‘Get out of the way,’ whispered Chandyr, then shouted, ‘Get out of the way, Rusau!’
His voice echoed out. Rusau pulled his horse round and drove headlong towards Chandyr. He was shouting but the Xeteskian couldn’t hear him until he closed to a few yards and slowed hard.
‘Stop this madness!’ he yelled.
‘Out of my way, Rusau. Get behind the lines. There’s nothing you can do now. Go back to Lystern.’
‘Damn you, Chandyr. Make it stop.’
‘Last chance, Rusau. Please go.’ He looked to his lieutenants and signalled with a clenched fist. They were a hundred yards from the Dordovans. Spells were prepared. ‘Flagman! Stand ready!’
‘Sir!’
‘Chandyr.’
‘Leave.’
Rusau wheeled his horse again and sped back towards the Dordovans.
‘Archers!’ called Chandyr. At the back of the lines his archers stopped and knelt. The Dordovans were doing likewise. ‘Deploy shields.’ Each order was relayed by his command chain. Hard- and SpellShields came on instantly, deployment confirmed across the line. ‘Fire at will!’
Arrows flew away, volley after volley, soaring overhead to clatter against the Dordovan shields and answered by the enemy. Across the divide, Rusau was being pushed away by Dordovan soldiers. Chandyr had no time to look at him any more. Dordovan cavalry had broken left and right and were galloping along the back of their line, which bristled with pikemen.
‘Waiting,’ yelled Chandyr. ‘Waiting.’
He watched the cavalry closely. They were spread quite thin and outnumbered by the Xeteskian horsemen, their tactic as yet unclear. Thirty yards. It was enough.
‘Engage!’ he shouted.
The flagman flung his flag forwards, the foot soldiers roared and charged, his cavalry sprang to the gallop. Archers dropped their bows and joined the fray, spells filled the air. And in the midst of it all, Rusau, seeing his folly, began a desperate gallop to the right. He was never going to make it.
A few Xeteskian FlameOrbs soared out into the late afternoon sky, targeting mages and archers and splashing down in their midst, fizzing and hissing over shields or detonating on the ground where there were none. HotRain fell from the sky in a brief torrent over the Dordovan foot soldiers. The enemy mages were ready; their shields held, as did the Xeteskians’ under the entirely predictable response.
But Chandyr had held something back. As they had been drilled, the Xeteskian foot forces, still just ahead of the cavalry, suddenly slowed for four paces. Unexpectedly, the Dordovan line was exposed to Xeteskian spell attack and more FlameOrbs fell in a concentrated burst on their left. At least one SpellShield cracked under the sudden and focussed barrage. Magical fire tore into armour and cloth. It melted faces and ate through furs and flesh, the unquenchable flames leaving their victims helpless as they died.
‘Push the right. Watch the cavalry flank!’
Chandyr rode headlong into the Dordovan cavalry, horsemen to his left driving at the disoriented and weakened line, to his right fanning out to guard against a flank attack.
Rusau was caught in the chaos, wheeling his horse left and right as swords rose and fell all around him. Chandyr leaned left and swept his sword over his horse’s head to clash with an enemy’s. He let go the reins and dragged at the man’s shoulder with his left hand as he snatched his weapon back. Pulled off balance, the Dordovan didn’t see Chandyr’s blade whip back and across to take him on the top of his helmeted head. Stunned, he fell from his horse, as good as dead under the churning hooves.
The Xeteskian commander glanced along his line. They had forced the Dordovans well back on the right flank and a breach wouldn’t be long coming. More spells flashed across the space above his head, keeping the opposition casting mages busy with shields. A detonation told of at least one more failing under pressure.
‘Rusau!’ he yelled, but his voice was lost in the roar of battle, the ring of swords, the screams of dying men, the calls of fifty lieutenants and the stamp of myriad hooves.
A sword swung towards him. Reflexively, he blocked right. It was a good stroke. The Dordovan was knocked back in his saddle and took a second thrust through his gut.
‘Push on, push on!’ he urged, seeing the Dordovan line falter.
Chandyr dragged his horse left, swinging down to connect with the shoulder of a pikeman whose weapon was trapped underfoot. In the mêlée all order had disappeared; men fought for their lives moment to moment. But Chandyr chose to fight for someone else’s. Rusau. Unbelievably, the Lysternan was still upright in his saddle, blood spattering his cloak and robes.
‘Pull back, damn you!’ Chandyr knew the mage couldn’t hear him; he was caught right in the middle of the fiercest fighting. His horse was cut and terrified, rearing and bucking, Rusau demonstrating remarkable skill to stay in the saddle.
Chandyr hacked his way towards the helpless mage, his own mount, bred and trained for the fray, kicking out as it moved, head butting low, driving enemies aside and giving its rider clear vision and sword arc. The Xeteskian kept his legs back, kept his sword forward and never gave an enemy a flank target.
‘Rusau! To me!’
Chandyr swept his sword into the face of a foot soldier. To his relief, the mage heard him.
‘Bring him round. To me!’
But Rusau’s mount wasn’t responding. The mage hauled at the reins, searching for space. There was none.
‘Help him!’ Chandyr leant over the shoulder of his horse and smashed his sword down. Another foot gained. Around him, his men pushed. Hard. ‘Go! Go!’
This was the time to trust. It was the only way. Orders to men beyond five yards were pointless. Local leaders picking up on the course of battle were vital. Men of better vision in the thick of metal and blood, of panic and death. Darrick had taught him that and he had trained his own. In this battle, it was making all the difference. All along the line, Xetesk held formation and Dordover fell back.
He heeled his horse again, it kicked a man aside and plunged forward.
‘Rusau!’ He was almost within touching distance. ‘Behind me, jump on.’
From nowhere, pikes thrust from both sides, freed by the movement of bodies. As it had been trained to do, Chandyr’s horse stepped smartly back and reared to use its forelegs as a shield. Rusau’s panicked creature reared too, but pitched its rider off. The mage fell calling out, grasping desperately, straight onto the point of a Xeteskian pike.
‘No!’ cried Chandyr, but it was done.
The blade speared straight through the Lysternan’s back and out of his chest, breaking his ribcage as it came. Blood rushed from Rusau’s mouth and he died, the pikeman dropping the staff and snatching out his short sword, too scared for his own life to realise what he had done.
Chandyr wheeled and galloped from the battle to check progress. The day would be won. The Dordovans would be forced back across the river. But Chandyr didn’t care much about that. Enough Dordovans had seen Rusau die. A neutral on a Xeteskian pike. He would tell the truth. The Dordovans would not. He could only guess at the consequences.
It was night and the battle was done. The Dordovans had been crushed and driven back across the river but not before herding many of the refugees to their deaths, caught helpless between the opposing forces.
Three miles west, the surviving refugees had regrouped, huddling together for comfort around fires. Another blow had been struck against their fragile spirits and here they were again with no food, shelter or hope.
The flight from the fighting had been terrifying. Once the Dordovan guard had deserted them to shore up their fractured line, Avesh had got Ellin away from the panic and those who ran to the Dord, or those who decided to throw themselves on the mercy of the Xeteskians. Many had followed him, and as the day wore on yet more joined the group.
They sat in almost complete silence. A misty rain was falling from a clouded night sky and in his arms Ellin was unmoving. He rocked her gently, cursing those who had reduced her from bright light to traumatised shell. He had to strike back but had no idea how to contact those he wanted, but then three of them rode into the camp just as he was fighting back sleep.