The warpig slammed into his shield like a battering ram. Skippii fell into Fulmin's shield behind him, pressed between the forces. But he did not fall. Snorting and squealing, the boar tossed its tusks, catching beneath the rim of his shield and snapping it up. He almost let go, but held on by his fingertips. Gripping his spear overhead, he thrust down at the boar's flank. The blade sliced through its hide, but his footing wasn't strong enough to pierce it deeply.

Tenoris roared and pushed back, buttressing the boar. To Skippii's surprise, the powerful man knocked it backwards, giving him and Fulmin just enough room to manoeuvre. While its tusks grated against Tenoris' shield, Skippii broke formation and rounded on the boar's flank. With all his force, and no thought to defence, he lunged for its heart.

With a screech, the boar staggered backwards, spear jutting from its flank, wrenching it from his grasp. Screeching, it turned and tumbled towards him. Caught out of phalanx, he was vulnerable. Holding his shield tight against his shoulder, he braced and took the charge.

The force pushed him off his feet with surprising ease. Impacting the ground, he pulled his shield over him and reached for his kuri. The beast's trotters fell upon him like fists, then suddenly the weight was lifted and he was being pulled to his feet.

"Formation," Orsin shouted as Cur dragged Skippii to the rear, and he was replaced by Kaesii at the front. Dizzy, his mind struggled to grasp the situation. His hand felt empty without a spear, but it was still lodged beneath the dying pig. Had he time to fetch it?

Cur slapped him on the helmet. "Draw your knife."

Skippii did so in a daze, then looked up at the treeline. Leaping towards them were countless Ürkün, armed with axes, spears, swords–just about anything that could pierce flesh and kill a man. With a sharp intake of breath, he felt the earth vibrating beneath him. Heat rushed into his body, billowing like smoke in his lungs. Shaking with exhilaration, Skippii gripped his kuri as the first of the Ürkün fell upon their phalanx.

Tenoris caught a heavy axe on the rim of his shield and thrust his spear at the attacker's chest. But the Ürkün parried with his own small buckler. Skippii's moved to lunge, but he had no spear to do so with. Thankfully, Arius was not so constrained. His blade flew like a bolt past Tenoris' head, catching the Ürkün in the throat. With a spray of blood, the man fell at their feet, yet more replaced him.

Like links in a chain, the legionnaires acted as one, repelling and stabbing their foes. Merely two ranks-deep on the thin road, the Ürkün and their war pigs threw themselves at their shields wildly, trying to push them back off the path and over the edge. With each attack, Skippii braced and held his companions in place. The Ürkün were crazed. Covered in black matted hair, their chalky white faces seemed like demonic visions emerging from shadows. Their wide eyes gleamed with an adulation for death.

Rocks rained upon them. Their attackers slung projectiles from the hill, weakening their line. Skippii heard the clatter of armour to his right and turned to see three legionnaires tumble down the hill, their shields and spears scattering amongst the trees. The Ürkün bayed triumphantly and rushed into the breach, created by a muscular boar, almost the size of a pony. Goring one man, the pig flung him to the ground and reared up, crushing another. Legionnaires dashed in, stabbing it in its hind legs, but before they could strike a killing blow, the Ürkün attacked, swinging their weapons like scythes through tall grass.

The legionnaires to Skippii's right staggered into him as the impact sent shockwaves down the file. Their faces were close. He could smell the legionnaire's rotten breath, feel his entangled thigh clench and come loose, hear his grunt of exertion as he pushed back against the enemy.

"Keep file!" Orsin shouted as they shuffled in the press of bodies.

Something shot before his eyes, and the sound of a hammer striking bone. The legionnaire beside him stumbled and collapsed. He slid down the verge at their rear. Skippii watched, horrified, then a hail of rocks clattered into their shields, and he tucked his chin to his chest. Drusilla yelped and stumbled backwards out of formation.

Cur thrust his spear into Skippii's hand and pushed him forward to replace their injured comrade. With no time to think, Skippii acted on instinct. He raised his shield to his chin, lowered his head, planted his feet, and aimed his spear.

Another hail of rocks pelted them. The Ürkün charged in force. Having taken time to gather on the hill's edge, they attacked as a wave. The melee was brutal. Skippii panted, moving without thinking. Heavy weapons battered their shields like a rockslide, burying his other senses. The dull glint of a bronze blade swung to claim his life, and he ducked behind his shield. His spear bit flesh.

Again and again, came the slam of bodies and spears thrust from behind. The phalanx moved as a single mind. The enemy crashed upon them, thrusting blades through the gaps in their shields, or hammering on the wood like labourers dismantling a wall. One amongst them threw down his arms and grappled with Tenoris' shield with both hands. Wrenching it free, his brethren swooped in to slash at his throat, but Orsin was quick to react. Shoving Tenoris behind his shield, Orsin stepped forward and repelled their attack.

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The rest of them pressed forward, punishing the over-eager enemy, stabbing their exposed flanks. Debilitate, not kill. Skippii had been trained to immobilise his foe–aim for the calves, groin, armpits, wrists–anywhere that the Ürkün's furs did not defend. The dead and dying piled up before them, a writhing mound of suffering. The Ürkün howled like animals, crawling over one another to break through the phalanx. Skippii stiffened at their inhuman cries. Something deep within his soul shivered.

Suddenly, fingers wrapped around his ankle. A dying Ürkün snared him. Recoiling, he kicked, but lost his balance. A spear from behind impaled the ensnarer. Cur pressed his shield against his back and yelled something, but Skippii couldn't make it out amongst the confusion.

A pile of bodies formed a bank against the hill. Still, more came, heavy with hate. Leaping over their fallen comrades, the Ürkün came crashing into their phalanx like catapulted rocks. The sky darkened as one such barbarian flung himself at Skippii, hammer in hand.

He braced behind his shield, wincing before the impact. But with a skillful thrust, Arius pierced the Ürkün mid-flight. Skewered clean through the chest, his attacker fell into their phalanx and died amongst them. But his sacrifice had created a weakness in their thin rank.

Another came, and Tenoris slung his shield like a mallet, catching him in the air. Skippii stabbed him as he landed but had no time to make sure of his death. A maddening rhythm beat in his heart as he lunged and withdrew, throwing all of his strength into every movement. Beneath him, the earth burned, but Skippii fought atop the flames, refusing their seductive draw. The magia could not aid him now, only his training and discipline.

"That's it," Cur encouraged. "They're spent. Last bit, boys."

Panting, Skippii took a glance down their ranks. Though the phalanx chain had been severed in several places, the line was being plugged, and the attackers slain. The enemy's warpigs, though effective at first, had been butchered, or had flung themselves over the ledge in a senseless rage.

About the hills, the legion's scouts were regrouping. Legion's archers were peppering the Ürkün skirmishers with arrows, forcing them into the cover of trees. Crouched amongst the forest, the Ürkün shouted like hounds, mocking and challenging the legionnaires, but no longer coming forward.

"Is that all?" Kaesii shouted up at them. "Come on, cowards!"

"You fucking rock-throwing savages," Drusilla said, pushing forward and thrusting his spear into the shoulder of a dying Ürkün. The man groaned and gripped the shaft, but Drusilla drew it clear. "Do that again. Hit me again and I'll climb this after yeh'."

"I have slain five of your kin," Tenoris added, his voice like a melodious stag's bellow over the chaotic battlefield. "Five of you bested. Have you no strong men amongst your ranks?"

"Chalkie scum," Cur yelled.

"Move!" Somebody yelled from their left, towards the rear of the marching line.

Horses' hooves approached like a distant drumroll. Elsewhere in the forest, the clamour of battle continued. Skippii tried to see what the commotion was, but could only see as far as a hundred or so legionnaires on either side of him before the forest hid the rest of the cohort from sight.

"Formation," Orsin shouted steadily, grabbing the overeager Drusilla and pulling him back in line.

"Move aside," the voice came again. A horseman was attempting to ride behind the formation–a messenger from the rear–forcing legionnaires to scramble up the embankment of bodies laid against the hill. In the tight space, his steed's muscular flanks battered the aside.

As the horseman rode behind him, Skippii shouted, "What news from the rear?"

The horseman was silent, but his pale face spoke volumes. Fear, hot as a brand. Glancing down the line, Skippii spotted more steeds approaching, but not all were of the legion. Many were steeds of the impedimenta–mules and oxen, toppling from the path as they fled. Panic spread like a wave. The rearmost phalanx of Tonnage VI crumbled, and came pressing towards them.

"What's happening?" Fulmin said. "Where are they going?"

"They are panicked," Arius answered.

In the chaos, one word rang over their ranks like the whoosh of a sabre narrowly missing their necks. "Retreat!"

"A rear charge," Skippii said in dismay.

"Fall back," Orsin shouted. "Get down the file. Come on, follow me."

"To the standard," Cur yelled, his voice cracking. "To Vexillum."

Turning about, their companeight repeated the words as a chant. A moment later, the horn sounded ahead–first low, then soaring like an eagle. Again and again, the call for retreat was sounded. The legionnaires stormed up the path as horsemen pushed through their ranks, racing to get ahead. A rider beside him tugged on his reins, standing in his saddles, dragging his horses under control. But the animal's eyes were wild and full of fear. Turning about, Skippii finally discovered why.

Some enormous beast cascaded towards them. It demolished their rear defences, tossing legionnaires aside. The ground shook with its weight, vibrating through his feet up to his helmet. Six cruel tusks jutted out of its jaw, the largest of which was as long as a man, coated in the blood of its victims. Its body was broad and tall at the shoulders, covered in matted black hair. Though similar to the warpigs which they had fought during the first wave of ambush, this terrible swine was easily twenty times their size. Arrows dug into its bulk as harmless as splinters. Tiny eyes darted this way and that as the beast threw its insurmountable weight down the path, crushing all who opposed it.

"Truly, that cannot be one of Archeros' bestiary," Tenoris shouted. "Foulness clings to its flesh."

"Fall back!" The command came from their Primus. But they had nowhere to flee that it would not trample. Petrified, Skippii held his breath. Shields would not stop it. Arrows and blades would not hurt it.

Only something more powerful could stop it. A power which he possessed, but could not reveal.

Death came ever closer.

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