Tracato

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.

“Ready!” came a yell from the distant front. “Ready!” echoed headmen, and appointed militia officers deeper through the ranks. A war chant started, the location uncertain, but Andreyis had never heard its like before.

“HEEL-Chun, GOER-Rhun! HEEL-Chun, GOER-Rhun!” As with most old Lenay war chants, the tongue was forgotten and largely extinct…but the words sounded like glory, blood and ancient spirits. Andreyis realised it was a tsalryn, a battle cry only to be uttered in war, and unknown by any who had not fought in one. Andreyis’s skin flushed hot and cold all over. This was the first time he’d heard a tsalryn. Soon they were all yelling, and the noise was like nothing else in the world. It drowned out all the battle, all the world. Warriors beat shields with swords for accompaniment, roaring like men