Through the clouds of dust they could see the shapes of men approaching, and they waited for them, supporting each other to stay upright. Ivkarha could barely keep hold of her sword, the hilt slick with spilt blood, while Aedmorn had no weapon to hand.
The dust parted to reveal a rush of men oncoming with spears in hand, pale haired men with blue daubed faces; the men of Luadha, with Gesir to the fore, his spear running red with blood. They halted their charge as they saw Ivkarha and Aedmorn and slowly did Gesir shake his head. “You had to do things the hard way,” said he. “If you had but waited and fought alongside us, you would not have suffered so.”
A handful of slingers ran passed, unleashing stones as they ran, pushing on, disappearing once more into the swirling dust. Most of Gesir’s men trotted after them, seeking out fresh foes.
“The battle, how goes it,” Aedmorn croaked.
“Well, the battle goes well. All heart went out of their left flank as we pushed on them and it collapsed, allowing us to roll it up and turn on the reinforcements coming in, while Langan’s men were able to turn and pushed against those breaking through. They are contained, and the battle further west still continues, but the danger has passed and we now hold the initiative. Still, the battle is not yet won, and I must return to it.”
So saying Gesir marched on, to re-join the fight.
“We must go with them,” Ivkarha said.
Aedmorn started to laugh, one that turned into coughs. “Nay, Ivkarha, rest a while. We have done all we can; we are done.”
Barely able to sand as she was, nevertheless her face set hard, as if she would push on by will alone and no else. She tried to take a step, her wounded leg buckling as she did. Almost she fell, only righting herself at the last.
A trio of riders came through the dust towards them, Shanani, haggard and weary and stained, but still holding themselves erect, determined. They came to a halt near Ivkarha and Aedmorn.
“The others?” Ivkarha asked, looking up at them.
One of them, a man with dark forked beard, shook his head. “They ride with Az-Ashar now, across the golden fields.” He looked down upon them with an appraising, sharp eyed look. “As soon shall you, by the looks of it.”
“It is but a scratch, an inconvenience,” Ivkarha protested.
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The Shanani desert man shook his head. “You fought well, Ivkarha of the Ra-Armal, aye, and bravely too, but be not overproud. Your wounds are most serious and need treating.”
“He has the right of it,” Aedmorn spoke up. “Stubborn pride may get us killed some day, but let it not be this day. Let us live, to see the battle end, for their are more battles ahead of us, aye, and wonders yet to see.”
Ivkarha relented, though her pose and demeanour said loud that it was done so with reluctance. The Shanani dismounted, and tended to their wounds, cleaning and bandaging the worse of them. As they were doing so, a sweep of riders thundered by, a score of Langan’s cavalry, on weary mounts, lathered and dusty, the men shouting in hoarse voices, disappearing once more into the dust and the swirling melee.
Once they had done all that they could, the Shanani resumed their mounts and returned to the fight, leaving Ivkahra and Aedmorn alone once more. Together the two slowly hobbled away whence they had come, towards the lone hill that rose up out of the plains. Aedmorn had collected a discarded spear and used it to support himself as he walked. The sound of battle, the clash of arms and shouts of men and the rising dust receded away behind them, and before them could only be seen the detritus of battle strewn before them; man and beast fallen, their bodies twisted, their blood staining the earth, of arms and shields discard, spears splintered, of the mained and wounded crying out in pain, banners trodden into the earth, chariots shattered. A long trail of it led back, marking where the fighting had raged fiercest, where they two sides had first met.
They walked through it, faces sombre and weary as they saw laid out before them the horrors that had been wrought. Upon reaching the hill, they began a slow, gradual climb up it, their wounds and weariness slowing them down, half scrambling, half slipping as they made their way up. They made it but half way up the ascent before they stopped, slipping to the ground, to look back down the way they had come, towards the battle still ongoing. Off in the distance, to the west, the last stages of it took place, the right wing of the army of Aisan Avar still holding out. The remnants of the centre and the left had broken and retreated, but the right held on, pushing against the battered line of Langan’s army, even as the remnants of it that had been victorious elsewhere pushed to wrap it up. Battered and bruised, both sides still slugged it out, beyond the point of exhaustion, hacking and hewing more by instinct, the fight reduced to one where the last man was standing.
Beyond the battle, off to the north, they could see Aisan Avar in his palanquin still, with a small guard surrounding him, watching proceedings. The guard were few in number, all reserves having been thrown into the grinding, attritional battle.
“So near at hand,” mused Aemorn. “If he could be but taken or driven off, this could all be ended.”
“We should do something about that,” Ivkarha told him.
Aedmorn chuckled, and wry was the tone of it. “We have two good legs between us, and as many arms as well. I do not think we could make it that far, and be a threat while doing so.”
“We can ride,” she insisted. “There are horses without riders that we can capture and put to use.”
“I could get the horses,” he said quietly, “But it is a ride most like to our deaths. Again.”
“If it puts an end to all of this, then it is a ride I shall willing make.”