A Tales of Cadamaria Story - Battle of Garagil Pass (Part 29)
They had fought for what seemed like an eternity. The first lines fell almost immediately, cut down by the savage speed and surprise of the enemy’s attack. Bodies laid strewn across the ground, blood mixing with the damp soil as burning embers lit the trees and tents all around. Torches swung frantically amid the chaos, desperate to catch the glimpses of white eyes as the clash of steel and hacking of bone and flesh echoed in the night sky. From the fog came brutes in fur pelts; black bears, gray wolves, white goats.. but all hid their faces behind a mesh of chainmail, their searing eyes visible only through the visors of their dull-iron helms. Facing these raging beasts of metal, the Cairlannders scrambled for their weapons, only to be cut down by large axes that broke through their hide-covered shields. Those that formed up beside their sergeants soon found themselves shot down by a fury of arrows bearing down on all sides.
In the blackened void, shrieks and shrills surrounded the battered men of Captain Nerian’s vanguard. Flaming arrows pierced through the dark veil every so often, and while the Cairlannder shieldwall held tight, still some would slip their way through the narrow gaps between. A scream on one side, and then the other. On occasion, a muffled gurgle and a soft thud. As the arrows came, the men pulled out the dead and wounded, and the lines would shift and shutter as those in the rear took their places. The Northmen had yet to make their way to his ranks, but Nerian knew it would only be a matter of time before they would break through the second line.
“Captain, we must withdraw,” Nerian’s sergeant begged. “If we stay here, we’ll all surely be cut down!”
Nerian shot back. “We stand firm. Not a single Northman must pass!”
More arrows poured into the shieldwall as the cries of battle grew closer ahead. More Ellstrivari tongue, and less Cadamarian with every passing moment. The war chants roared louder and louder as the horde approached, and the Cairlannders readied their spears, bracing for what laid ahead.
“Steady!” Nerian commanded. “Steady!”
As the chants grew closer and closer, a fury of arrows suddenly flooded the line, clattering against the wooden boards of their shields. Men cried and hollered as the arrows pierced and punctured their padded wool jackets and chainmail, some getting away with a knick or two, but others jabbed through their limbs and organs. As the dead and wounded fell, a furious roar filled the air as the Northmen rushed the shieldwall in a maddened dash.
“Spears forward!” the sergeants hollered.
At once, the soldiers held forth their spears and braced for the charge. The Northmen closed the distance, and as they did, the Cairlannders thrusted their spears out, striking down the first assailants, but not before those behind them jumped forth and threw themselves onto the shieldwall. The wall buckled as the soldiers teared through the Northmen with sword and knife, dropping their spears as the Northmen flailed their blades into the cracks, hoping to cut and stab wherever they could.
As the line held against the onslaught, more roars could be heard from the sides.
“Take to the flanks!” ordered Nerian, directing two of his sergeants to their positions. With haste, the sergeants gathered the men in reserve and placed themselves shoulders against the main line just as more Northmen poured out from the fog and smashed into their ranks.
Nerian stood by at the rear, pacing back and forth, watching the lines for any gaps, any slack, any signs of weakening among the ranks. Already, his ten-men-deep lines were dwindling down to six, and it wouldn’t be long before the Northmen would break through. As he paced across the line, an arrow struck near his foot, barely missing his toes by a few inches. He raised his shield up to the night sky, and sure enough, more arrows landed atop his shield. Nerian cursed. Even with the two sides locked in combat, Olvek still had his archers fire into the crowd. Either he was mad, or the archers knew what they were doing.
More arrows landed against his shield, and Nerian rushed to the other side of the line, hoping to get out of the archers’ fire. As he traveled down the left flank, the line was down to four-men-deep, much worse than the others.
Nerian called to the last troops in reserve. “Forward to the left flank! With haste!”
The soldiers cried out in unison, and marched forth to reinforce their weakened lines. Nerian ran back to the center, watching the lines, watching men fall and die, watching his camp burn and the Northmen flood the grounds before him.
What else could he do but watch? Was there nothing else he could do but slow the inevitable?
No, he could not afford to. Behind Nerian, thousands of civilians. Innocent people who have traveled with them for so many years, who clothed them, fed them, cared for them as they fought in this war. He could not afford to break.
His trusted sergeant cried out once more. “Captain Nerian! We must fall back! We cannot hold them any longer!”
This time, Nerian concurred. “Pull the men back, but slowly! Any slack in the line, and we’ll all be cut down.”
The sergeant nodded and went across the ranks to give the order. As the orders rang across, and the men slowly withdrew step-by-step, Nerian bit his lips and took hold of his star-crossed necklace.
“Oh dearest Lord, give us the strength to prevail through these dark times.”
As the lines withdrew, a panic spread across the left flank. Nerian rushed over to see what was happening, only to discover that the Northmen had bashed their way straight through the left’s center. Soldiers cried in terror as the line suddenly cracked and the Northmen poured through the opening, cutting down the disheveled ranks. The other lines too began to panic, seeing their brother slaughtered beside them, but unable to break formation against the enemy striking them from the front.
Nerian looked on in horror, but could only spare a single moment before raising his shield to face the one swinging an axe straight towards his face.