating into the swirling chaos to stem the Avanoran tide, and prevent the Saxan right flank from being destroyed.
While not as heavily equipped as the mail-encased Avanoran knights with their full visors, the Saxan cavalry’s spears and swords could still deliver lethal blows to any opponent. The broad, drawn out spear blades of the Saxan riders, with their short, lateral wings protruding from the bases of the blades, were wielded in a variety of ways. One-handed and two-handed techniques were employed, using both thrusting and slashing methods.
While the Avanoran knights were the equal of virtually any warrior standing upon the battlefield, the squires and sergeants were not quite as prepared for the encompassing Saxan onslaught.
Thanes, household guards, and others around Wulfstan responded quickly to the beckoning openings. They levied several more casualties on the Avanorans, before turning their attention to the cleared channels across the battlefield back towards the Saxan shield wall.
Given a miraculous reprieve on the apparent finality of just a few moments before, the energy born of anger and desperation was replaced by a surging hope. Most of the ceorls, and all the peasants, broke into a vigorous run through the cleared ground, as the rest of the Saxan riders passed by them.
The household guards and thanes moved more slowly and orderly. A couple of their number gently lifted and carried the body of the high-ranking thane that they had been warding, and for whom they were willing to lay down their lives.
In one’s and two’s, other Saxans that had been stranded in the no-man’s land streamed around Wulfstan’s methodical group, sprinting for the harbor of the Saxan shield wall. Other cohesive clusters of thanes and household guards also began to emerge in the wake of the Saxan cavalry. Like the ones near to Wulfstan, they kept close together as they moved, with weapons readied as they backed up towards the Saxan lines.
On the cusp of a route, the Avanorans now found themselves in the midst of a little chaos themselves. Count Einhard’s cavalry hurled javelins, and engaged the Avanorans with spear and sword wherever they could. Hand axes loomed up, as if out of thin air, swung in deadly arcs towards the enemy riders.
Yet after the initial shock of the influx of Saxan cavalry, the Avanoran knights threatened to rally, stem the counterattack, and roll it back. Evincing their steely discipline once again, they began to regroup, bringing the lesser-skilled squires and sergeants back in from the far-flung reaches of the fighting.
Wulfstan witnessed the unsettling skill of the Avanoran knights as they wielded their blades, felling many of Einhard’s warriors. Their tapering swords were every bit as devastating in blurring-fast, piercing thrusts, as they were when slashing.
Glancing blows upon the mail-encased Avanorans did little, as only the heaviest of strikes could unhorse them, or have a chance at mortally wounding them. Their taller, more powerful steeds also lent the enemy riders further advantages.
But just when the knights were almost reassembled, and had begun to stiffen their resistance, they were beset from an entirely new direction. The Bretican force, which had been thwarted from reaching the Andamooran leader, was now furiously cleaving its way back through to the Saxan lines. In a unified body, the Breticans burrowed relentessly into the Avanoran riders.
Horns were immediately sounded amongst the Avanorans, as the heavy cavalrymen of Count Gerard gored them. Denied their chance to finish off the Andamooran force, the Bretican warriors took out their tremendous frustrations in a searing assault that swiftly began to claim the lives of Avanoran knights, in
addition to many squires and sergeants.
Nothing had ever looked better to Wulfstan, as the shiny scales on the Bretican horse armor made the formation look like a massive sword as it drove into the ranks of their enemies. The incoming Breticans eliminated any further notions of attack that the Avanoran knights might have entertained, as the enemy riders began to fall back towards the center.
The Avanorans were still quite dangerous in retreat, and both Breticans and riders from Annenheim were slain as the Saxans harried the knights, and kept pressure upon them. When the Avanorans were pushed back farther towards the center, both Count Einhard’s and Count Gerard’s mounted warriors withdrew from pressing the attack, cantering back in broad masses along the face of the Saxan shield wall.
By that juncture, Wulfstan had reached the face of the shield wall. Before he slipped through one of the openings created for the retreating Saxan warriors, he took a moment to watch throngs of Saxan horsemen stream by. The rumble under his feet now felt welcome, as he looked with gratitude and pride upon the brave warriors that had delivered him and the other Saxans from certain entrapment and death.
The course of battle was so unpredictable, and fickle. Just as the Andamoorans had thought they had achieved a prime opening to strike a crushing blow to the Saxans, they had been splintered apart. When the Saxans had been poised to route the Andamoorans, they had themselves been pummeled by the Avanorans from the center. Likewise, the Avanorans had seen a decisive blow snatched out of their own grasp by the warriors of Count Einhard and Count Gerard.
It was a sobering, frightening lesson, regarding the abrupt ebbs and flows of a large-scale battle. Crescendos of exhilarating hope, flavored with the taste of victory, were juxtaposed with terrifying abysses of despair.
The Andamooran spearman swallowed up in the surge of the Saxan ranks was no different than the Saxan ceorl or levyman that found himself stranded amongst charging Avanoran knights. Hopes of surviving the battle could suddenly be revealed to be false, ephemeral illusions.
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