Yes, he did understand them. If surprise was lost, he was to lead his Awl… away. Like cowards. But they had played the cowards before, and that was a truth that burned in his heart. Flaring into agony whenever he saw the Mezla, Toe Anaster, yes, the one-eyed foreigner who stood as living proof to a time of such darkness among the Awl that Natarkas could barely breathe whenever he thought about it.
And he knew his fellow warriors felt the same. The hol-lowness inside, the terrible need to give answer, to reject the past in the only way now left to them.
They had been seen, yes.
But they would not run. Nor would they wait. They would ride to the sounds of battle. They would sight the hated enemy, and they would charge.
Redemption. Do you understand that word, Redmask? No? Then, we shall show you its meaning.
‘Sister Shadow, they’re coming.’ Brohl Handar tightened the strap of his helm. ‘Ready your spears!’ he bellowed to his warriors, and along the entire front line, two ranks deep, the iron points of the spears flashed downward. The foremost rank knelt, angling their points to the chest height of the approaching horses, while the row behind them remained standing, ready to thrust. ‘Shields to guard!’ The third rank edged forward half a step to bring their shields into a guard position beneath the weapon arms of the warriors in the second row.
Brohl turned to one of his runners. ‘Inform the Atri-Preda that we face a cavalry charge, and I strongly advise she order the Bluerose to mount up for a flank attack-the sooner we are done with this the sooner we can join the fight on the seabed.’
He watched as the youth rushed off.
The wedges were on the flat now, he understood, employing the step and settle advance Bivatt had devised in order to adjust to the mud. They were probably nearing the Awl lines, although yet to clash. The Atri-Preda had another tactic for that moment, and Brohl Handar wished her well.
The slaying of the mages had been a grim opening to this day’s battle, but the Overseer’s confidence had, if anything, begun to grow.
These fools charge us! They charge a forest of spears! It is suU tide!
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Yes, he did understand them. If surprise was lost, he was to lead his Awl… away. Like cowards. But they had played the cowards before, and that was a truth that burned in his heart. Flaring into agony whenever he saw the Mezla, Toe Anaster, yes, the one-eyed foreigner who stood as living proof to a time of such darkness among the Awl that Natarkas could barely breathe whenever he thought about it.
And he knew his fellow warriors felt the same. The hol-lowness inside, the terrible need to give answer, to reject the past in the only way now left to them.
They had been seen, yes.
But they would not run. Nor would they wait. They would ride to the sounds of battle. They would sight the hated enemy, and they would charge.
Redemption. Do you understand that word, Redmask? No? Then, we shall show you its meaning.
‘Sister Shadow, they’re coming.’ Brohl Handar tightened the strap of his helm. ‘Ready your spears!’ he bellowed to his warriors, and along the entire front line, two ranks deep, the iron points of the spears flashed downward. The foremost rank knelt, angling their points to the chest height of the approaching horses, while the row behind them remained standing, ready to thrust. ‘Shields to guard!’ The third rank edged forward half a step to bring their shields into a guard position beneath the weapon arms of the warriors in the second row.
Brohl turned to one of his runners. ‘Inform the Atri-Preda that we face a cavalry charge, and I strongly advise she order the Bluerose to mount up for a flank attack-the sooner we are done with this the sooner we can join the fight on the seabed.’
He watched as the youth rushed off.
The wedges were on the flat now, he understood, employing the step and settle advance Bivatt had devised in order to adjust to the mud. They were probably nearing the Awl lines, although yet to clash. The Atri-Preda had another tactic for that moment, and Brohl Handar wished her well.
The slaying of the mages had been a grim opening to this day’s battle, but the Overseer’s confidence had, if anything, begun to grow.
These fools charge us! They charge a forest of spears! It is suU tide!
Finally, he realized, they could end this. Finally, this absurd war could end. By day’s close, not a single Awl would remain alive. Not one.
The thunder of hoofs. Lances lowered, the horses with necks stretched-out, the warriors hunching down-closer, closer, then, all at once, chaos.
No horse could be made to run into a wall of bristling spears. In the midst of the Awl lancers were mounted archers, and as the mass of riders drew to within a hundred paces of Edur, these archers rose on their stirrups and released a swarm of arrows.
The first row of Edur, kneeling with spears planted, had leaned their rectangular Letherii shields against their shoulders-the best they could manage with both hands on the spear shaft. Those immediately behind them were better protected, but the spear-hedge, as the Letherii called it, was vulnerable.
Warriors screamed, spun round by the impact of arrows. The row rippled, wavered, was suddenly ragged.
Horses could not be made to run into a wall of bristling spears. But, if sufficiently trained, they could be made to hammer into a mass of human flesh. And, among those still facing spears positioned at chest height, they could jump.
A second flight of arrows slanted out at forty or so paces. Then a third at ten paces.
The facing side of the Edur square was a ragged mess by the time the charge struck home. Beasts launched themselves into the air, straining to clear the first spears, only to intercept other iron-headed points-but none of these were butted into the ground, and while serrated edges slashed through leather plates and the flesh beneath, many were driven aside or punched back. In the gaps in the front line, the horses plunged into the ranks of Edur, flinging warriors away, trampling others. Lances thudded into reeling bodies, skidded from desperate shield blocks, kissed faces and throats in a welter of blood.
Brohl Handar, positioned behind his Edur square, stared in horror as the entire block of Arapay warriors seemed to recoil, flinch back, then inexorably fold inward from the facing side.
The Awl wedge had driven deep and was now exploding from within the disordered square. The impact had driven warriors back, fouling those behind them, in a rippling effect that spread through the entire formation.
Among the Awl, in the midst of jostling, stumbling Edur, heavy cutting swords appeared as lances were shattered, splintered or left in bodies. In screaming frenzy, the savages were hacking down on all sides.
Horses went down, kicking, lashing out in their death-throes. Spears stabbed upwards to lift Awl warriors from their saddles.
The square was seething madness.