And yet there Soffjian stood alone, ranseur in the leather sheathe alongside the saddle, watching them slowly arrive until their leader must have called a halt to evaluate. A single woman in scale armor, holding no obvious weapon, and a small force and some wagons in the distance behind her as if to parley-not exactly the stuff to induce fear or hesitation.
I saw two or three Hornmen at the front huddling as close together as they could while still on horseback, talking animatedly. There was some pointing, some gesturing, and then, exactly as Braylar had expected, they fanned out along the top of the hill.
Skeelana’s horse whinnied and I looked over, not even noticing that she hadn’t moved back to the rear wagon. “I will never understand men,” she said. “But especially those that play at war.”
She saw my questioning look and qualified, “I would think it odd that a much smaller group would stand their ground. Wouldn’t you? You’re a man, but not a martial one. That’s a compliment, by the way. But wouldn’t you suspect something?”
I watched as Soffjian slowly raised her arms and spread them wide. “We killed a small number of them in the Green Sea, with a few survivors. One recognized me in Alespell, and we killed a larger number when they tried to trap us there. Then we slaughtered them in their own watchtower and burned it to ground. The only thing we didn’t do was rape their wives or kill their dogs. I expect they’re pretty angry, so maybe not thinking all that clearly.”
Skeelana nodded slowly. “That does make a mannish sort of sense. Though the Syldoon wouldn’t rush into a battle unless they had examined every angle first.”
“Well, they are no Syldoon, that’s for certain.”
“Well, neither are you.” I felt Skeelana staring at me, and looked away from the Hornmen long enough to see the intensity in her blue eyes. “Does your captain know that one of the Hornmen from the steppe saw you? That you are the cause for all this mischief?”
I tried to keep my face blank, and as usual, utterly failed.
Skeelana winked. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”
And then the Hornmen charged.
They galloped down the small incline, those on the road kicking up dust, those who had spread into the grass on either side, clumps of earth and sod. While no army, it was a huge group of horsemen, and no matter what tricks or traps were laid, I couldn’t see how we would survive or avoid capture.
Yet, the Syldoon waited, not raising their crossbows or moving their mounts yet. Ahead of them, Soffjian was still in the saddle, arms outstretched and angled slightly toward the Hornmen as if to welcome the oncoming horde.
Having seen what happened in Alespell, I knew there would be no pyrotechnics. But at that distance, I wouldn’t be able to even see the slight telltale shimmer that she emitted in Alespell. I was wondering how I would know she had done anything at all when I saw the splay her fingers on both hands and tilt her head back as if she were merely enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face.
Then a number of chaotic and awful things happened very quickly.
Several of the Hornmen jerked on their reins, some falling from the saddle. Others seemed to have lost complete control of their mounts, as they rode into each other, again with several riders falling to the dirt. Some Hornmen were shaking their heads back and forth, a few slapping their helms, or clawing at the air in front of their faces. What had been a charging line of horses was now in complete disarray, with many racing off in every direction except for the one they had been heading in.
The rest still came on, though it was impossible to tell if they’d suffered whatever had befallen their comrades. Soffjian wheeled her horse around and raced back toward the Syldoon line with roughly half of the Hornmen host pursuing her, some slower than others.
The Hornmen hit the patch of ground where Vendurro and the others had hidden the caltrops, and while some made it through unscathed, a large number of horses screamed as they seized up, a horrible, nearly human sound, and then threw their riders, or became uncontrollable in their pain.
It was terrible to behold. The whole scene. And it got worse.
The Syldoon raised their crossbows, took aim, and loosed almost in unison, with only a few shots coming late. Not nearly as well armored as the Brunesmen, a half dozen or more Hornmen were struck and wounded or killed on the first volley. Their shields offered some protection, but not nearly enough.
The Syldoon reloaded, working efficiently, and then rode to meet their foes, and I got to see what “rolling gears” meant. Braylar’s men sighted their targets as they cantered, loosed again, and then curled off to the right and left as they reloaded, and the Syldoon who had been behind them did the same.
More horses screamed and Hornmen fell from the saddle, but the remainder kept coming, probably not having realized how swiftly their overwhelming advantage was disappearing.
The Syldoon rode in circles, loading and shooting, taking down their foes, staying outside of javelin range, not letting the Hornmen close. The Hornmen dropped and continued to drop. If they had a commander who would have recognized that things had tipped abruptly and inexplicably out of their favor, he was dead or he’d ridden off already.
Thanks to whatever Soffjian had done, some sneaky tactics, and discipline, the Hornmen were routed and destroyed. It was shocking how quickly it happened.
When a handful of Hornmen realized that everything had gone wrong, they turned and tried to flee, and were summarily shot in the back. Some Syldoon pursued those who fled, careful to stay away from the grass that hid caltrops. One or two Hornmen weren’t that observant or lucky, more concerned with escaping than anything else, and went over the same sabotaged ground again. One horse fell on its side, crushing the Hornman underneath, and another was so hobbled it didn’t take long for two Syldoon to catch up and fill him with bolts.
There were around ten Hornmen who had slowed their mounts further up the hill, and appeared to be riding aimlessly in no singular direction, holding their heads, shaking their helms, hunched over. Not knowing that their force, so formidable only moments before, had been wiped out.
“What…” I found myself whispering, in awe, and raised my voice. “What did she do?”
As Skeelana leaned forward on her horse, watching the Syldoon take out the remaining Hornmen, she replied, “Unless I misjudge, she has blinded them.”
I looked back to the field, and all of the behavior suddenly made sense, but I still found myself amazed. And a little horrified. “Blinded them?”
For once, Skeelana didn’t seem bemused. “You recall, I told you that everyone has internal screens, or veils, that protect them from the constant bombardment of sensations.”
“I do. Though that still seems incredible.”
Skeelana pointed at the scene ahead. “More incredible than this?”
I conceded the point as another downed horse or man screamed, it was difficult to tell which. She said, “Well, tearing them asunder will drive a person mad, or kill him. As it did in Alespell. But Killcoin has the right of it-that requires tremendous focus. Here, she spread her attack wide, to strike as many of them as possible. So, she didn’t destroy the veils entirely, only tore holes in them. I’ve seen her do it once before.”
I watched the wandering Hornmen on the fringes of the battlefield, still drifting. “Is it permanent?”
“For some, yes. Those probably directly in front of her. The further away, the less severe. Some will be blind for a few hours, or days. But it doesn’t really matter, does it?” She sounded sad.
“Why is that?”
“Because death is permanent.”
My stomach clenched as I looked where she did, and saw the Syldoon riding down those blind men, some of whom tried to run, a few who turned their horses madly about, jabbing out with spears before being shot out of the saddle.