Meanwhile, the Syldoon worked the devil’s claws on their weapons with frightening dexterity. I’d seen Braylar and two other Syldoon manage the speed spanning on horseback, but without that added difficulty it was amazing how fast the crossbows were loaded again, the bolts dropped into the slots and the ropes drawn back with alarming alacrity, and the claws folded back out of the way as the crossbows came up to bear again.
I expected to see the Hornmen run, or at least scatter for cover, sidling up against the buildings or hiding behind posts and barrels. But the leader of the Hornmen ordered those with shields to form a wall and the rest with only spears to fall in behind, and the wall was already moving forward when the second volley hit home.
At this range, there was no possibility of arcing any bolts over the shields in hopes of hitting the men behind. Several bolts thunked into the shields low and high, but a fair number made it past, some skipping off the tops of the helms, but one taking out a spearman in the second line, striking him square in the face, and he was done. Others were hit in the lower legs, below the hauberks, and one man fell to his knees and broke the shield wall completely, and another was hobbled badly enough to disrupt it. The Hornmen slowed briefly, closed the gap, pressing forward again with renewed urgency and leaving the wounded behind.
The Syldoon still managed to span and loose a third volley, and while it wasn’t synchronized, most flew at approximately the same time, they were so practiced and fluid. It was like they weren’t facing a larger group of armed and angry men at all, just performing some training exercise, they were that smooth.
Two more Hornmen fell, one with a bolt in his neck, the other with one in his knee. The Syldoon dropped down to set their crossbows aside, gently almost, and drew their shields and swords, falchions, slashing spears, and one particularly vicious flail, and got ready for the charge, forming a longer line in front, with a smaller group several paces behind.
I was the only one still holding a crossbow, but in no hurry to attempt to shoot between or around the Syldoon to strike the Hornmen. Soffjian readied her ranseur though made no move to step forward, and Skeelana stayed close to me, as she was the only one less prepared for a fight than I was. And yet she still looked more focused than frightened or even nervous, and didn’t seem to be fighting off panic like I was. She continued looking in several different directions, and not solely at the large group of men charging toward us. I looked where she did and saw only signposts, darkened doorways, and the Grieving Dog. Nothing that should have attracted more attention than the armed men who so clearly wanted to cut us into pieces.
Once the Hornmen realized the threat of more bolts was gone, they closed faster, shields no longer locked together, shouting curses and unintelligible roars, angry they were taken unawares instead of the other way around, furious their numbers had been cut down before they even had a chance to engage the enemy, and now filled with a bloodlust, sensing their superior numbers and ferocity would simply overwhelm their foes, and it didn’t look like they were mistaken. The Hornmen came on in a mad, undisciplined rush.
The Syldoon held their ground, though, maintaining the first line stretching across Broadbeef, too few to form a proper shield wall to repel the foe, but not allowing any room for the Hornmen to rush around them and flank them either, with a handful of soldiers behind them, waiting. The Syldoon in front blocked or avoided the first blows and let the Hornmen’s momentum carry them through the first rank, striking them as they passed but trusting their comrades to take care of them. Mulldoos’s falchion chopped into the back of a Hornman’s neck, biting deep, unleash ing a spatter of red, and that soldier was down and twitching; Mulldoos turned his attention to a Hornmen who had been struck in the arm by another Syldoon as he passed through, injured but not incapacitated, who was spinning around to face him when Mulldoos moved in, the falchion coming down fast. The Hornman got his shield up just in time to turn the blow, but left himself open to the other Syldoon, who slashed across the back of a hamstring, just below the mail. With a howl, the Hornman fell over. Mulldoos kicked the shield and knocked him on his side, and the other Syldoon moved in, sword arcing down twice before the pair of them moved quickly to aid their brothers.
This action or something similar happened up and down the line, as the overly impulsive Hornmen allowed through were cut down in short order. In the line ten paces in front of me, the Syldoon let a Hornman rush past, tripping him as he did, but neither scored a decisive blow. The Syldoon couldn’t engage and had to help a comrade alongside who was fighting off three Hornmen harrying the front line, exchanging a series of blows and blocks, shrugging off the first and second that struck mail.
The Hornman who made it through wasn’t set upon immediately, as the other Syldoon behind the front line were all occupied, so he considered me for a moment, and seeing a non-soldier pointing a crossbow mostly in the sky, chose to attack the exposed Syldoon who let him through. He would have had his choice of open targets, but as he stepped forward to deliver a blow, a ranseur shot out, the long tip striking him in the side of the knee, and the curved blade catching the back of his leg. He nearly crumpled, regained his balance, and turned to face Soffjian. She thrust twice more, high, then low, and he blocked one and managed to sidestep the other, though it was clear he couldn’t move quickly on a badly injured leg. Even though her polearm wasn’t quite as long as Hewspear’s slashing spear, it still afforded her better range than the Hornman.
He stepped forward to close the gap, but his leg briefly buckled, and Soffjian picked that moment to lay in. She raised the ranseur as if she were going to slash down at his head, and the Hornman saw the potential blow and lifted his shield to protect himself. Which was exactly what she’d been counting on. She dropped the tip and it lashed out like a viper, the long spike hitting the soldier in the thigh of his good leg, penetrating the gambeson. As the Hornman’s legs gave out, he braced his fall with the knuckles of his sword hand. But that sword wasn’t doing him any good down there, and Soffjian had already closed, the curved cross blade flashing in dawnlight as it slashed across his face.
The Hornman rolled in the dirt screaming, hands trying to hold his face together, blood soaking the front of his gambeson down to his sternum. Soffjian turned to give me a baleful look. I wanted to protest that I’d been ordered to stay out of it unless there was no other recourse, that I should have been holding a quill, maybe surveying the battle from the relative safety of a second story window, but obviously she wouldn’t have cared. She stabbed the wounded Hornman twice and finished him off.
Even with their disorganized charge and the casualties they’d sustained in the first exchange, the Hornmen still had the advantage, and while the Syldoon were more competent, supporting each other and drawing their opponents into slips or exposure, numbers still mattered, and the Hornmen seemed to be forming up better now and attempting to flank the Syldoon soldiers. I saw two of Braylar’s men dead or dying as well.
I looked over to the far side of the street and saw Hewspear facing two Hornmen, one with a sword and shield, the other with a longsword in two hands. I thought with no shield to hide behind, damaged ribs, and having only his long slashing spear for offense and defense, he would be taken out quickly, even with the advantage of slightly greater range. And he would have been dispatched had the Hornmen worked together better as a team, forcing him to divide his attention, or striking together as one, the longsword-wielder using the man with the shield as buffer until he closed. But they did neither. Instead, they advanced haltingly, side by side, but uncertain, not taking advantage of the situation, unwilling to make a move. Even if they had simply charged in, one of them might have been struck down, but they still probably would have overwhelmed Hewspear. But it was clear they counted him a skilled opponent, and neither soldier wanted to be the one dead in the dirty street. So they came together, with little space between them, but too slowly.