“Hildre,” Quenten said in satisfaction. “She’s the best there is at identifying and counterfeiting mage-auras. Unfortunately for her, that’s about all she can do—which means she’s useless outside of a group. But for working within a group, she’s priceless. The commander inside Valdemar sent a conventional messenger to the mages on the Border, and they sent the message on here—and trust me, Hildre has them convinced it went to the right person. They’re attacking Selenay at dawn, my lord. He’s sent half of his foot around to the west, and he expects the cavalry to come in on the east and north. Kero and the Skybolts are in the middle of that. We have to do something!”
Daren took a deep breath and stared off at a tree, reviewing all his plans and his capabilities. My foot won’t make it before the fight’s over. There’s no way they can make a march that’s half a day’s ride away in less than a day. And even if we started now, they’d be tired—
—unless—
“Thank you, Quenten,” he said, his plan set. “We’ll do something, all right. With luck, we’ll even get there in time. Tell the mages to get packed up; we’ll be on the march in a candlemark.”
He returned to his tent, and as he expected, the nameless spokesman for the farmers-turned-fighters was still there. “M’lor—” the man said, getting to his feet, his chest puffed out belligerently.
“How many spare horses have you?” Daren demanded. “And can your horses carry double? Are they in any shape for a forced march?”
The man looked bewildered by Daren’s sudden demands. “We had twice’s many horses as men, m’lor,” he replied. “‘Spect we still got that many, an’ lot fewer men. Aye, they be good for a forced march, an’ go double all right.”
“Good,” Daren replied. He looked the man in the eyes. “I won’t lead you, sir. But I will put you in a position to strike back at Ancar. Here’s what we’ll do....”
Enemy to the west, enemy to the south. Kero stood beside Selenay on the gentle hill they’d claimed as the spot for their stand, looked out over the sea of Ancar’s men, and swore under her breath.
Selenay shook her head. “It isn’t over yet, Captain,” she replied, as she fitted her helm over her head. “In fact, it isn’t even begun.”
“Well, my lady,” Kero replied, as she tapped her own helm to be sure her tightly coiled braids were cushioning it properly, “I won’t say it’s finished, but damn if I like the look of the odds.”
“Daren may yet arrive,” the Queen pointed out, fitting her foot into the stirrup and mounting.
And the rivers may flow backward, the moon rise in the west, and Ancarfind a religious vocation. Kero said nothing, though, as she swung herself up into her own saddle. “With your permission, my lady, I’m off. You know the plan, such as it is. We’ll try and cut a path for you and the Heralds, heading west.”
“No,” the Queen replied stubbornly. “Not yet. Not while there’s still a chance we can win this—”
“Win!” Kero snorted. “We can’t even hold them back! The scouts say there’s a force of cavalry coming in from the east; if we go head-to-head with them, they’ll win, their horses are fresher and there’re more of them. The one chance we have to get you out is—”
“Captain!” One of the scouts came riding up, her horse lathered. “Captain, cavalry coming in, now—but they’re riding double, and not all of them are wearing Ancar’s colors.”
Kero swore, and turned to Selenay. “My lady, no more arguments, or I’ll have the Healers knock you out and strap you to your Companion’s back with my own hands. No matter what you think, you’re important to Valdemar, and—”
Kero caught lighting-fast movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned with an exclamation of recognition and astonishment. A small gray shape came hurtling through the massed enemy, then through the Valdemar cavalry, frightening horses and making them rear and dance—startling Companions, and making them snort and raise their heads. It headed straight for Kero, and flung itself through the air in a tremendous leap, landing in the arms she reflexively held out to catch it.
One of Geyr’s messenger-hounds. More importantly, it was the odd-looking gray-brindle Geyr had left with Daren.
“Doolie!” Geyr hurled himself out of his saddle and stumbled toward them. The dog wriggled with happiness, its tail beating against Kero’s side like a drumstick, and it finally squirmed out of her grasp to launch itself for Geyr and his lumps of suet—though not before Kero had managed to get the message cylinder off his collar.
She opened it and took out the slip of paper with shaking hands.
“We’re on the way—with friends,” it read.
“Great blessed Agnira on a polka-dot mule!” she breathed. “By the seven rings of Gabora and the rock of Teylar! Someone put that bastard up for sainthood—he’s pulled off a friggin’ miracle!”
By now she was shouting, and everyone was staring at her, except for Geyr, who was crooning to his exhausted little dog.
She turned to Selenay, who had pushed her face-plate up, and was looking at her as if she had gone mad; alarmed, and a little fearful.
“That isn’t Ancar’s cavalry coming in from the west, my lady,” she exulted, trying very hard to keep her grin from wrapping around the back of her head and splitting it in two. “At least it isn’t Ancar’s cavalry now. It’s Daren, and he turned ’em. I don’t know how, but the bastard turned ’em. That must be why they’re riding double—that’s Daren’s foot up behind the cavalry-riders. I know exactly what he’s doing; this is a trick we played with tokens, back when we were studying together. He’ll have the cavalry come in and drop his infantry in on the southern and eastern flanks to support us, then he’ll bring the cavalry in behind behind Ancar’s foot, probably on the west.”
Selenay’s eyes widened. “We’ll have Ancar caught in the same trap he thought he had us in!”
Kero nodded, and pulled her visor down. “That’s it, my lady. That dog isn’t that much faster than a horse. He’ll be in place any moment—”
“Captain!” Shallan shouted, and Kero turned to see where she was pointing.
Fireworks, great splashes of color, fire-flowers against the blue, rising from three places. And Kero knew instantly why, because it was a trick the Skybolts had used before, when their mages were too exhausted or too busy to send signals—the mages were probably unable to approach the border, much less cross it, but physical fireworks worked just fine, and didn’t care about any ‘guardians,’ magic or otherwise. Southeast, due south, and southwest, the fiery fountains signaled Daren’s attack on three fronts. And already there was confusion, some milling around, among the fighters within Kero’s range of vision. The rest of the Skybolts knew what that meant, and let out a whoop of joy.
Kero caught Geyr’s attention, and gave him a hand-signal. He dropped the dog, sent it back to the Healer’s tent with a single command, and pulled his horn around from behind his back. “Prepare to charge” rang out clear and sweet against the growing noise from Ancar’s troops. Selenay’s buglers picked it up, and echoed the command up and down the line.
Kero waited a moment more, as the Skybolts readied themselves. A skirmish charge was not like a regulation charge, and she blessed the gods that her people and Selenay’s had ample opportunities to perfect their coordination these past few weeks, for this was the engagement that would count. The Skybolts would be first in—charging the enemy line, firing as they came, only to peel off to right and left, continuing along the line, firing until they ran out of arrows or line, and coming back in a wide arc. Behind them would be the regular cavalry, lances set; Heavy cavalry first, to hit the lines and hopefully break through while they were still recovering from the hail of arrows, then the light cavalry to come up through the breach made by the heavy cavalry. Then the Skybolts would return, this time arcing their arrows high to hit behind the line of fighting, harass those enemy fighters still on their feet in the front lines, and keep the enemy from bringing foot around to engulf the cavalry.