balls appeared in the air before their hands to fly at the wagons and supplies. Kethry simply locked her hands together and held them out in front of her -- and each wagon or tent she stared at burst into hot blue flame seemingly of its own accord.
This was noisy; it was meant to be. The noncombatants with the baggage-drovers, cooks, personal servants, the odd whore -- were screaming in fear and fleeing in all directions, adding to the noise. There didn't seem to be anyone with enough authority back here to get so much as a fire brigade organized.
The Hawks charged through the fires and the frightened, milling civilians, and headed straight for the rear of Kelcrag's lines. Now Kethry and the mages had dropped back until they rode -- a bit more protected -- in the midst of the Sunhawks. They would be needed now only if one of Kelcrag's mages happened to be stationed on this flank.
For the rest, it was time for bow work. Kelcrag's men -- armored cavalry here, for the most part; nobles and retainers, and mostly young -- were still trying to grasp the fact that they'd been hit from the rear.
The Hawks swerved just out of bowshot, riding their horses in a flanking move along the back of the lines. They didn't stop; that would make them stationary targets. They just began swirling in and out at the very edge of the enemy's range, as Tarma led the first sortie to engage.
About thirty of them peeled off from the main group, galloping forward with what must look to Kelcrag's men like utter recklessness. It wasn't; they stayed barely within their range as they shot into the enemy lines. This was what the Hawks were famous for, this horseback skirmishing. Most of them rode with reins in their teeth, a few, like Tarma and Jodi, dropped their reins altogether, relying entirely on their weight and knees to signal their mounts. Tarma loosed three arrows in the time it took most of the rest of her sortie group to launch one, her short horse- bow so much a part of her that she thought of nothing consciously but picking her targets. She was aware only of Ironheart's muscles laboring beneath her legs, of the shifting smoke that stung eyes and carried a burnt flavor into the back of her throat, of the sticky feel of sweat on her back, of a kind of exultation in her skill -- and it was all over in heartbeats. Arrows away, the entire group wheeled and galloped to the rear of the Hawks, already nocking more missiles -- for hard on their heels came a second group, a third -- it made for a continuous rain of fire that was taking its toll even of heavily armored men -- and as they rode, the Hawks jeered at their enemies, and shouted Idra's rallying call. The hail of arrows that fell on the enemy wounded more horses than men -- a fact Tarma was sorry about -- but the fire, the hail of arrows, and the catcalls inflamed their enemy's tempers in a way that nothing else could have done.
And, as Leamount and Idra had planned, the young, headstrong nobles let those tempers loose.
They broke ranks, leaders included, and charged their mocking foes. All they thought of now was to engage the retreating Hawks, forgetful of their or-ders, forgetful of everything but that this lot of commoners had pricked their vanity and was now getting away.
Now the Hawks scattered, breaking into a hun-dred little groups, their purpose accomplished.
Tarma managed to get to Kethry's side, and the two of them plowed their way back through the burning wreckage of the baggage train.
Iron-shod hooves pounding, their mounts raced as if they'd been harnessed side by side. Kethry clung grimly to the pommel of her saddle, as her partner could see out of the corner of her eye. She was not the horsewoman that the Shin'a'in was, she well knew it, and Hellsbane was galloping erratically; moving far too unpredictably for her to draw Need. At this point she was well-nigh helpless; it would be up to Tarma and the battlemares to protect her.
An over-brave pikeman rose up out of the smoke before them, thinking to hook Tarma from her seat. She ducked beneath his pole arm, and Ironheart trampled him into the red-stained mud. Another footman made a try for Kethry, but Hellsbane snapped at him, crushed his shoulder in her strong teeth, shook him like a dog with a rag while he shrieked, then dropped him again. A rider who thought to intercept them had the trick Tarma and Ironheart had played on Duke Greyhame's sentry performed on him and his steed -- only in deadly earnest. Ironheart reared, screaming challenge, and crow-hopped forward. The gelding the enemy rode backed in panic from the slashing hooves, and as they passed him, his rider's head was kicked in before they could get out of range.
The battlesteeds kited through the smoke and flames of the burning camp with no more fear of either than of the scrubby shrubbery. Three times Tarma turned in her saddle and let fly one of the lethal little arrows of the Shin'a'in -- as those pursuing found to their grief, armor was of little use when an archer could find and target a helmet.
Then shouting began behind them; their pursuers pulled up, looked back -- and began belatedly to return to their battleline. Too late-for Lord Shoveral had made his rare badger's charge -- and had taken full advantage of the hole that the work of the Sunhawks had left in Kelcrag's lines. Kelcrag's forces were trapped between Shoveral and the shale cliffs, with nowhere to retreat.
Using her knees, Tarma signaled Ironheart to slow, and Hellsbane followed her stablemate's lead.
Tarma couldn't make out much through the blowing smoke, but what she could see told her all she needed to know. Kelcrag's banner was down, and there was a milling mass of men -- mostly wearing Leamount's scarlet surcoats -- where it had once stood. All over the field, fighters in Kelcrag's blue were throwing down their weapons.
The civil war was over.
* * *
