And in that, he had done her a tremendous disservice....
And I'll make it up if we live.
He turned his attention back to the battlefield, and for the first time, felt his heart rise, just a little.
The tide of battle was turning.
Sendar's charge had paid off in unexpected ways. The Tedrels had given up whatever battle plan they'd originally had, and were concentrating on trying to take him down. This had the effect of concentrating all of their attention on the center of the line, and gathering in fighters from the rest of the field as they all tried to be the one to take the King. Those who had been hired or recruited were the worst, for their motive was profit, not the gain of a new homeland. Even if the true Tedrel commanders had not put a price on King Sendar's head, these men would think there was, and anticipate a golden reward for killing him.
In the meantime, pulling away toward the center meant that the Valdemaran forces were able to draw in to enclose the Tedrels on three sides. The thick press of Tedrels toward the King gave the Valdemaran archers somewhere to aim for, and they were taking advantage of that—those that were not already aiming for the Tedrel archers.
When the enemy is in range, so are you.... And there was only so much room in the King's immediate vicinity. The vast majority of those struggling to get at him could not actually fight anyone because of the press of their fellow fighters; they were tied up without being of any use. But the long Valdemaran pikes could reach them, and so could the spearmen, the archers, and the warhammers.
The sight of their King in danger was enough to put extra strength in the arms of Valdemaran fighters. The sight of the King within reach had drawn the Tedrel leaders down off their hill.
And when you are in range, so is the enemy!
The Lord Marshal was in the thick of the fighting, and so was Talamir; there was no one to ask permission of.
He hesitated. But only for a moment.
To the Hells with permission. I'll apologize later.
:Are there any Heralds with bows and the Fetching Gift left here?: he asked Kantor, with an idea so impossible, it just might be able to work.
:Ah—: Kantor paused; it was going to take a lot longer for Companion to speak to Companion in all of this mess. And he didn't want to distract anyone who was right in the middle of the melee either. He waited, watching the line of fighting swaying, slowly, like a sluggish snake. Retreating a little there, bulging a little there—
:Four. And they've pulled out of combat for the moment.:
:Have them shoot for the Tedrel commanders, and put Fetching Gift behind it.: Whether they could even do that, he had no idea, but if they could, it would be something no Sunpriest would think of guarding against, if it even could be guarded against.
If there are any Sunpriests still helping them. He had to wonder, in the back of his mind, if the reason his Gift had suddenly broken through was because the Karsite Sunpriests had abandoned their erstwhile allies as soon as the Tedrels were fully occupied with Valdemar....
He hoped so. If the priests decided to mix in with this, it would make things so much worse.
At this distance, he couldn't see anything other than the dark purple blot under the purple Tedrel battle banners; he couldn't make out individual arrows, and he wouldn't see anyone fall if they were hit, so he didn't even trouble to try to watch for it. He would know if anything happened by the tide of battle. :If there are any Animal Mindspeakers still here, ask if they can spook the Tedrel horses.: One more bit of damage; the officers were all ahorse, and even if his arrow trick didn't work, if he could drive them off, there would be less control on the battlefield.
He didn't want to interfere any more; the rest of the Heralds were the only way the various parts of the Valdemaran Army had to communicate with one another. Things were falling apart on their side badly enough as it was.
Instead, he kept his shield above his head, although there were no more hails of arrows. The Valdemaran archers were doing that much, forcing the Tedrel archers to duck under cover, or even into a full retreat. And he kept Kantor turning in a slow circle, watching not only to the front, but to the rear and the sides, looking for a suicidal charge into their ranks, assuming that there could still be an attempt to capture or kill Selenay. Of course, the Tedrels might not realize Selenay was still here; her battle banner was on the ground, dropped when Myste lunged for her, and the only white uniform on this hilltop was Alberich's.
All the more reason to keep the four of them on the ground.
Then it came—
A flash of blue.
On the left; attackers, fresh, unwounded, and seasoned, hidden in a ditchfull of bushes and about to emerge.
It wasn't much warning, but it was enough; he turned to the left, spotted movement and shouted, pointing with his sword to get the attention of Selenay's guards.
And they just popped up out of nowhere, a band of twenty, thirty—forty?—more?—suddenly materializing as if conjured—but they hadn't been, of course; they'd found cover and slipped through the lines, avoiding detection by avoiding fighting. It was a trick he'd used himself, and so had the bandits he'd fought.
And now, at last, he had something he could vent his own anger and fear against.
His blood pounding in his ears, he howled a curse at them; Kantor didn't need the touch of a heel. Kantor was just as eager for blood as he was. What Sendar could do, he could do, and for as good a cause—keeping Selenay safe.
Buying some time for her guards to react.
Before the Guardsmen on foot could rearrange their line of defense to meet the attackers, he was racing toward the ambushers. Not so far to go, after all; ten of Kantor's long strides at most before he crashed into the first knot of them.
Lightly armored, of course, much more lightly than he, to facilitate slipping through cover.
First mistake.
He got a brief glimpse of a swarthy face beneath a light cap helm—a true Tedrel, then. This was a group sent to capture the Heir. He swung his blade at the same time as he got that glimpse of target, and he felt the shock of his sword meeting flesh as he slashed across the line of the eyes. The man fell; Kantor made a ferret-quick turn to trample him. Then he and Kantor were among them, and for the first time, he learned what it was like to fight with a Companion as a partner.
He gave himself up to it. In fact, he gave himself up totally to it, to the terrible joy of killing, for the first time in his life. He would probably be sick later, but now—