As the sun sank out of sight, the fight at the barricade remained in balance, attackers swarming across the Funnel to replace men who had fallen. Messages arrived from both flanks, indicating the fighting was uniformly fierce at both ends of the line, but that all sections were holding.
When the western sky began to darken, Erik waited for the recall trumpet to sound, but it didn’t come. As darkness approached, torches appeared in the west and soldiers ran toward them carrying illumination to continue the fight into the darkness.
‘Damn,’ said Harper, ‘they’re not about to go away, are they?’
‘Apparently not,’ said Erik. He calculated he had to make a choice now; either beginning the withdrawal, losing the ability to cover the retreat across the killing ground, but getting most of his men to the second barricade, which was almost certain to hold through the night, or continuing to fight and trying to hold them until they withdrew. If they were victorious, it would be a major victory, one that would hold the enemy here in Ravensburg for at least a week more. But if they collapsed and the invaders overran the second barrier before the Kingdom troops could fall back, the results could be disastrous for the Kingdom.
Erik hesitated. For the first time since he had returned to Ravensburg, he cursed Calis for being absent. He or Greylock should have to make this decision, not a young soldier who had only read about these sorts of problems in books.
Harper had his sword ready. ‘What are we to do, sir?’
Erik’s mind raced. He needed an inspiration and a way to get his men back to the second barricade by sunrise, without letting the enemy follow.
Harper said, ‘Maybe a few of those lads will trip over something and set fire to themselves.’
Erik’s eyes widened. ‘Harper, you’re a genius!’
‘I know, sir, but that still doesn’t tell us what we’re to do.’
‘Charge,’ said Erik. ‘Bring up every man we have to the barricades and hold them until sunrise.’
‘Very well, sir.’ Harper turned and began shouting orders, and men held in reserve were suddenly tumbling over the second barricade and hurrying to reinforce the first.
Erik said, ‘Now things get easy.’
‘If you say so, sir,’ said Harper. ‘Do we stand here or join the fight?’
Eric pulled his sword. ‘We fight.’ The two men ran forward.
TWENTY-THREE - Retreat
Erik shouted.
It was a mindless howl of agony and fatigue, serving only to focus the rage he needed to continue the struggle. It was an animal sound, without meaning. It was a sound repeated throughout the night by thousands of men.
For the first time since the fall of Krondor, the main elements of the invaders’ army were locked in battle with the Kingdom. Throughout the night the wave of attackers had continued unabated.
As dawn hinted in the east, where the sky had softened from its funereal blackness to a dull grey, men had struggled to control a dozen yards of ground. The dead were piled high on both sides of the barricade, where Erik and Harper stood like anchors in a storm.
Three times in the night there had been lulls, when water buckets had come to them, and when young boys from the baggage company could haul away the wounded, dying, and dead. But most of the night had been filled with grueling butchery, with little skill, a simple raising and lowering of the blade, much as when Erik had hammered steel. Yet even steel yielded eventually to the smith’s hammer. But this sea of flesh, this never-ending supply of bodies willing to be cleaved and sundered, would not stop.
In a moment of lucidity, after striking down another man attempting to climb the barricade, Erik glanced to the rear. Dawn was less than two hours away. To Harper he gasped, ‘Hold them here for a few more minutes.’
Harper only grunted in reply as Erik stepped away from the fighting. He stumbled a few feet farther, and his legs went out from under him. He scrambled upright and saw he had slipped on a man’s leg. Where the rest of the man was, Erik couldn’t see.
He was thankful for the darkness. He knew that when the sun rose, the carnage would be unspeakable. The worst slaughterhouse in the Kingdom would appear a clean white room for milady’s sewing compared to what the two armies had done that night.
A messenger boy waited nearby with a bucket of water. Erik fell to his knees and picked up the bucket, pouring it over his face, his mouth hanging open. The water ran down his parched throat, reviving him. When he had finished, he told the boy, ‘Run to the rear and find Lieutenant Hammond. Do you know him?’
The boy nodded.
‘He’s with the reserve company. Tell him I need him now. And tell him to bring torches. And oil if there’s any.’