The knights had regrouped, and to Torm's relief, they were now reinforced with Aeon's infantry that had spread out and marched through the camp, sticking spears into corpses and looting what foodstuffs and armaments they could as they marched. Torm had just killed another Priest-Queen's soldier with the spike of his weapon, and he turned to see Aeon striding through the smoke to his back, a rhythmic, howling chant lifting over the burning ground as his men pressed forward in a rough wave. The dwarves had managed to make it back to their position as well, moving in a tight unit. A few were wounded, but none dead. He couldn't tell with his own men yet. 

"The captain calls for a retreat." Aeon said, the tall man's long face was as solemn as always. His assega was already bloodied from some unseen foe. Torm opened his mouth to argue, but closed it. No, the captain was right, of course. They had pressed forward further than he could have hoped, but no doubt the rest of the enemy would be swarming around the sides of the camp's perimeter in the matter of an hour. Maybe even less. 

"Bianca?" Torm asked. They weren't friends necessarily, but she was a comrade at the end of the day. Plus she had a number of good men and women under her. 

"We'll hold as long as we can," He replied, but even as he spoke his dark eyes fixed on the ground past Torm. The knight of the wolf turned, planting his poleaxe on the ground as he saw forms begin to shape amongst the smoke and debris. Multitudes of the enemy gathered. It had to be. The entire company of the Silver Swords wasn't that large, if his eyes weren't deceived. Aeon called out for his men to form up with a long hoot. Torm wasn't familiar with the order, but the infantry had been drilled in the manner of Aeon's distant homeland so their western foes weren't privvy to any commands he might make on the battlefield. 

"Square up!" Torm called, pulling his weapon up and catching it mid-haft to use as a standard. What men he had left jogged to his position, armor tarnished and bleeding. They formed into a rough square over the span of a minute, bolstering themselves into an rotund, squat formation that was meant to whether an assault rather than aid in one. Spear's bristled along the knight's flanks, shields raised and helms lowered. Torm and Aeon needn't have bothered, however. Through the haze of night and smog, it wasn't the enemy that appeared first. 

Bianca and her scouts raced into view, their slim horses galloping for all their worth towards the line. 

Aeon howled twice, and gave a whistle. The line opened up like a parting sea, and Bianca's scouts moved through the ranks with only a nod in acknowledgement. Their skin was covered in soot and what wounds they had looked inflicted by wood and weather more than enemy swords. Torm moved his men to block the gaping hole in the infantry column, and at that moment, the Priest-Queen's forces arrived in their field of vision. They weren't as organized as Torm had feared, but they still quadrupled Aeon, Torm, and Gunir's combined forces. Twice the enemy hit them with a charge, their swings and cries that of desperate, sleep deprived men. But as the night drew to a close, the Silver Swords had managed to back up towards the gun trenches Grimi's boys had fashioned, and make a full withdrawal into Palona.