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 from 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
