arrows that sped toward the enemy lines, the likelier the chances of actually hitting someone. Any injury is a nuisance; in a swamp, any injury could be fatal.
She heard splashing, and thought she saw something-hesitated a moment. There, to the right—was that— yes! The thought actually followed on the act of aiming, firing, and nocking a second arrow and firing again. Nor was she alone; virtually all of the fighters in her immediate vicinity had done the same, and the shouts and screams from the billowing fog were all the reward any of them could have asked for.
The enemy surged forward; became, for a moment, more than just shapes. Now they were targets, and the hail of shafts became more deadly-accurate. The Skybolts fired, and fired again, while Ancar’s forces tried in vain to get their own archers into position, and lost man after man to the wicked little arrows. Half of the skirmishers fired Shin’a’in bows; powerful out of all proportion to their size, made of laminated wood, horn, and sinew. The little arrows couldn’t penetrate good armor, but they could and did find the joints, the neck, the helm-slits, all the small but numerous weak spots in a common soldier’s war-gear. The other half of the Skybolts used heavy horse- crossbows—which could penetrate armor, and often entire bodies, though the short-bowmen got off four shots for every single crossbow bolt. The trade was worth it, since they made a devastating combination.
Hellsbane stood as steady as a statue under her, ignoring the screams and the whirring of arrows all around her. Ancar’s forces floundered in the mud for long enough to lose plenty of men, before the armored officers that weren’t dropped by the crossbows pulled them back into the cover of the mist. A few moments later, Kero heard the whistled signal farther up the line, then the whir of arrows and the shouts and cries of pain started all over again, off beyond the wall of fog.
We probably aren’t doing more than nibble away at him, she thought, trying to judge the size of the army from the sounds in the murk. But right now I’ll bet the front rank isn’t a very popular place to be.
But the sun began to break through the clouds, and the drizzle lessened. Whether Ancar had weather- working mages with him, or whether it was just the time for the weather to clear, Kero couldn’t tell. It looks natural enough, she decided, as the sun became a visible disk through the overcast. Well, no streak of luck runs forever.
Ancar’s officers had figured out what was happening, too; the sounds from out of the mist quieted, except for the moaning of those unfortunates wounded and left behind in the muck as their comrades retreated. Kero whistled another signal, also passed up the line—Geyr sounded his bugle again, still in character as a frightened youngster. As soon as the mist broke and the enemy could see them clearly, she expected a charge, and she wanted the Skybolts ready to move just before it came.
The sun broke through the clouds, and the fog lifted in a rush, as if frightened away by the light. That was when the Skybolts saw the true size of the force facing them.
The sun blazed down on the field, as if to make up for the fact that it had hidden all morning. Kero hadn’t known what size of army to expect, and had planned for the worst, but hoped for the best. In that fleeting instant between when the enemy officers sighted them, and their trumpeters sounded a charge, Kero had time first to curse, then to be very thankful that the only troops here were hers. The veteran Skybolts would fake a panic and turn tail, just as the plan dictated. If Selenay’s green forces had been faced with this sight, the panicked flight might well have been real. She couldn’t imagine unseasoned fighters being able to hold against something like this.
There seemed no end to them; they filled the valley, and spilled out over the hills beyond. She couldn’t imagine where Ancar had gotten so many men—and they were all men, all that she could see, anyway. That in itself was ominous; why not have female fighters, archers at least?
Bloody hell. Better get out of range, quick! She gave Hellsbane her cue, and the mare reared as if spurred, screamed and slewed around on her hindquarters, and lurched into a gallop. The rest of her fighters weren’t far behind her. She bent over Hellsbane’s neck and looked back over her shoulder.
As she had expected, Ancar’s officers reacted to that apparent stampede by frantically signaling a charge. But they didn’t know the ground, and Kero and her native guides did.
Their mounted troops were on tired beasts that had just spent the last candlemark struggling through mire. And the poor things weren’t Shin’a’in-bred. They did their best, but before they’d even gotten to firm ground, the Skybolts were well out of range of even the heaviest crossbow. Once on firm ground, they still weren’t a match for Shin’a’in-bred speed and stamina. The lead continued to open. She grinned, ferally. Never reckoned on that, did you, m‘lord Ancar?
Kero halfway expected them to give up and turn back, but they didn’t; that meant it was time to give them another goading. She wheeled Hellsbane at the top of the slope, and raised her hand; a heartbeat later, the rest of the Skybolts joined her on the ridge, already readying another flight of arrows, and as she brought her hand down, they rained missiles down on the cavalry struggling up the slope toward them. Horses and riders alike fell screaming in pain, and as the front rank went down, they tripped the ranks behind, bringing the charge to chaos. She hated to do it, but horses were harder to replace than fighters, so horses were fair targets.
This time she only allowed time for one crossbow volley before signaling that it was time to run again.
She thought that surely they’d turn back now—but when she looked back over her shoulder as the Skybolts pounded down the other side of the hill, she saw the first of them, silhouetted against the sky, still coming.
What in hell is driving these men? What could be so bad behind them that they’d rather face this?
She debated stopping a second time and letting off another volley, but something deep inside her told her that might not be wise. In another moment, she was very glad she’d made that decision, for riding at the head of the charge, on a strange, horned creature that was not a horse, was an unarmored man dressed in brilliant scarlet.
