Erik watched the withdrawal and thought they had gotten off as lightly as possible for the first day. He also knew that, starting tomorrow, things would get considerably more difficult.
Dying men groaned in pain, begged for water, or cried. Some called to their gods, or their mothers, or wives, while others could not speak. Erik watched the carnage as the sun sank behind the western hills.
He had been correct in his prediction that the invaders would avoid another confrontation before attempting to neutralize the defenders’ catapults. Bands of infiltrators probed through the night, being met at every possible point by alert defensive resistance, with Jadow’s men acting as a flying company, to reinforce any breech, on the north, and another company under a corporal named Wallis did the same on the south.
At dawn it was clear the attackers had tired of trying to find a weak spot, and had decided to simply throw men at the defenders. Erik watched as four times during the day thousands of invaders ran across the battlefield, the Funnel, as Erik thought of it, to die under the devastating fire of the defenders.
Harper said, ‘Sir, will they ask for truce to give comfort to their wounded?’
Erik said, ‘No. It’s not their way. Their wounded only slow them down.’
‘It’s a bitter thing, then. So we’ll have no truce to retrieve our lads on some future occasion?’
‘No,’ said Erik. ‘My advice if you are wounded is to act dead and hope they don’t spare any time to ensure you are. Then crawl off somewhere after they’ve passed.’
‘I’ll remember that, sir.’
Erik watched as three companies of defenders had actually reached the barricades on the last assault, and while none of his men died, several had taken wounds as they killed those who tried to climb over the barricade.
The attackers had found all of Erik’s traps the hard way.
Pits with stakes and the cleverly disguised trench just below the defensive breastwork had claimed scores of attackers, but now the route was clearly marked. Erik judged the light and thought they might try one more attack before sundown. He prayed they didn’t. He had planned to fall back under cover of darkness to the secondary defensive position, a well-placed second barricade that would put the attackers in the clear line of Erik’s bowmen as they climbed over the first barricade, and turn the fifty yards of open space between the two lines into a killing ground. If he could hold here another night, then keep them away for one more day after that, he felt sure those fleeing toward Darkmoor would be safely away.
Patrols were riding along the eastern slopes of the hills, ensuring no small companies of invaders had somehow slipped through to trouble the defenders from behind. Erik knew that, yet he feared some unnamed surprise would come to put an end to all his clever planning.
Trumpets sounded and Erik said, ‘Damn! I was hoping they’d give it a rest.’
‘Not likely, sir,’ said Harper, pulling his sword, a large hand-and-a-half affair, which he preferred to the broadsword and shield used by most of the men.
From out of the trees across the field men ran, shouting and exhorting their fellows to get close to the defense and breach it. Erik started giving signals, and the catapults and mangonels dispensed death to the attackers, and then the archers let their bows sing. But this time the attack rolled forward.
When the first few men struck the barricade, and died trying to climb, Erik could see more men emerging from the woods, entering the Funnel, and he knew that whoever commanded on the opposite side was throwing everything at him. Erik pulled his own sword and said, ‘Sergeant, order the support companies to the ready. I want them right behind our men on the barricade.’
‘Sir!’ said Harper, and started shouting orders.
Three squads each, the support companies numbered one hundred and eighty men, under the direction of a sergeant whose job was to recognize a breach and fill it as quickly as possible. The value of the zone between the two defensive barricades would be lost if defenders were mixed in with the attackers; the archers on the rocks above and on the second barricade would not be able to safely fire into the killing ground.
Erik saw a plumed helmet, a captain in the Emerald Queen’s army, who was trying to force himself past a determined attacker who was keeping the defender before him busy. Erik was about to order the archers to pick off the officer, but someone on the ridge above had seen him and sent an arrow flying before Erik could speak.
The battle raged along the barricade, and Erik felt frustrated standing on the second ridge, sword in hand, knowing that if he fought, the advantage was lost. Remembering he was now an officer, in command of the area, he put away his sword and watched.