His horse simply leaped through the infantry line, unimpressed with the obstacle they presented, and he leaned from the saddle to hack a man as he passed, feeling a satisfying jolt through his arm. Ballistas fired, but whizzed overhead. Damon cut toward them, as other cavalry rushed forward on his left to do the same. Men leaped from the back of ballista wagons to escape the swinging blades, only to be trampled underfoot by big horses trained not to dodge.
Damon indicated with an arm out to keep turning left-he had to protect this flank for the cavalry column still racing through the gap, and get them all behind the Regent's lines. Men followed him, yelling to form up, but it was dark. Very dark, he was realising now. There was no moon in the night sky, and in less light than this, a man riding at any speed off-road would shortly come to grief.
Cavalry were counterattacking now. Most of the Regent's cavalry had been behind the lines of infantry, in case of precisely this sort of breakthrough. But they were scattered, having had no time to gather in force. Damon hit one man across the shield, accelerated hard to hit another in the shoulder, then swung about to help an Isfayen man engage an armoured knight. Swords made little impact upon the knight's armour, but with him squeezed between them, Damon simply hit him in the visor to stun, then pulled him hard from the saddle. He fell with a crash, and Damon wheeled to look back at the racing cavalry line.
Several thousand were already through, and now the serrin were passing. They loosed arrows into those infantry trying to close the gap, and men fell in droves. A steady stream of serrin were passing, firing one shot from range, then another up close, and Damon could see ranks of feudal infantry dissolving. Men stopped trying to advance and either sheltered behind their shields or ran. Those who ran quickly fell with a shaft through the back. Those crouching behind a shield lasted longer, but these were feudal men-at-arms, not heavily armoured Steel infantry with their enormous body-covering protectors. These shields were small, often little wider than a man's forearm was long, and serrin accuracy, deprived of killing shots, found other gaps instead. Arrows punched through stomachs, thighs, and hips, and men fell screaming, clutching at shafts that, at these ranges, only plate armour could stop.
And now the serrin were wheeling left, still in a long, weaving line. Damon felt somewhat chilled to watch it, for a line like this, cutting across behind their ranks, had ended the Army of Lenayin's battle against the Enoran Steel at Shero Valley. Now it aimed at a common enemy, and new ranks of oncoming cavalry fell beneath a storm of concentrated arrow fire. Other cavalry broke and tripped on walls or ditches, some horses protesting at being made to run too fast on ground they could not see. They slowed, and made easy targets of their riders, who fell in turn to serrin fire.
In previous battles, talmaad had scattered before charging feudal cavalry. Now they held firm and cut them down with contempt. Cavalry cleared, the line continued on, winding leisurely behind the Regent's formation, unleashing a broadside storm against the rear ranks of infantry. There were five thousand talmaad in this attack, each one frighteningly accurate. Arrows now flew like rain, close range and aimed, not merely sprayed from distance. Men fell in their hundreds, and kept falling, all along the line.
“Horseback archery done right is not warfare!” Markan suddenly appeared to yell at Damon's side. “It's murder!” For all the Isfayen's preference for honourable warfare, he was grinning ear to ear.
“Come on!” Damon shouted. “We can still help them with the cavalry!”
They charged after the serrin, more of whom still flooded past even now. Suddenly Damon saw incoming artillery fire ahead, and pointed. Hellfire hit in the serrin's midst, engulfing riders and horses, turning animals into flaming meteors, running across the grass until they crashed and died. Damon wove past the flaming grassland and bodies and saw that the night here was now day. The catapults had been turned and were firing from the middle of the formation, back over their infantry's heads. Upon the left, infantry ranks were re-forming, bigger shields to the front, archers behind. With clear targets now to shoot at, feudal archers were returning fire with accuracy. Ahead and about, serrin riders fell, and horses staggered as they were struck.
More hellfire erupted, serrin trying to dodge wide of the incoming fire, many failing. As the glare faded, Damon could see a great mass of horses gathering ahead. The Regent's cavalry was being regrouped for a charge. With all this fire, the night would not bother them. And if they bottled up the attack on this side of the formation, the artillery would keep falling until they were all dead.
As Jaryd's cavalry raced toward the Regent's artillery, some talmaad ahead of them peppered the surrounding defensive lines with arrows. Some fire came back, and talmaad fell, but they did not break or dodge, merely continued to walk up and down, taking down pikeman after pikeman. The catapults were surrounded by such terrible bristles to guard against precisely this. But long pikes required two hands, leaving none for shields. Many pikemen wore breastplates instead, but even in the dark, serrin shot for faces and throats.
Only when Jaryd's cavalry were bearing down did the talmaad split to allow them through. And then there were pikes rearing up in Jaryd's face, still enough to cause a flash of fear, and a sudden maneouvre to keep from being skewered. The line of horses crashed in, animals rearing as pikes impaled them, riders falling, poles snapping into pikemen's faces. Jaryd found himself inside the line of spikes, and wheeled his horse to force a wider gap, hacking about him with his blade.
Other cavalry forced their way within, Lenays on smaller dussieh, typically less frightening for infantry but harder to impale on giant poles. They got in amongst the pikemen, and did not need to reach as far to strike. The forward rank of pikemen began to collapse, men abandoning poles to reach desperately for shields and swords. That made more space for cavalry, and soon there were horses trampling everywhere through their lines, and men fleeing in panic.
Suddenly there was artillery ahead of him, great wagons on huge wheels, pulled by teams of oxen. Even now, their huge arms swung, hurling flaming balls toward the rear of the left flank.
Archers defended them, and fired at oncoming cavalry. Jaryd felt a jolt through his shield, then his horse screeched and stumbled. Another jolt, and the horse fell, but at slow speed. Jaryd rolled off as a lifetime playing lagand had taught him, while other cavalry tore past and laid into the archers without mercy.
Jaryd ran, still limping on the leg he'd hurt crossing the Ipshaal weeks ago, and found his way up onto the nearest catapult, blocked by a shirtless crewman who grabbed a polearm. Jaryd warded off the blow and cut the man's legs from under him. He climbed up over those bloody screams and killed the next two crewmen, several more abandoning the massive winches and pulleys to run away, only to die amidst the cavalry.
Looking at the catapult mechanism, Jaryd realised that it would take some time to disable one properly with a sword. Ropes could be cut, but there was spare rope stored in loops, for they snapped quite frequently, and could be repaired fast if need be. But behind was the ammunition wagon.
He climbed onto it and looked down. The wagon's sides were like a giant box. Inside were racks, within which were stored the leather balls of hellfire rounds. There was a system of water, fed by a large trough at the back, that dripped down over the leather balls to keep them cool. When the catapult arm was wound down, a loader would take out a ball and place it in the cup, while another poured on a smear of hellfire, and lit it.