Sasha scowled, and tried its leather straps. It dragged on her arm, and did horrible things to her balance. She smacked it onto the horse’s saddle, and used that weight as a hold to drag herself up. She spurred off after Damon, Jaryd, several Royal Guards and three of Damon’s selected nobility. To their left, facing southward, the Army of Lenayin was slowly forming up.
“Sasha, I want you to ride with the Isfayen!” Damon shouted above the noise of their passage. “They have the hottest heads of the bunch, and they’re most likely to lose them in a fight! Try to keep them sane!”
“I’ll try,” said Sasha, “but I can’t promise anything!”
Upon the far right flank, the Lenay cavalry were forming. Damon, Jaryd and Sasha rode before the forward line, where vanguards for each Lenay province formed behind long banners that swirled in the gusting wind. A great, stamping, swirling mass of many thousands of horse, stretched across fields, fences and thickets of trees. They formed in provincial groups, nobility and standing company soldiers to the fore. They rode past the Valhanan cavalry, and Sasha glimpsed her old enemy, Great Lord Kumaryn, amidst a crowd of mounted noble riders, armour and leathers polished spotless for the occasion. A little across from the nobility, she spotted the banner of the Valhanan Black Wolves.
Here next were Tyree, behind their green banner. Sasha saw Jaryd give the Great Lord Arastyn and his noble company a burning stare in passing, and saw it returned with equal venom. She’d heard tales of the Tyree nobility’s outrage at Damon’s selection for promotion to his personal company. A little further, and she saw the banner of the Tyree Falcon Guards… Jaryd pulled his sword to salute them, and a huge cheer rose from the guardsmen. Sasha performed her own salute, and the cheer rose to a roar. This part of Lenayin, at least, was hers and Jaryd’s forever.
More cheers greeted them as the line companies, and a few of the nobles, saluted their passing. The line of cavalry seemed to go on forever. Damon and Jaryd rode with her past the royal vanguard, and out along the entire line. And here, squeezed between Lenay horsemen, were the Torovans-rows and rows of tall, muscular horses mounted by warriors in gleaming silver chain and helms. Most of the front row wielded tall steel lances, a forest of spikes against the brightening sky, and they too were arranged behind their provincial flags. Passing the flag of Pazira, Sasha saluted once more, and was received by more cheering. Duke Carlito Renine saluted back.
Riding along the Torovan ranks, Sasha felt her hopes rise. Dear spirits, there were a lot of them. And Carlito was right-while not of Lenay quality on foot, Torovans had long made excellent horsemen. Sasha counted only four Torovan provinces, meaning that Koenyg would be deploying the others on the left flank with the northern cavalry, as the northerners had no complaint riding with foreign Verenthanes, only Lenay pagans. If Lenayin could win this battle, it would be won with cavalry. Gazing out across this great sea of horseflesh and steel, Sasha thought that surely, now, the advantage was with them.
Upon the farthest reach of the flank, they found the Fyden, Yethulyn, and finally, at the very end, the Isfayen. Sasha peeled off to join Great Lord Faras beneath his waving red, green and blue banners, unable to give Damon and Jaryd any more of a farewell than a wave. They waved back, as the Isfayen cheered, and wheeled about at the formation’s far end, to ride back to the royal vanguard. From there, Damon would command the entire right flank cavalry…perhaps fourteen thousand horse. The left flank would have about ten thousand-six Lenay and four Torovan, but those six thousand northerners were rightly reckoned to be worth more, man for man. In the middle, fifteen thousand Lenay infantry, with perhaps two thousand Torovan archers and five thousand Torovan infantry for a reserve.
She had ridden to a rebellion in the north of Lenayin, and thought that an impossibly large force. Beside this, it was nothing.
Great Lord Faras did not object to Sasha taking a place at his immediate side, one of his nobles even moving aside to suggest it. He looked magnificent, long black hair immaculately brushed beneath the ferocious, horned helm, mail armour reflecting the sun, his horse’s mane and bridle tied with many colourful tuffets.
“Why the far flank, Lord Faras?” Sasha asked, though she already knew the answer.
“In the lowlands, who loses the flank, loses the war,” Faras said grimly.
“The Isfayen shall hold this flank.” Sasha wondered whose arm he’d twisted for the honour. Or cut off, more likely. “You have a new shield,” Faras observed. “It does not like you.”
“The feeling’s mutual.”
“There is no shame for a woman not to ride in war like a man,” Faras said confidently. “The glory of the Synnich is on two feet, with no shield. The Isfayen shall protect you.”
“Thanks,” Sasha muttered. And wondered exactly why Damon had told her to ride here, instead of with him. Clearly they had grown attached to her, and she them. But she suspected something more political afoot.
The Enoran Steel sprawled across a rise of fields, making it difficult to discern their number. A single line gleamed silver in the middle, and darker here on the flanks, where horse dominated. In the distance Sasha could hear horns, high and clear. Communications, she reckoned. Surely more convenient than messengers or flags.
“They’re coming,” one of the Isfayen nobles remarked. So soon? Sasha frowned, squinting at the line. Surely enough, it seemed to advance. There was no additional flurry of trumpets, no clashing of swords on shields. The Enorans merely came, in perfect formation. This was not an army that relied on threats or bluster to sow fear. This army relied on reputation and capability alone.
Lenay men began noticing, and yells went up, joined by others, until the challenge grew to an ear-splitting roar. Sasha steadied her nervous mare, flexing her left arm against the unaccustomed weight of shield. Great Lord Faras did not yell with his nobles, he merely watched, his narrowed eyes unreadable.
“Confident,” he surmised, watching the Steel.
“They’ve never lost,” Sasha reminded him.
“Today that changes.”
“They bring their artillery into range. It moves up behind them. We must move now.”
Faras smiled. “You worry like a woman. They are not well rested, they spent all night moving.” The signalman ahead of them raised his flag. “See, your brother’s signal.” Faras raised his sword. The flag fell. Faras lowered his sword, and put heels to his horse.
They began at a canter, and already the sound of hooves was deafening. The canter stretched to a slow gallop, as the front rank made to spread the formation for those riding behind. Sasha left her sword in its sheath, trying to figure the best way to steer with this weight on her left arm, concentrating solely on keeping her mare’s path straight. If she were jostled in this crush, and fell, the hooves behind would smash her to pulp.
A low wall approached, potential catastrophe if any horse refused the jump and blocked others behind… Sasha’s mare cleared it easily, across a dirt road, a farmhouse approaching on the right, and a thin line of trees…
Sasha heard a whistle and looked about, as a horse abruptly vanished from the corner of her vision. She risked a fast look behind, to see a horse rolling, two others falling in collision, others rearing aside in panic…what the hells had happened? She saw other riders staring up and ahead, as they approached the foot of the long, gentle incline toward the Steel cavalry. There were dark shapes streaking through the air, fast against the broken cloud. Surely they were not in range already?
She ducked reflexively as a bolt zipped overhead, and risked another look to see a horse fall, and more riders evading desperately behind. How the hells were the furthest flank of cavalry under fire from artillery that should only have been positioned behind protective infantry? And so far out?
Faras waved his sword and with a roar they accelerated up the slight incline, racing at full gallop. Suddenly the air was thick with incoming fire, and Sasha saw at least five coming low as though they might hit her. A noble to her left simply disappeared f
rom his saddle as though he’d ridden into an invisible low branch. Horses were upended, legs folding beneath them, riders catapulted into the turf at breakneck speed. Faster horses were getting ahead of her, and Sasha wove to find a better approach…and saw for the first time the Enoran cavalry, a spiked ridge of steel lances, big shields and ridged helms. Dear spirits, there were thousands. The charging Isfayen line was fragmented at the front, where it mattered. The terrible line of lances was lowered, and the Enoran cavalry charged down the incline.
That was it, Sasha realised. The front rank of Isfayen were finished, and she was dead. But she could not stop, for the torrent of riders coming up behind, nor for her honour.
The Enorans were nearly upon them when Sasha realised there were in fact more gaps in their formation than was apparent from a distance. She headed for one, and saw two Enoran lances swinging toward her. She slowed to a fast, high-stepping canter, and her mare, knowing well the lagand field, read her right-feint, then left-dash, as she snapped abruptly across the oncoming Enoran’s path. The lance swivelled to track her, but the Enoran rider pulled the reins to miss her, and abruptly he’d passed, and there were horses, riders and lances flashing by to all sides. She nearly died three more times, as fast-adjusting Enorans tried to impale her, but luck and a fast duck saved her. She swung at one man, but struck only shield, and swung about now to find more space than expected, and Isfayen riders fighting clear behind.
The rear Enoran ranks bore swords rather than lances, and laid about them furiously… Sasha threw her shield up to a blow that nearly broke her arm, hauling at the rein and applying heels with wild reflex to lurch past that rider’s nose, lengthening his reach, then parrying right as one swung from the other side. Far from annihilated, the Isfayen were everywhere, roaring and swinging with crazed fury, hammering Enoran shields, ramming horses, severing limbs with their huge, curved swords.
Suddenly the Enorans were leaving, a high trumpet sounding, cavalry simply breaking off the fight and sprinting for higher ground. Isfayen flag bearers waved their banners, and nobles stood in their stirrups, calling to regroup. Sasha rode toward one of them, and abruptly there were ballista bolts falling, and that noble’s horse took a bolt through the ribs. She saw the bolt simply disappear inside the horse, ripples of impact contorting the huge body like a rock striking the water, and the animal fell as a bag of broken bones. It shocked Sasha as much as anything she’d seen. This was not warfare as she knew it. This was unfair.
She pulled alongside the now dismounted noble, and gave him a hand up to sit behind, searching for a riderless horse…but under ballista fire, horses were falling faster than riders. More commotion sounded from the far flank, and Sasha applied heels, the big man behind clutching her with little regard for her modesty. Weaving through the massed, wheeling horses, Sasha found enough vantage to regard the entire far flank of Isfayen riders now racing away from the fight, further to the flanks, in pursuit of light horse. Talmaad.
Sasha put her heels in hard, and the mare tore off after them, more Isfayen riders joining her. “Wall!” she yelled for her passenger’s benefit, and they cleared the next wall without difficulty. Ahead, she saw serrin riders closing from the left, paralleling Isfayen riders, bows pulled. Arrows fired, and two Isfayen tumbled from their saddles. Another raised his shield high, leaving little exposed flesh to fire at, so the serrin shot his horse instead. It stumbled, reeling, its rider pulling it to a halt.
“Shields up!” Sasha screamed at the riders coming up on her flanks. “Shields up! Archers, archers!”
Those serrin were now falling back, inviting her to chase them. That was death… Sasha waved her sword to the right, where other riders had gone, and wheeled that way. Behind her, perhaps fifty Isfayen had formed, having recognised her. Several ignored her evasion and pursued the serrin.
“Get back here!” Sasha yelled at them, but they either couldn’t hear or ignored her. The serrin waited until they were close enough, then accelerated once more to equal their speed. Turning in their saddles, they drew arrows, and fired straight back over their horses’ flanks. One Isfayen fell, another clutched his arm, and a third’s horse ploughed a nose first furrow in the field.
Sasha skirted a small village, and two serrin barely cantering in the near fields, again inviting pursuit. Sasha waved half of her formation left about the village, herself heading right, and the two serrin took off at fast gallop, realising they were about to be trapped. Others played cat and mouse with Isfayen riders across nearby fields, reluctant to engage directly, seeking only enough running space at close range to fire a lethal arrow at horse or rider.
On the far side of the village, maybe thirty serrin emerged from a line of trees to send long range arrows hurtling toward Sasha’s riders. Several clutched at strikes, and the rest charged. The serrin reloaded, cut several more Isfayen off their horses, then split in every direction. Bewildered Isfayen tried to intercept one or another, more arrows coming at odd angles, catching them past their shield alignment. Sasha saw one cut a racing serrin from her horse, only to lose his head to a second with a breathtakingly beautiful overhead… Sasha angled to intercept, but with a passenger she was too heavy, and the serrin darted from range, sheathing sword and recovering his bow. Sasha saw his eyes as he flashed her a stare in passing, green like emerald, hair red like flame.
This, she decided as fast serrin horses scattered away from slower Isfayen riders, was pointless. She reined to a halt, waving her sword for a recall. Eventually the Isfayen came back to her, short another six or seven of their number. Sasha wheeled about and set off back to the Lenay lines.
“We can’t fight as light cavalry against talmaad!” she yelled at the Isfayen village headman who came up on her right. “They make us look stupid!”
The headman did not disagree, and gave the man riding at Sasha’s back a grim look. Only when Sasha returned to the line and dismounted at a small stream by an oak did she see why. Instead of dismounting, her passenger remained astride, clutching the saddle to keep from falling. From his back protruded a serrin arrow. Sasha dumped her shield and with the aid of two men helped him from the horse. They tended to him by the stream, while Sasha watered her horse, and checked her for injuries.
Then she remounted, with still many of her riders surrounding, and galloped off to find Lord Faras. There were a lot of Torovan wheeling about instead, recovering from their first charge, collecting wounded slumped in their saddles and exchanging limping horses. Across the far rise, the battle still raged. Nearer the centre of the fight, smoke streaked the battlefield, and flame flashed at regular intervals. Sasha was very glad she had not been within range of the catapults.
Not seeing anyone she recognised, she instead found the Valhanan Black Wolves, regrouping at the head of a cluster of other Valhanan cavalry. Sasha galloped to their captain, who welcomed her with a wave.
“They’ve moved their ballistas all the way out to the flanks!” Sasha shouted to him. “We took heavy fire on the approach, it split our front rank so their cavalry could carve us up. With ballistas so far from the central formation, we should be able to pick them off, but I don’t know if anyone got through.”
“We only had a little ballista fire,” replied the captain, sweaty and wild eyed beneath his helm. “I think they may have clustered defensive firing positions on the flanks to break down our cavalry thrusts, they know we have to try to flank them. But we were closer to the centre, we got catapults instead. I lost about twenty men to just one of those fucking things. I think Lord Kumaryn’s dead, I saw another hit right in the noble vanguard, lots of burning horses.”
“Look,” said Sasha, pointing off across the field, “we have to go again, they’ve nearly halved the distance. They’ll be firing into our infantry soon.”
More yelling came before the captain could reply. “Serrin in the rear!” came the cry. “Serrin in the rear!”
“Damn my pig-headed brother!” Sasha exclaimed. “I told him this would happen if he didn
’t hold enough cavalry back!”
“What’s happened?” asked the captain.
“The talmaad have gone way around our flank,” Sasha replied in exasperation, pointing well wide of the battlefield. “They were always going to, but it wouldn’t have mattered if Koenyg had held a few thousand extra cavalry back. Only I’m betting he hasn’t made certain they’ve stayed put, and some hotheads have decided to charge rather than staying behind. Our infantry will have a few thousand serrin archers feathering their backsides if we don’t stop them.”
She spun her mare around, waving with her sword to indicate they should all follow. The captain did likewise, and Sasha, perhaps seventy or eighty Isfayen, and several hundred of her native Valhanan’s finest, went charging into the rear to cover for her eldest brother’s oversight.
Andreyis was frightened. He’d been frightened before, at the Battle of Ymoth. But there, he’d been ahorse, and facing a known enemy. Today, he stood shoulder to shoulder in a mass of Lenay warriors, and heard the sounds of battle draw closer. He could see little above the heads and helms of the ranks before him, but the thunder of cavalry was everywhere. He had no idea how the battle went, save that it drew closer, and louder, by the moment. He’d heard it said often enough that the cavalry would need to win through in the opening phases, and harry or destroy the Enoran artillery, for the Army of Lenayin to have a chance of winning. Yet from ahead, he could smell smoke, and see regular flashes of fire, mostly off to the flanks.
“They’ve shifted their artillery to the flanks,” said Teriyan at his side. “It won’t come down so hard on us then.”
“Just get ready to run,” Byorn said grimly, hefting his shield on one muscular arm. “When they get within artillery range, we’re going to need to run like the wind to close on their infantry. The closer we get, the less the artillery can hit us.”
They could not go now, Andreyis knew; they had to wait, hoping that the cavalry could turn a flank. About him, men practically bounced on the spot, armour and all, as tense as cats. They were a mixture, these Valhanans-some from Baerlyn, others from surrounding townships, others still from places Andreyis had not heard of. He could only see several other Baerlyners besides Teriyan and Byorn, as all had decided that, in the face of the reputed effects of Enoran artillery, it would not do to have entire villages standing clustered together.
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