The archers looked sullenly to their captain, who looked impatiently to Mina.
“What are your orders, Talon Leader?” he asked.
“Wait,” she said.
They waited. The army washed up against the walls of Sanction, pounded against the gate. The noise and commotion was far away, a distant rumbling. Mina removed her helm, ran her hand over her shorn head with its down of dark red hair. She sat straight-backed upon her horse, her chin lifted. Her gaze was not on Sanction but on the blue sky above them, blue sky that was rapidly darkening.
The archers stared, astounded at her youth, amazed at her strange beauty. She did not heed their stares, did not hear their coarse remarks that were swallowed by the silence welling up out of the valley. The men felt something ominous about the silence.
Those who continued to make remarks did so out of bravado and were almost immediately hushed by their uneasy comrades.
An explosion rocked the ground around Sanction, shattered the silence. The clouds boiled, the sunlight vanished. The Neraka army’s gloating roars of victory were abruptly cut off. Shouts of triumph shrilled to screams of panic.
“What is happening?” demanded the archers, their tongues loosed. Everyone talked at once. “Can you see?”
“Silence in the ranks!” Captain Samuval bellowed.
One of the Knights, who had been posted as observer near the cut, came galloping toward them.
“It was a trap!” He began to yell when he was still some distance away. “The gates of Sanction opened to our forces, but only to spew forth the Solamnics! There must be a thousand of them. Sorcerers ride at their head, dealing death with their cursed magicks!”
The Knight reined in his excited horse. “You spoke truly, Mina!” His voice was awed, reverent. “A huge blast of magical power killed hundreds of our troops at the outset. Their bodies lie smoldering on the field. Our soldiers are fleeing! They are running this way, ,retreating through the cut. It is a rout!”
“ All is lost, then,” said Captain Samuval, though he looked at Mina strangely. “The Solamnic forces will drive the army into the valley. We will be caught between the anvil of the mountains and the hammer of the Solamnics.”
His words proved true. Those in the rear echelons were already streaming back through Beckard’s Cut. Many had no idea where they were going, only that they wanted to be far away from the blood and the death. A few of the less confused and more calculating were making for the narrow road that ran through the mountains to Khur.
“A standard!” Mina said urgently. “Find me a standard!”
Captain Samuval took hold of the grimy white scarf he wore around his neck and handed it up to her. “Take this and welcome, Mina.”
Mina took the scarf in her hands, bowed her head. Whispering words no one could hear, she kissed the scarf and handed it to Galdar. The white fabric was stained red with blood from the raw blisters on her hand. One of Mina’s Knights offered his lance.
Galdar tied the bloody scarf onto the lance, handed the lance back to Mina.
Wheeling Foxfire, she rode him up the rocks to a high promontory and held the standard aloft.
“To me, men!” she shouted. “To Mina!”
The clouds parted. A mote of sunlight jabbed from the heavens, touched only Mina as she sat astride her horse on the ridgeline. Her black armor blazed as if dipped in flame, her amber eyes gleamed, lit from behind with the light of battle. Her redound, a clarion call, brought the fleeing soldiers to a halt. They looked to see from whence the call came and saw Mina outlined in flame, blazing like a beacon fire upon the hillside.
The fleeing soldiers halted in their mad dash, looked up, dazzled.
“To me!” Mina yelled again. “Glory is ours this day!”
The soldiers hesitated, then one ran toward her, scrambling, slipping and sliding up the hillside. Another followed and another, glad to have purpose and direction once again.
“Bring those men over there to me,” Mina ordered Galdar, pointing to another group of soldiers in full retreat. “As many as you can gather. See that they are armed. Draw them up in battle formation there on the rocks below.”
Galdar did as he was commanded. He and the other Knights blocked the path of the retreating soldiers, ordered them to join their comrades who were starting to form a dark pool at Mina’s feet. More and more soldiers were pouring through the cut, the Knights of Neraka riding among them, some of the officers making valiant attempts to halt the retreat, others joining the footmen in a run for their lives. Behind them rode Solamnic Knights in their gleaming silver armor, their white-feathered crests.
Deadly, silver light flashed, and everywhere that light appeared, men withered and died in its magical heat. The Solamnic Knights entered the cut, driving the forces of the Knights of Neraka like cattle before them, driving them to slaughter.
“Captain Samuval,” cried Mina, riding her horse down the hill, her standard streaming behind her. “Order your men to fire.”
“The Solamnics are not in bow range,” he said to her, shaking his head at her foolishness. “Any fool can see that.”
“The Solamnics are not your target Captain,” Mina returned coolly. She pointed to the forces of the Knights of Neraka streaming through the cut. “Those are your targets.”
“Our own men?” Captain Samuval stared at her. “You are mad.”
“Look upon the field of battle, Captain,” Mina said. “It is the only way.”
Captain Samuval looked. He wiped his face with his hand, then he gave the command. “Bowmen, fire.”
“What target?” demanded one.
“You heard Mina!” said the captain harshly. Grabbing a bow from one of his men, he nocked an arrow and fired.
The arrow pierced the throat of one of the fleeing Knights of Neraka. He fell backward off his horse and was trampled in the rush of his retreating comrades.
Archer Company fired. Hundreds of arrows—each shot with deliberate, careful aim at point-blank range—filled the air with a deadly buzz. Most found their targets. Foot soldiers clutched their chests and dropped. The feathered shafts struck through the raised visors of the helmed Knights or took them in the throat.
“Continue firing, Captain,” Mina commanded.
More arrows flew. More bodies fell. The panic-stricken soldiers realized that the arrows were coming from in front of them now. They faltered, halted, trying to discover the location of this new enemy. Their comrades crashed into them from behind, driven mad by the approaching Solamnic Knights. The steep walls of Beckard’s Cut prevented any escape.
“Fire!” Captain Samuval shouted wildly, caught up in the fervor of death-dealing. “For Mina!”
“For Mina!” cried the archers and fired.
Arrows hummed with deadly accuracy, thunked into their targets. Men screamed and fell. The dying were starting to pile up like hideous cord wood in the cut forming a blood-soaked barricade.
An officer came raging toward them, his sword in his hand.
“You fool!” he screamed at Captain Samuval. “Who gave you your orders? You’re firing on your own men!”
“I gave him the order,” said Mina calmly.
Furious, the Knight accosted her. “Traitor!” He raised his blade.
Mina sat unmoving on her horse. She paid no attention to the Knight, she was intent upon the carnage below. Galdar brought down a crushing fist on the Knight’s helm. The Knight, his neck broken, went rolling and tumbling down the hillside. Galdar sucked bruised knuckles and looked up at Mina.
He was astounded to see tears flowing unchecked down her cheeks. Her hand clasped the medallion around her neck. Her lips moved, she might have been praying.