I sensed it before I understood it.
The cries began somewhere down the line.
At first they blended into the endless roar of battle, but these were different.
They weren't screams of pain.
They were cheers.
Deep, savage roars filled with triumph.
With hunger.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
The pressure against my shield changed.
For what felt like the first time since the battle had begun, the warriors opposite us weren't driving forward with everything they had.
They hesitated.
Not much.
Just enough for me to notice.
"Damn it," Brenn muttered.
"It's about time."
I risked a glance toward him.
The old veteran wasn't looking at the enemy in front of us anymore.
His eyes were fixed farther down the line, toward the growing roar.
"What's happening?" I asked.
"They've broken through."
My stomach turned.
"What?"
"Our line." Brenn's voice was flat, almost resigned. "Somewhere to our left."
Another triumphant roar rolled across the battlefield.
Brenn shifted his grip on his spear and spat into the mud.
A savage smile spread across his scarred face.
"Now the dying starts."
"I... I don't understand."
"You will."
He nodded toward the enemy in front of us.
"Feel that?"
I did.
The pressure eased another fraction.
"They're letting up," I said.
"They're giving us a choice."
"What choice?"
"If we think the line's broken, we'll panic."
His eyes never left the shields in front of us.
"We'll turn and run," he grunted as he thrust his spear through a gap.
"And the moment we do..." He gave a humorless chuckle. "They'll spear us in the back before we've taken ten steps."
I swallowed.
"And if we don't?"
Brenn looked at me for the first time since the battle had begun.
His face had gone hard as carved stone.
"Then we stand."
His eyes drifted back toward the distant roar.
"And pray whoever's holding the line over there doesn't give way completely."
Another crash of shields echoed along the front.
The enemy surged again.
This time, harder than before.
"They've made their decision," Brenn growled.
"So have we."
He lowered his spear.
"Hold, boys!"
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Around us the veterans answered with a roar of their own as the shield wall shuddered beneath another assault, shields crashing together with a force that rattled my arms and sent fresh vibrations through the ash shaft of my spear.
Then, somewhere to our right, I heard the shrill blast of a whistle.
"Pivot!" a corporal screamed, his voice somehow carrying over the chaos. "You whoresons on the right! Pivot! Pivot, damn you!"
I wanted to look.
Gods, I wanted to see what was happening.
But there wasn't time.
A shadow shifted beyond the rim of the shield in front of me, just enough to open a gap no wider than my hand, and instinct drove my arms before my mind could catch up. I lunged, my spear darting through the opening, and this time I felt the iron head strike something that wasn't wood or leather. It punched into flesh, met resistance, and then slid free as a grunt of pain answered from somewhere on the other side of the wall.
"Good!" Brenn barked. "Again!"
I tore the spear back, the point dripping red now, my heart hammering in my chest as the whistle continued to shriek farther down the line.
"Pivot! Hold the flank! Don't let them around!"
Flank?
The word barely registered before the men ahead of us began turning, not retreating but slowly swinging to their right as though the entire company were one great door hanging on a single hinge. The shields scraped together, boots dug furrows into the churned earth, and suddenly I understood why the pressure against us had changed.
They weren't trying to break through us anymore.
They were trying to get around us.
Even I could understand what that meant. If they got behind our line, they wouldn't have to fight through our shields anymore. They could spear men in the back, one after another, and what had begun as a battle would become a slaughter.
A cold knot settled in my stomach.
I gritted my teeth, planted my feet deeper in the churned earth, and threw everything I had into my shield. The man opposite me gave ground just enough that I caught a glimpse of movement below the wall.
I struck low.
The spearhead disappeared beneath the enemy shield and hit something solid before sliding through. A sharp cry answered from the other side, followed by the unmistakable crash of someone falling into the men behind him.
The pressure on my shield vanished.
"Forward!" Brenn roared.
He didn't wait to see if the man was dead.
He drove into the opening before it could close, his shield smashing ahead as his spear lashed out with terrifying speed.
The first thrust caught an orc still struggling to rise from the mud, punching through its throat before it could lift its shield.
The second flicked sideways almost before I had registered the first, burying itself in the chest of another that was hopping on one foot, clutching the wound I'd just given it.
The third was little more than a blur, darting around the edge of a shield to stab another warrior in the ribs before the man even realized Brenn had changed targets.
Bertram had once told me that a true spearman never chased a kill. He took whatever the enemy gave him, one opening at a time.
Watching Brenn, I finally understood what he had meant.
"Don't admire your work!" Brenn barked, already drawing his spear back for another thrust. "Make another!"
I lunged beside him, searching for the next mistake the enemy would make and praying I was learning fast enough not to make one of my own.
Behind us our own line surged forward, veterans and recruits alike pouring into the gap Brenn had opened before the enemy could close it again.
An orc stumbled into view.
Without thinking, I thrust.
The spear sank deep into its belly.
The creature grunted—not the scream I had expected, but a deep, angry sound—as its yellow eyes locked onto mine.
For the first time, I saw an orc clearly.
It stood no taller than I did, but looked nearly twice as broad through the shoulders. Thick muscle shifted beneath scarred green skin, and short tusks jutted from its lower jaw.
Its yellow eyes locked onto mine.
Then it reached for me.
I yanked my spear free as Brenn’s weapon flashed past my shoulder and punched through its throat.
The orc collapsed into the mud.
Another stepped over it before the body had finished falling.
I lowered my spear and thrust again.
I felt a surge behind me as more of our men poured through the gap, driving the enemy back a step at a time.
I thrust again.
The spearhead buried itself deep in another orc's chest just as a heavy shield slammed into the shaft.
Crack!
The ash wood snapped with a sickening report that I felt as much as heard.
For the second time in my life...
...I was holding half a spear.
The broken shaft jerked from my hands as the orc roared, its yellow, pig-like eyes blazing with rage. Blood streamed from the wound in its chest, but it was still coming.
It ripped the broken spearhead free with a snarl and threw the splintered wood aside.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," I muttered.
The beast lowered its shield and bellowed as it charged the last few steps between us.
Before I could even think what to do, Brenn moved.
His shield smashed into the orc with a crack that echoed over the battle, turning the charge aside just enough for another veteran to drive a spear through its ribs.
The creature stumbled.
Three more spears struck almost together.
Only then did it fall.
Brenn glanced at the broken stump still clutched in my hand.
One corner of his mouth twitched despite the battle raging around us.
"You've a gift for breaking spears, lad."
I stared at the useless length of ash in my hands.
"Captain's going to kill me."
Even in the middle of the slaughter, Brenn barked out a laugh.
"If we live through today, I'll help you explain it."
Then he shoved another spear into my hands. He had collected it from a fallen human.
"Now stop collecting broken ones and kill the next bastard."
I took the spear without another word and stepped back into the shield wall.
There would be time to worry about Captain Caldwell later.
If there was a later.
***
Count Alistair Rennick slowly lowered his brass spyglass.
“They’ve done it.”
General Harrow stepped beside him and raised his own glass.
Caldwell’s company was driving through a break in the enemy formation. What had been a solid green wall moments earlier had become a knot of confusion.
Harrow turned.
“Signal Captain Ellsworth.”
One of the aides seized the red-and-white flags.
“Send in the light cavalry. Now.”
The flags snapped in the wind as the buglers behind the pavilion raised their instruments.
A heartbeat later, the clear notes of the cavalry advance rolled across the battlefield.
Rennick took one last look at the tiny knot of men who had opened the gap.
“Well done, Captain Caldwell.”
Then he lowered the spyglass.
“Let’s make certain your men didn’t buy those moments for nothing.”