Part 28 (2/2)

'Messenger approaching, sir,' he said, breathless. 'Flag down, sir, flag down.'

'Get your breath and fall in.'

'Yes, sir.' He saluted and ran off round the side of the cavalry.

Chandyr looked to his left. 'Flagman, signal the full advance.'

'Sir!'

A thin red flag was held aloft and swept around in a long circle twice. The order was taken up along the line.

'To a trot!' ordered Chandyr.

The line quickened its pace, trotting up the slope, cresting the hill and carrying on down at an unbroken pace. Chandyr could see the refugees being herded left but not fast enough. He could see the Dordovans forming up on the north bank, cavalry in loose formation behind their foot soldiers, scattered hors.e.m.e.n that had to be mages among the rank and file. And in the middle of the empty plain, one rider. Rusau.

'Dear G.o.ds, you fool,' muttered Chandyr. 'You b.l.o.o.d.y fool.'

There was nothing that could be done for him now. Chandyr's warning had been clear enough, though he felt a stab of regret.

To the left, the refugee group had seen the approaching army. There was trouble in the ma.s.s and the Dordovans were having difficulty containing it. People had got away from the guards. Some carried on running to the left, others unbelievably were coming up the plain towards them but most were making for the river.

'Keep it tight!' roared Chandyr. 'Keep it tight!'

As they descended the slope, the Dordovans were fording the river, their line reforming on the near bank and moving slowly, keeping to the flat ground, unwilling to give the Xeteskians any slope advantage. The forces closed, Rusau still between them.

'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.'

'd.a.m.n 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 s.h.i.+elds.' Each order was relayed by his command chain. Hard- and Spells.h.i.+elds came on instantly, deployment confirmed across the line. 'Fire at will!'

Arrows flew away, volley after volley, soaring overhead to clatter against the Dordovan s.h.i.+elds 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 hors.e.m.e.n, 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 splas.h.i.+ng down in their midst, fizzing and hissing over s.h.i.+elds 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 s.h.i.+elds 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 Spells.h.i.+eld 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, hors.e.m.e.n 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 s.p.a.ce above his head, keeping the opposition casting mages busy with s.h.i.+elds. 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 melee 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, d.a.m.n 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 b.u.t.ting 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 s.p.a.ce. 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!'

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