Fil had no enemies to kill as the remaining orcs backed away from the deadly infantry. He lowered his exhausted sword arm, panting heavily. He tried to lick his dry lips but his mouth and tongue were devoid of any moisture.
Just then he heard the horn that signaled their forces to retreat and regroup. The infantry officers sounded their horns again and the trained fighting force slowly retreated backwards in formation.
The thundering of horses drew Fil’s gaze up the hill and what he saw drained the blood from his face. Thousands of enemy cavalry stormed down the hill towards them. In front of them ran several hundred boargs. At the sight of the hated creatures, Fil’s heart began to beat faster. He clenched his jaw, his long-held rage at the boargs pulling him out of formation towards the oncoming beasts.
“Fil!” Calden screamed.
Fil stopped, recognizing the voice. He turned to see Calden running towards him. He was covered in blood and he had a vicious cut running down the side of his left cheek.
“Fil, you can’t beat them by yourself! Get back in line!” He grabbed Fil’s arm, cutting through Fil’s trance.
Fil shook his head and looked at his friend. Sweat soaked Calden’s head and dripped freely down his dirt covered face. The sight of his friend alive brought Fil out of his killing rage. “You’re right. I lost it for a moment.”
More horns blew and both the warriors looked around to see what was happening. Their own cavalry was expertly moving backwards and regrouping in two separate formations to the infantry’s left and right. They were angled outwards to deflect the incoming enemy cavalry while the infantry stayed in the center to fight face to face with the fearsome tribesmen.
“Here they come, get back in formation!” yelled Tanus.
Both the men ran back, joining forces with their infantry. The Finarthian infantry stood still, shields and swords locked together in a massive wall of determination, strength, and experience.
The screaming tribesmen raced down the hill yelling the names of their own gods. As they neared the infantry line Fil noticed their dark bare skin covered with black and red paint. Most did not wear any armor except metal and leather skirts. They carried short stabbing javelins and long curved swords. This fearsome group of fighting men screamed and raced down the hill with abandon, joining the remaining orcs as they neared the Finarthian infantry.
Prince Baylin raced his five hundred horses down the hill to reinforce the cavalry just as the enemy cavalry neared them. The enemy cavalry would have crushed the knights if they had not reacted so quickly. Their skill and experience as a fighting force enabled them to retreat and reset their cavalry against the vulnerable part of their own infantry. Now the enemy cavalry was racing towards a set line of determined knights rather than the backs of a surprised group of soldiers.
The prince lifted up his long lance, shaking it toward the approaching enemy. “Show them the strength of our steel! For your king!” he roared.
All the knights shook their lances or swords, yelling as loud as they could. The prince lowered his visor and spurred his horse forward. Instantly, five hundred knights launched forward towards the rapidly approaching enemy.
***
The Annurian Knights were not faring as well. The enemy had crested the hill closer to them, not giving them time to fully reestablish their perimeter. But they were skilled and brave knights who had fought in many battles. They held their ground as the enemy crashed into them.
Hundreds of Annurian Knights died quickly on the long lances of the enemy, but they didn’t break or flee. Lances were dropped and cavalry swords banged against shield and sword alike.
King Olegaurd leaned over in his saddle, slicing his long sword across the leg of a horsed rider. The man screamed and frantically brought his sword down to block the next attack, but the king met the man’s blade and rolled his razor sharp edge over the weapon, ramming the point into the surprised man’s chest. The warrior fell off his horse without a sound.
King Olegaurd had lost his lance after it snapped under the pressure of taking a horsed rider in the chest. Now that he had a few seconds, he reached up to the leather harness that lashed his buckler to his back and yanked it down, bringing the small round shield around to his front where he inserted his forearm into the straps. He cinched them down