Some way to replace the missing arms . . .
Over the ridge behind them a rider, yelling. Face and leather armor splotched with blood.
"Karl heavies. Behind us. Thousands."
Gavin shouted orders. The legions reversed in place, started back up to the ridge, reached it.
The next ridge, where the legions had been camped, was spotted with bodies, the space between the two ridges a confusion of mounted men and archers fleeing south towards the legions. Gavin saw a runner stumble and fall. One of the Belkhani angled across, up to where Gavin was standing by his banner. His lance was gone, shield broken.
"Where's Ivor?"
"Gods know. Behind the ridge, thousands of them. We were coming up the slope."
The man turned, pointed.
"Smashed us, came along the ridge, smashed the archers. Their archers up there now."
"What happened on the other side of the ridge?"
The man shrugged.
"Wasn't looking that way."
More orders. The legions moved north, up to the final ridge, broken troops rallying behind them. Beyond was the slope, the river, the space between scattered with the bodies of men and horses. Gavin thought he could see heads in the water, horses too.
At the bridgehead a knot of men in the water, some swinging axes, some with shields raised against archers on the fortress wall. Gavin turned, spotted the Hetman, yelled, pointed. The Baskhai streamed down the slope.
From the west along the river a rider, low to the horse's back, more horses behind. The men at the bridgehead mounted, rode east. As Gavin watched, the south end of the bridge, cut from its anchors to the shore, swung in the current, broke free.
Gavin took a long breath, looked around. His legions at least were still safe. The Bashkai. Some archers, some cavalry, had rallied to the legions, some no doubt had made it across the river. Defeat, not catastrophe. In the long run, it was the legions that mattered.
He looked again. Between him and the river, where the wagons of supplies had stood, the slope was empty.
Turnabout
Early shall he rise who rules few servants,
And set to work at once:
Much is lost by the late sleeper,
Wealth is won by the swift.
It was almost noon when Caralla, having made a complete circle around the legions, led her half of the host back into camp. Her mother met her.
"It worked. Stephen smashed the cavalry, archers,