I barely had time to catch my breath before Brenn pointed with his spear.
"Wedge!"
The veterans reacted instantly.
There was no discussion.
No hesitation.
Brenn stepped to the front, his broad shield leading the way, while I found myself on his left shoulder almost by accident. Another veteran took his right, the three of us forming the point as more men packed in behind us.
"What are we doing?" I gasped.
"Making the hole bigger."
Then we were moving.
Brenn didn't charge. He drove forward like a battering ram, shield first, forcing the orcs backward while the rest of us stabbed past him at anything that came within reach.
The enemy had been split.
Now they were desperately trying to put themselves back together.
Orcs shoved toward us from both sides, roaring as they tried to close the breach before more of our soldiers poured through. Every step became a fight. Every yard of ground was paid for with blood.
My spear darted out again and again, finding arms, legs, and bellies whenever they appeared. Beside me Brenn fought like a man possessed, his spear moving with frightening precision as he guarded both himself and the men following behind.
"Keep pushing!" he roared.
"Don't let 'em close it!"
More of our soldiers flooded through the gap behind us, widening it another few feet.
Then the ground began to shake.
At first I thought it was my imagination.
But the vibration grew stronger.
Rhythmic.
Heavy.
Like thunder rolling across the earth.
Brenn's head snapped toward the sound.
He grinned.
"Cavalry."
A heartbeat later, the riders burst over the rise to our right, sunlight flashing from helmets and lance tips as light horse drove straight into the exposed flank of the orc formation.
The effect was immediate.
The orcs trying to rejoin their line suddenly had a new enemy crashing into their side.
Their formation buckled.
Orcs turned to face the horsemen.
Others kept trying to stop us.
For a few glorious moments...
They fought two battles at once.
And they could win neither.
"Forward!" Brenn bellowed, his voice almost lost beneath the thunder of hooves.
"They're broken now!"
With the cavalry tearing into their flank and our infantry pouring through the widening breach, the neat green line that had threatened to roll up our army dissolved into scattered knots of desperate fighting.
For the first time that day...
The orcs were the ones trying to survive.
I kept stabbing and pushing.
The battle became a blur of mud, screams, shattered shields, and flashes of steel. Blood slicked my hands until I could barely keep hold of my weapon. Something warm splashed across my face, and I found I didn't care enough to wipe it away.
There was still an enemy in front of me.
One more step.
One more thrust.
One more day for my family.
My spear struck home again, only for another shield to smash into the shaft.
Crack.
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I looked down at the broken length of ash in my hand.
"Again?" I muttered.
An orc surged toward me before I could think.
My hand dropped to the short sword at my hip almost without conscious thought. Bertram had drilled us with it often enough, and I'd carried it into battle before, though I'd prayed I'd never have to rely on it.
Steel rasped against leather as I drew.
The blade suddenly felt much shorter than the spear I had lost.
"Stay close!" Brenn barked.
"Don't chase 'em. Let 'em come to us!"
I raised my shield, brought the short sword up beside it, and waited for the orc to make the first mistake.
It gave me a low, feral grin when it saw the sword in my hand. Raising its own spear, it roared and advanced.
The others around it moved as well, but I barely noticed them. Those small, pig-like yellow eyes seemed fixed on me alone.
It lunged.
I snapped my shield up to catch the thrust and brought my sword down in the same motion, chopping at the haft just behind the spearhead.
I felt the bite travel through my arm as the edge buried itself in the ash wood.
The spear lurched sideways in the orc's hands.
It tried to jerk the spear back, but I was faster.
I twisted my wrist and wrenched the blade sideways. The cut bit deeper into the ash, tearing long splinters free.
The orc's eyes widened.
The spearhead, weakened by the chop, tore loose from the haft as it yanked backward, and the weapon flew from its grasp.
Before it could recover, I surged forward with the rest of our men.
I slammed my shield into its own.
The impact knocked its guard wide, and a high, shrill squeal escaped the creature as I drove my short sword into its leather-clad belly.
I felt the resistance of hide and leather give way beneath the blade before it slid into flesh.
I ripped the sword free, twisting it as I withdrew, and stabbed again before the orc could even begin to fall.
It grunted in pain and collapsed.
As it fell, I seized the opening and drove my sword into the side of the orc on my right while it struggled against Brenn. The creature squealed and lurched away, leaving its flank exposed.
I pressed after it with my shield, shoving it off balance before stabbing again.
Then again.
Bertram had drilled it into us until my arm ached.
Don't hack.
Stab.
A short sword is made for thrusting, not slashing.
I silently thanked the old veteran as I drove the blade forward, each thrust short, quick, and hidden behind the rim of my shield.
Around me our line surged onward. The cavalry had torn the orcs' flank apart, and now we were driving into the confusion they had left behind. Men and orcs alike fell screaming beneath spear and sword as the enemy's formation dissolved into scattered knots of desperate resistance.
Then, above the clash of steel and the cries of the wounded, an ululating horn echoed across the field.
The orcs began to break.
They turned and then they ran.
"Hold, lad," Brenn barked as I started after the fleeing orcs.
"What?" I shouted, scarcely able to hear myself over the noise.
Brenn caught my shoulder before I could take another step.
"Leave 'em."
I stared after the retreating enemy.
"But they're running!"
"Aye, and that's cavalry work." He nodded toward the thunder of hooves sweeping across the field. "You chase 'em on foot and you'll end up alone with an orc who suddenly remembers how to fight."
I looked toward the riders cutting through the fleeing enemy.
"Our job's done?"
Brenn shook his head.
"Our job is to hold the ground we bled for. Let Ellsworth's horse finish the killing. We'll be needed somewhere else soon enough."
He leaned on his shield for the first time since the battle had begun, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.
"Besides," he added with a tired grin, "I'm too old to chase an orc halfway across the kingdom."
***
I learned Brenn had been right about one more thing.
I was thirsty.
My mouth felt as though it had been stuffed with wool, and as the excitement of the battle faded every ache I'd ignored came rushing back. My shield arm throbbed. My hands stung from a dozen tiny cuts and splinters. My forearms were crisscrossed with fresh scratches where spearheads had glanced off or scraped across my skin, and when I looked down I found more than one shallow nick through my gambeson that had just managed to kiss the flesh beneath. None were serious, but together they burned fiercely enough to remind me how close death had come.
Around me, the same exhaustion settled over the other men as our line dressed its ranks once more.
Our own line dressed ranks once more.
The wounded were gathered.
The dead...
The dead remained where they had fallen.
"What happens now?" I asked.
Brenn pulled off his helmet and wiped the sweat from his brow.
"Now the commanders come see what we've accomplished. At least the good ones do. They'll want to know where the line held, where it broke, and who earned praise."
He stooped to recover a spear that looked salvageable.
"Then we make our reports."
"Reports?"
"How many kills. Wounded. Lost equipment." He shrugged. "The Crown pays bonuses for battlefield performance. The System keeps track well enough."
I blinked.
"It does?"
Brenn gave me an odd look.
"Course it does."
My stomach sank.
I looked down at my blood-covered hands.
"How am I supposed to report that?"
"Report what?"
"How many I killed." I shook my head. "I don't know. I stabbed some more than once. Brenn, I honestly can't remember."
Brenn laughed, a tired, hoarse sound.
"Congratulations, lad."
"For what?"
"You're a soldier now. None of us remembers. Just open your battle log. The System remembers, even if you don't."
"Brenn... don't you know?" I asked, looking at the older man.
"Know what?" he replied, frowning.
"I don't have the System yet."
He stared at me for a long heartbeat.
"You haven't awakened?"
I shook my head.
"Didn't think it mattered."
Brenn stared at me.
“You should’ve told me.”
“Would it have changed where I stood?”
He considered that.
“No. But it explains why you don’t know your count.”
“So how do I report my kills?”
Brenn scratched at his beard.
"You don't."
"What?"
"Not exactly. The captain'll ask for estimates if he needs 'em, but until you've awakened, the Crown can't verify your count. You'll get your share of the company reward, same as the rest of us, but no individual bounty."
I wiped at my cheek, thinking it was sweat, and my fingers came away red. Panic seized me until I found the cut—a tiny nick along my jaw no deeper than a fingernail. I hadn't even felt it while we were fighting.
Brenn noticed me flexing my fingers.
"Hurts worse after it's over." He grinned. "Wait until tomorrow."