Braylar loaded his own crossbow. “I agreed you needed to head to the copse. Take your men and the injured. Lloi, Xen, and Arki will accompany you. Hewspear has no doubt noted that we stopped, and will likely join you as well. Ride to the copse at once. Leave the dead.”
Gurdinn shook his head, face turning crimson. “We stand no chance at all if we split our forces. None.”
Braylar ignored him. “Lloi, fetch Glesswik’s crossbow, Tomner’s as well. Be quick about it. Go.”
Gurdinn eyed the crossbows and the Syldoon holding them as Lloi ran back to the horses bearing the dead. “The three of you will be slaughtered. And us to follow. Our one chance is to stay together, engage them on ground of our choosing.”
Braylar lifted the crossbow and looked down its length to the road beyond, as if willing a target to appear. “We ride. With the dead. You should go.”
“The dead? What-”
A column of underpriest’s lancers rode into view just then, perhaps a mile ahead of us. Braylar lowered the crossbow and faced Gurdinn. “Your plan has merit. We’ll take out as many as we can. Then we’ll lead them to the copse. You’ll be waiting, with several crossbows still. Shoot as many as you can. If the survivors still approach, kill the underpriest and engage them on foot. It might not come to that, though.”
Lloi handed Braylar Glesswik’s crossbow and gave Tomner’s to Mulldoos before climbing back in the saddle and pulling her own out of its case. Xen drew and spanned his as well.
Gurdinn laughed, a loud, raucous thing heavy with mockery. “Might not come to that? You might kill one or two, and then you’ll be run down. Are you such a feast that their bloodlust will be slated after the consumption? Do you think they’ll simply trample your corpses and ride off? You’re an even bigger fool than I imagined. If you’re determined to charge, then we all charge. Our forces are small enough, we aren’t splitting them.”
Braylar spun his horse around. “And you’re exactly the size fool I took you for.” He looked at Lloi and Xen. “If the good Brunesman chooses to ignore his own sound advice and doesn’t ride to that copse, shoot him for disobeying a direct order.”
I imagined this was some horrible joke, but Lloi already had her crossbow up and trained on Gurdinn.
Braylar looked at me. “You should have a crossbow in hand now as well. Priestmen, Brunesmen, you’ll need to shoot someone.”
Then he addressed Gurdinn again, “I don’t have time to debate military tactics with you. Stay out of my way and go to the copse. Don’t force my companions to shoot you. They’re overwrought with conscience, and it would grieve them sorely.”
The three Syldoon rode ahead, ignoring the Brunesmen who gaped at them. Braylar spoke to Mulldoos and Vendurro briefly and they untethered the horses bearing the dead from the line and began trotting down the road with them as they approached the column of lancers. I grabbed a crossbow, holding it in unsteady hands.
Gurdinn glared at Lloi and Xen; they each had a crossbow aimed at his chest. “He dooms us all.”
Lloi shrugged. “Hadn’t done it yet.”
Gurdinn began to ride toward the copse with Lloi and Xen alongside, keeping pace. I allowed the other Brunesmen to ride past, crossbow angled toward the ground but clearly visible as a threat, though I was sure if any of them attacked, I would be less than useless. Each of them seemed to give me a darker glare than the last, and once they all passed, including the underpriest and his guard, I flicked the reins and started after them.
We reached the copse quickly enough, the ground rising underneath our horses’ hooves as we climbed the small hill. We stopped short of entering the trees. I rode up near Lloi and Gurdinn. They dismounted, but I stayed in the saddle as I turned my stubborn horse around and watched the three Syldoon below who seemed so determined to throw their lives away. Gurdinn seemed right about that-splitting our numbers was the height of foolishness. Even someone untrained in tactics and strategies of warfare could see that. However, just as I couldn’t turn away when I thought the underpriest’s guard was going to crush Braylar’s throat, I found myself wanting to see this event unfold as clearly as possible. If this was truly the day Braylar was to die, I wouldn’t shrink from witnessing it. I knew there was no chance of me doing anything to intervene this time.
The approaching column saw the Syldoon riding to intercept them and fanned out, breaking into a single line. If they slowed down to perform this maneuver, it was imperceptible to me, and it was clear that whether or not the riders were experts on the battlefield, they were certainly expert horsemen. The lancers, true to the name, were bearing lances and long shields, and they kept the lances perfectly upright as they galloped to meet their foes.
The Syldoon were still riding, though at a slower pace, two on one side of the horses bearing the dead, who were tethered together in a small line themselves, and one on the other, to keep the essentially riderless horses grouped together.
The Syldoon and lancers were roughly three hundred paces apart when the Syldoon lifted their crossbows. A moment later three bolts flew through the air. Only one of them struck anything, one of the lancer’s shields.
I heard Gurdinn say, “Coward’s weapons.”
“Be glad the cowards thought to bring a few,” Xen replied. “Probably save your life this day.”
Gurdinn laughed, which, upon further reflection, seemed an odd reaction-he should have welcomed that possibility, but it seemed he truly believed we’d cast our lives away.
I watched the field below and silently conceded if that was Braylar’s notion of evening the odds, it was a very poor strategy indeed. But then all three Syldoon reached forward as they continued riding, spanning the crossbows just as Braylar had done after the wagon attack in the Green Sea, more deftly and quickly than I would have believed possible while on large, moving animals. But sure enough, the crossbows were loaded and they were taking aim once again at the lancers, who had closed the distance almost in half.
At this range, all three of the bolts struck true. Two of the lancers fell from their saddles, badly wounded or dead, and a third held on bravely, despite having a bolt sticking out of his shoulder, though he slowed and fell behind the others.
The remaining riders lowered their lances, while the Syldoon reloaded their crossbows again. However, this time, all three dropped back and moved behind the horses bearing the dead. Though they were hardly harnessed together, the horses didn’t try to flee in separate directions as I anticipated, and kept the same spacing and grouping.
The remaining lancers were almost upon them when the Syldoon loosed their third volley. Another lancer fell from his saddle, raising huge chunks of grass and sod as he hit the ground and rolled to a stop. Another had been struck in the thigh not protected by a shield, though how much his armor did to negate the injury I couldn’t tell, as he rode on. The Syldoon had slowed just enough to let the riderless horses pass them, then fell in behind. Most of the lancers saw that the horses in the middle were bearing only dead men and were roped together and veered away at the last instant to avoid them. One of the lancers either failed to see the ropes or thought perhaps he could charge through them unaccosted. He was wrong. As he rode between two of the horses to spear the Syldoon, his horse attempted to jump the rope. But it caught its front legs and both horse and rider were pulled down as if by an unseen giant’s hand. The two horses bearing the dead were nearly pulled down as well, and the other horses around them tried in vain to race off in a different directions, pulling the ropes tight and slowing the entire group down. One of them reared up and the dead body slung across its saddle toppled backwards, landing in the grass. Then the horses started forward, and it took me a moment to understand why. It had one of the lancer’s spears stuck in its chest and was tossing its head side to side in panic and pain before trying to gallop off, drawing the other uninjured horses behind it.