Or so it seemed. An endless moment of flurry and confusion, roaring and screaming and the rattle of arms, took hold. Hide shield boomed against metal, pike and sword clinked against the Ekwesh spears, short-shafted, broad-bladed, that could be wielded as either, while from the second rank long spears stabbed out over the shoulders of the defenders. Elof itched to take wing, to see and fight from above; but in this barren land they had little fuel to burn, and he must save it for great need. It was too much
to
take in, too complex and terrible a sight, this mutual slaughter of many thousands of men; even to Elof s sharp eyes only fragmentary images registered among the confusion, small scenes that seemed to be repeated, played out over and over again wherever one looked along that long line of battle, like recurring patterns on some potent work of smithcraft, some immense and frenzied frieze, patterns brief, bloody, all too vivid. Here a pike sheared away a hide shield and the arm that held it, raking open the black-armoured ribs behind; there a sword wedged in the wooden frame of another such shield, grey and serpent-crested, then fell from its wielder's hand as like the serpent's tongue the deadly spear flicked out. Here a tall warrior sprang up on bodies sprawled across the breast-works, only to rise straight up into the air, thrashing like a fish upon the spear that impaled him; there a man of Morvanhal was knocked back across the breastworks by a hide shield, and had time to scream in terror at the spear that plunged towards his heart. But a metal shield felled his slayer to his knees in the snow as a man of the second rank stepped into his place, and a long spear drove under the Ekwesh armour. He fell thrashing, dragging the spear with him, and his assailant drew blade to confront the man behind. Over and over again such scenes took place, made all the more uniform when distance or the clouds of powder snow, pink-tinged now, hid the adversaries' faces; to Elof then it took on a dream-like quality, as if two armies of ghosts were condemned to eternal battle, where each man who fell rose at once to fight again.
Then, quite suddenly, like glass that cools or ice that melts, the scene cleared. The confusion resolved to reveal most of the Ekwesh milling and thrashing against the ring of shields, still sparring viciously with its defenders but to little effect. Kermorvan's tight formation had played the strong sea-wall to that human surf; most it had held, and what passed it had scattered like flecks of foam. Alone, intruders burst like foam indeed against the second rank, thrust through even as they yelled their triumph; and for larger groups also Kermorvan had made ready. His few squadrons of horses and picked bands of pikemen ranged freely between the ranks, blocking any breach and falling upon any who passed through; no intruders lived more than seconds. Only at the apex of the charge was the shieldwall truly breached, brave men borne down with broad spears biting at their vitals, and there at once the horns sounded and men of the second lines moved up around the gap, enclosing the influx of Ekwesh in a shallow arrowhead hedged with shields and thorned with spear and pike. Those at the fore, isolated in the narrow channel and beset from three sides, were driven onto their points by the sheer weight of the press from behind, and their bodies piled up to serve their slayers as a grisly breast-work of their own. The chieftains on the hill, seeing how ill even this breach was faring, bayed new commands. All along the line, the black-armoured warriors broke off their skirmishing and dropped back; but those caught within the arrowhead could not move so quickly, to their undoing. With a hungry roar the two ends of the reinforced line rolled over the uncertain press in their path, stabbing and slashing, trampling what fell, narrowing and closing the arrowhead till the line stood whole once more.
The ranks of the Ekwesh drew back, many still dancing and chanting mockingly as they trotted back up the slopes once more; but they left the ground before the shieldwall a stinking trampled slush, brown with blood, strewn with bodies like rain-felled grass. A wild cheer went up from within the Kerys lines, and some, foolish or blood-drunk, broke ranks to follow. Their captains roared them back, and they came all the faster when a couple of the foremost dropped with Ekwesh darts in their bellies. The archers on the hills began to fire further and faster, now there was less danger of hitting their own ranks.
"Well, we've held 'em!" said Roc tensely, and without any note of rejoicing. "But that was just their first wave. What next, Kermorvan? More of the same?"
"I think not!" said Kermorvan. "They have failed to whelm our lines; now they will strive to break them. The chiefest question is, where? On which flank will they strike?"
"Why not on all?" growled Ils. "There's enough of em, by Ilmarinen!"
"No. In such a melee they could not keep control of their forces, and that would serve us better than anything…" He danced hurriedly aside as a heavy catapult arrow came hissing down and skipped across the stone near his feet. "Nor could they fire down into it so freely, lest they hit their own. They will sooner try the lance, I think, now the club has failed; and they will tip that lance with hardened warriors. But where? Where?"
"I think I know," said Elof quietly. "Look there!" High on the hillside there was activity behind that motionless front wall. Grey shields were streaming over the hill-brow and down into the centre of the shieldwall, to the west of them.
"It may be…" began Kermorvan, then he broke off. Even as the last few grey shields bounced into the line a wailing call rang out from the hill, the outer shieldwall parted and melted back, and the greys took their place. Their shields bore the same serpent pattern as the banners that lifted and fluttered overhead. There were no chants now, no dance; one more wail from above, one jabbing spear lifted in answer, and with a single shout of
Hob
! the grey shields swept down the hill. As they ran their line bent back from the middle into a wedge shape, and all the rest of the vast phalanx on the central slope, some nine or ten thousand men, fell in behind it. Well-nigh as many warriors as Morvanhal's whole army raced in a great spearhead towards the western edge of Kermorvan's lines, with the grey serpents tossing at its point.
"If we'd had but a few hours more for earthworks -" hissed Ils between her large teeth as she watched that inexorable rush, then she winced in sympathy as the two lines collided with a terrible juddering crash of shield on shield. So might two mountains sound that made war upon the plains, hurling down their slopes of stone. Elof held his breath, for it seemed no mere wall of human thews could sustain that impact. Even as he thought that, he heard the horns bray alarum around him, saw the outer lines seem to shudder and dissolve, falling back, aside, inwards, any way, as the great column of Ekwesh came charging through and the writhing banners came driving with breathless speed straight towards the heart of the ring, the king's rock. He cursed and snatched at his sword, but even as Gorthawer sang out of its scabbard he realised that the fragmented lines had not dissolved, only shifted once again. For a moment they had curled in on themselves, spirals of shuffling men, then suddenly they were sharp-edged squares, islands shored with shields and forested with blades, solid and impregnable among the churning Ekwesh, their charge thrown into confusion by the sudden dissipation of its target. The smaller surface the squares presented meant that only a few at a time could come against each face, and they met the same double or triple ranks as before, and an impenetrable press of men behind; the rest, angry and impatient, could only mill around and shout. The veterans of the Serpent clan alone kept their heads, it seemed; for they held together and drove hard against the inner rings that had not been pierced, but had drawn closer about the king's rock. Many fell, but the press began to tell, and Elof saw that they would burst through any moment. Kermorvan paid them no apparent heed, but strode over to the edge and called down. "
Ravens all! Now is your hour! Pluck me down that Serpent
!"
He gestured, horns sounded; the hard-pressed lines gave back and with a hoarse yell of triumph the Serpents came streaming through. But the old chieftain had sprung up with a cry of his own, and hammered spear-shaft against shield; his followers echoed him, and took up the cry -
Kokju'awatle! The Raven is upon you
! With no more ado they fell upon their fellow-tribe.
Around the rock chaos flowed, and from the throng, of a sudden, the Serpent banner burst, around it a tight knot of hard-faced men. Up the slope they charged, and throwing aside the cares of the greater battle the captains drew blade and turned to fight for themselves. Roc cast down his bow and unhooked his mace from his belt; Ils plucked up her axe. Kermorvan, drawing on his helm and fastening down the fearsome jewelled eye-mask that was its visor, turned to Elof. "Stay here; you cannot walk on this rough stone, and there is no time for your wings! None shall reach you while we are on our feet!" Then sweeping the grey-gold blade from its scabbard he bounded down the steep crag with Roc and Ils on his heels, and hurled himself into the onrush. To left and right of him he hewed with all the fierce art of his youth, harnessing the impact of each savage blow to launch himself into the next; he became the centre of a grotesque death-dance, black-armoured figures springing in then rebounding back, flung bodily from his path, or capering a moment and collapsing like clumsy dolls. From the moment of his coming the onrush was stemmed.
Elof, perched on his crutches, cursed his infirmity and all who had caused it; for though he was not naturally a warlike man, it galled him to be left helpless, watching his friends at risk. Gorthawer seemed to shiver and sing in his grasp, and he began to hobble and clamber painfully down towards the fighting, striving to see more clearly. Neither Roc nor Ils could he make out, their short figures lost in the crush; but Kermorvan, taller even than the Ekwesh, stood out clearly. He seemed at no peril; indeed the fight was swirling away from him as the Ekwesh saw him hew down their strongest by twos and threes. Elof saw him bend down then over somebody fallen, and hurried to look closer; it was Ils, with blood streaming from her leg. But then two tall Ekwesh made a sudden rush; Ils cried out, Kermorvan whirled, but a shield clubbed him on the side of the neck and sent him staggering back. One Ekwesh raised his spear to stab; Elof, still beyond sword's reach, leaned on one crutch and lashed out with the other. The stabbing arm was stopped in midair; then Gorthawer thrust deep into the bared armpit, and the man fell with a retching gasp. The other rounded on Elof, but the crutch struck him in the face and the black sword took him below his breastplate, up behind his ribs. Another ran up, shield raised; Elof slammed the crutch against it, knocking him sprawling, and thrust him through the back with Gorthawer, then wrenched it free, slashed another across the breast and with a growl of effort toppled him from the rock. Now the attackers were themselves attacked; beneath the banner a huge man, head crowned with bobbing white plumes, face and arms ringed with the swirling bluish cicatrices of high rank, roared out an order, gathered such of his men as he still could about him. As swiftly as they had come they gave back, turned and vanished into the fray.
Elof turned to his friends; Ils, forgetting her own injury, had removed Kermorvan's helm, and he was already staggering up, grimacing with disgust as he fingered his bruised neck. "Let no man call you cripple evermore. Mastersmith!" he gasped. "Afoot or awing, my friend, you are the great man-slayer I once named you!"
Elof grimaced. "Mastersmith I prefer! Are you all right?"
Kermorvan's clear laugh rang with triumph. "I am, by your good grace! And all the better for seeing how the field stands now!"
Elof knew that the old Raven had spoken truly; until first the Mastersmith, and then Louhi, had managed to tame their rivalries, the great tribes of the Ekwesh had made constant war over the scanty resources of their barren homeland. Anywhere else the Serpents might have been wary of their kin; but here they had fought their way, as they thought, into the very heart of their enemies, only to find there a strong force of their own kind. For a moment, evidently, they had assumed that these were their fellows coming to their aid; and that moment was fatal. The Ravens' attack struck them as a stunning shock, an awesome stroke of magecraft that thus stood the battle on its head; and the Ravens, with the weapons of Kerys many had adopted, were terrifying opponents. The Serpents' charge stopped dead; they lifted their shields in a feeble attempt to defend themselves, but panic blazed through their ranks, and those behind turned at once to flee. Out into the milling mass around the squares they charged, and in that disordered hubbub their fright was contagious. Heads turned, warriors already balked and frustrated by the disorder saw them flee and began to draw back themselves; the press eased and the squares, still holding doggedly together, began little by little to move. Two came together and joined, and bore down upon another that was hardest pressed; there too the Ekwesh gave back at sight of this creeping dragon-thing of shields that slowly but surely trampled over any in its path; they began to stream away. In moments the chieftains were again yelling from the hill-tops, and the men of the great onrush turned and went pounding away. But there was no dancing nor mockery now; for of that great wedge of men over half lay dead among slime and mud, the heat of their spilled blood thawing even this frosty ground. And behind that mighty heap of corpses Kermorvan's sundered lines were already forming anew.
Elof heaved a deep sigh of relief, but Kermorvan's countenance was grim. "Why so, my long lad?" demanded Ils, leaning on his arm. "Your plan worked well. Our losses are light compared to theirs."