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 possessed. Andreyis felt his fear fade, swept aside by an intoxication of rage and power.
He did not hear the ballista fire, but he could see it, dark streaks against the clouds. It rained down across the Lenay formation, but none struck near. Men broke off their chants to howl their derision. If that was the famed Enoran artillery, it would have to become a lot worse to frighten the Army of Lenayin. The front ranks began to move, space rippling through the formation until Andreyis himself was moving, no more than a walk. It accelerated to a jog, and then to a run, warriors still chanting, gripping their shields, eyes on the sky for more ballista fire. The force of their momentum seemed unstoppable. Ballista bolts rained about, to little effect. This was the Army of Lenayin, the most formidable warriors in all Rhodia, charging en masse, fearless and devastating. Andreyis felt invincible, and had to fight the urge to sprint madly ahead of his position, so desperately did he lust for an enemy to swing at, to hack, to maim and slaughter.
Something flashed to his left, bright and hot. Another roar from the warrior horde, and the run increased to a mad sprint. Another flash, then another… Andreyis saw objects soaring across the sky, flames rippling, leaving trails of black smoke like stars falling to earth. One soared straight overhead, and impacted some distance behind him, but close enough that he could feel heat. He ran now in a jostling crush, sword arm held close to his side so that he did not involuntarily cut his neighbours. His shield arm felt heavy, his breath beginning to labour. The artillery range of the Enoran Steel was no inconsiderable distance to run in full armour…surely it could not be much further?
Ballista fire increased, like a light rain shower suddenly erupting into a cloudburst of hailstones. Men fell, in front and to the side… Andreyis ducked in sudden fear as one whistled just overhead. The thud of bolts hitting the turf resonated like a drumbeat. Andreyis hurdled a fallen man, his wooden shield pinned to his chest by a bolt that was protruding from his back.
A burning ball streaked to ground not thirty paces to the right, followed by an impossible, eye-burningly bright flash. In that mesmerised moment, time seemed to slow, and Andreyis saw the billowing orange flames actually double, then triple and quadruple their size and intensity, rather than fading. They thrust out greedily, an avalanche of fire, roaring through clustered, running men, engulfing them.