Kumul and Lynan looked at each other. “Your lancers have their target,” Lynan said.
“The baby is starting to come,” the midwife said. “I can feel her crown.”
“Keep on pushing, your Majesty,” Trion said, grimacing. Areava was gripping one of his hands so tightly if felt as if his fingers might break.
Areava kept on pushing.
“Olio?” she panted.
“I’m sorry. He isn’t here yet.”
Charion was starting to breathe a little easier. Her foot archers had forced back the Chetts, giving her infantry time to remove their dead and then reform their lines; the infantry crouched low and in straight lines, their shields covering their heads and sides, their spears held vertically to give some interference against flights of enemy arrows. The queen was about to send the archers across to the other flank when there was a new sound. It was not the rolling galloping of the horse archers darting in, but something heavier, slower. There was a glimmer of something as yet indistinct behind all the dust.
Sendarus joined her. “What is that sound?” he asked.
Charion shook her head. “I’m not... God, it can’t be.”
The dust cloud had parted for a moment, and she had seen what looked like massed cavalry, and they were carrying lances. She looked at Sendarus. “Tell me I didn’t just see Chett cavalry starting a charge.”
“Can you hold them?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” There was a note of desperation in her voice. “We’ll try.”
“It is time for Galen and his knights to play their part,” Sendarus said. “Hold for ten minutes more, that’s all I ask.”
Charion ordered her infantry to stand and move to alternate ranks, filling the gaps between the lines, then told the front rank to go to one knee. The first two lines dug the buts of the spears into the ground, holding the points out at forty-five degrees, each succeeding line holding their spears a little more vertically than the one before. The maneuver was just completed when the horse archers appeared again, the sound of their coming hidden by the deeper thunder now swelling over them. A hail of arrows fell among the more closely packed infantry, and then another. The foot archers hastily moved out of marching order into some kind of line and started shooting back, but only sporadically.
Charion swore as her infantry, almost involuntarily, started to edge back.
“Hold your ground!” she shouted at them. “Whatever you do, hold your ground!”
But the infantry were starting to waver. One or two soldiers dropped their spears and ran, others looked over their shoulder to see them flee and were on the verge of doing the same. And then, as quickly and silently as they had come, the horse archers disappeared.
Before any of them could breathe a sigh of relief, a wall of solid horse appeared before them with glittering spear points; leading them was a giant man on a giant stallion, and each infantryman felt that the giant’s sword was pointed directly at his head. The sound of the enemy’s coming filled their ears The line crumbled like a sand bank before a flood. The infantry threw away their spears and fled, running as fast as their tired legs could carry them, but it was too late. The first wedge of Chett lancers ignored them and carried on to the now defenseless archers, ploughing into them with savage ferocity, but the second wedge chased after them, their momentum carrying them through any resistance.
Charion galloped away from the onslaught, looking for any troops she could use to form a second line or just to throw in the way of the Chett attack so Galen’s knights had time to get into action, but all around her were fleeing for their lives.
Kumul tried to recall his lancers, but they were carried away with bloodlust. Lynan kept them on the leash for too long, he cursed. They’ve gone crazy. The first banner was still together and under his command, but the other had broken into smaller groups intent on hunting down and killing every enemy soldier they could find. Around him were the remains of what had been a Hume regiment of archers. At least they would no longer be a threat. Now, if only he could get his own banners to reform, he might even be able to carry the battle to the enemy’s center, or maybe even the opposite flank.
He gave command of the first wedge to Jenrosa and personally corralled a handful from the second, and from that small core started to reorganize it. When the battle was over he would make damn sure they knew how much they had failed him, failed Lynan, and failed as trained cavalry.
The wedge was almost completely reformed when he looked up and saw single riders galloping back. About bloody time, he thought, but as they drew closer, he saw the fear on the faces of the riders and realized they were fleeing from something. And there was only one thing he believed his lancers would be afraid of. He peered north, toward the enemy’s center. A silvery line shimmered in the middle distance. He saw pennants and horsetail plumes. He knew what it meant.
Now what? he asked himself. His first wedge was still pretty fresh, but the second was sitting on a lot of blown horses. He rode to Jenrosa.
“Take back the second banner. They cannot move quickly, but get them out of the way. Tell Korigan we need horse archers up here, quickly.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Give you the time you need to get away.”
“No,” Jenrosa said firmly. “You tried to do that once before, remember, for Lynan, and he came back. I’m not going to leave you now.”
“This isn’t for me,” Kumul told her levelly. “It’s for the four hundred Chetts who make up the second banner. Get them back to safety for me. You are one of Lynan’s companions. They will obey you.”
“I can’t leave you to die.”
“We will all die if someone doesn’t tell Korigan to hurry up. Can you use your magic right now?”
Jenrosa shook her head. “I need time to prepare—”
“There is no more time. Get these troops away and come back with Korigan. That way there’s a chance we’ll both be alive after all this is over.”
Kumul did not wait for her to reply, but turned to give orders to his first banner. It moved forward at a quick walk, flowing around Jenrosa and then leaving her behind.
Sendarus rode forward with Galen. Everything now depended on saving their left flank and repelling the Chett lancers. If they could do that, they could win the battle; if the lancers went unchecked, nothing would save them.
The knights rode forward in three straight lines, each line with around five hundred knights. They moved at a slow canter and so closely together that Sendarus could reach out and touch the shoulders of the riders to his left and right.
They first met their own infantry, fleeing unarmed from the field. Close behind them were scattered bands of Chett lancers, but Galen refused to break his lines to go after them. The lancers saw them and quickly retreated in panic. The knights, the best trained cavalry on the continent, smoothly increased their pace to a quicker canter on Galen’s order. No words or oaths came from their lips, but everyone on the battlefield could hear the jingling of their mail and wheel stirrups, the tattoo of their stallions’ hooves on the now bare and compressed ground. Ahead, they could now see at least two wedges of enemy troops, and the giant who led them; they all knew his name, and hated him. Galen shouted a command, and they couched their lances in one swift and uniform movement and automatically increased their pace to the gallop.
It was at this point that things started getting confusing for Sendarus, his head almost completely closed in his traditional Aman helmet. The horizon jiggled crazily through the narrow slits from which his eyes peered, and all he could hear was his own breathing. He concentrated on staying mounted during the rolling ride as the line charged the nearest enemy formation.