by Джеффри Лорд
He would find out shortly. The wall of dust was moving towards him faster now. He could see a dark line more than a mile wide taking shape at its base. The first rank of the Rojag cavalry was coming into sight. They seemed to be heading straight toward him, but there was only one way to make sure they would keep on coming. He nodded to his trumpeter.
Once more the harsh call of Pendari trumpets hammered at Blade's ears. He could never call it a beautiful sound, but it was impressive and inspiring when you were waiting for a battle to begin. All along the line of horses there were flickers of movement and flashes of metal, as two thousand men scrambled into their saddles. At the far end of the line, red smoke mushroomed into the air as a signal flare went off. That told the watchers in Vilesh that the «bait force» was on the move.
More trumpet calls, and the Pendari began to move. Blade urged the Golden Steed forward to keep ahead of the advancing line. He had to show himself in the open, to give the finishing touch to the bait.
Now the Pendari were clear of the ruins and picking up speed. A mile away the dust cloud was slowing down and widening. The Rojags were not coming straight in. They were reforming and extending their flanks. Blade shook his head. He couldn't let them do that. They had to be kept bunched and coming on.
Again Blade turned to the trumpeter. «Blow the charge.» More blarings, and then the sun glinted off lance points as the Pendari swung their lances down into position. The Golden Steed neighed loudly and tossed its head as it gained speed.
Ideally the Pendari should have covered most of the mile to the Rojag lines at a trot, breaking into a gallop only in the last few hundred yards. But none of the men cared about sparing their horses, or anything except getting at the Rojags. They were up to a full gallop within the first few hundred yards, and went thundering toward the enemy. To Blade, it seemed as if a solid wall of hoofbeats and war cries were rolling along just behind him.
As the Pendari charge came down on them, the Rojags stopped and began to bunch together. By the time Blade could make out individual horsemen in the dark line ahead, they were massed solidly, many ranks deep. Then the Pendari charge struck home.
Blade drove his lance into the first man in his path, and had it wrenched out of his hands. He heard an arrow whistle past his ear and suddenly realized that his sword was still in its scabbard. He barely jerked it free in time to parry a Rojag cut at his thigh. Then the Golden Steed crashed into the Rojag's mount and sent it reeling back. The Rojag kept his saddle, but that did not save him as Blade's sword flashed out and split open his skull. Then the Golden Steed was plunging into the solid ranks of the Rojags. Blade laid about him like a madman, using both hands on his sword, letting the Golden Steed go where it would.
The whole Rojag line was heaved back as the main body of the Pendari struck it. A hideous chorus of screaming men and horses rose behind Blade as Pendari lances drove into the Rojags. For a moment Blade and the Golden Steed might as well have been bogged in quicksand. He did not even have room to raise or swing his sword.
Then Pendari trumpets called again, and Blade felt the pressure on the Rojags ease. He slashed at the arm pushing a sword toward him, saw it jump free in a flurry of blood. Then he was digging in his spurs and pulling the Golden Steed's head around. The Pendari would be pulling back now, bringing their bows into play, further maddening the Rojags already stung by the charge. Blade had to get away from the middle of the Rojags before the arrows came down.
He used fists and feet and sword to clear his path, yelling and screaming as he did so. Some of the Rojags died or went down, others simply spurred their horses away from this madman in gold. One man shouted, «The Pendarnoth! The reward! He…» but died in the middle of his shout with Blade's sword smashing in his temple. And no reward could make the Rojags stay within reach of Blade when the fighting madness was on him.
After a minute the blind frenzy died away. He realized that he was almost alone among the scattered front ranks of the Rojags. A hundred yards away the last of the Pendari were disappearing in a cloud of dust. Blade dug his spurs in and the Golden Steed seemed to leap away from the startled Rojags. Weaving and dodging to throw off any Rojag archers, Blade spurred after his comrades at a full gallop. Yard by yard he closed the distance. He was almost up with the rear most Pendari before he looked back over his shoulder. The Rojags were still re-forming, but some of the bolder spirits were starting in pursuit.
Then the Golden Steed stumbled. Caught off balance, Blade lost his grip on the reins, over balanced, clawed at the leather of his saddle, and went sailing off. He landed with a bone-jarring crash. Only his instinctive half-roll saved him from a dozen broken bones. Still on its feet and still at a gallop, the Golden Steed vanished into the dust. So did the last of the Pendari, in spite of Blade's yells and curses. A moment later the first of the Rojags loomed out of the dust.
In the swirling yellow-grayness both men were surprised.
But Blade was less surprised than the Rojag and his reflexes were faster. The Rojag lance dipped toward his chest, but his massive arms shot out and clamped down on it. A mighty heave and a twist and the Rojag flew up out of his saddle like a shell from a mortar. He landed somewhere off in the dust with a thud and a yell. The horse slowed, just enough to let Blade lunge forward and grab the bridle. The sudden savage tug on its head slowed the horse still further, and Blade vaulted into the saddle.
The horse quivered as though Blade had given it an electric shock. For a moment he thought it was going to try to buck him off. Then as more of the Rojags came thundering past, it gathered its scrawny legs under it and joined the charge.
By some miracle Blade's sword-thong had not snapped when he fell, and he still had his sword. As the Rojag horse carried him along like a log in a fast river, he slashed and hacked to either side of him. Empty saddles began to appear around him. The Rojags seemed to be taking no notice of the figure dressed in dusty gold pounding along with them. All their attention seemed to be on pushing their charge straight ahead, to avenge the insult the Pendari had given them. At this rate the Rojags would plunge straight into the trap in their own fury.
Which was all very well, except that Blade was charging with them. If he kept on he was going to be caught in his own trap, skewered by a six-foot spear or mashed by a hundred-pound stone. If there was a sillier way to die, he couldn't think of it right now. He had to get clear of the Rojags-and soon!
He dug his spurs in unmercifully. Somewhere the gaunt Rojag horse found extra strength and speed. It began to move up through the ranks of the charge. On either side Rojags pointed and stared. Those within reach of Blade's sword died. He left a trail of writhing forms behind him as he moved forward. Those who were writhing when they hit the ground were still after their comrades had ridden over them.
Gradually Blade worked his way up among the leaders of the Rojags. Again there were some who recognized him and tried to do something about it. But none could live within reach of his sword, and the Rojags were too closely packed for any of their few archers to risk an arrow.
The dust was beginning to thin out. Blade could again see the rear guard of the Pendari, with Guroth's unmistakable black cloak flapping among them. The Pendari were not keeping any particular formation. In fact, they were giving a remarkably good imitation of a beaten force fleeing in disorder. If they could just keep that up for another minute or two… Beyond Guroth, Blade could see the ruins.
The Pendari thundered past the ruins on toward the looming walls of Vilesh. Blade looked back. The Rojags were coming on in a wild dense mass, whatever discipline they had utterly gone. But the lead ranks of the Rojags were opening out a trifle now, and some of their archers were trying shots at the elusive Pendarnoth. Blade heard arrows whistle past. One glanced off his helmet with a metallic tack!
As he galloped past the ruins, Blade saw green smoke puffing up behind stretches of broken wall. The green flares were the signal to the crews of the siege-engines. Then the air seemed to be torn apart as
the siege engines' first salvo came down on the Rojags.
Even the noise of the stones and spears coming down could not drown out the noise that rose when they struck: shrill screams, bubbling screams, screams of rage and terror and agony from both men and horses; the crash of stones hitting the rocky ground, bursting apart like bombs, and spraying chunks in all directions; the meaty whunk of catapult bolts pinning men to their saddles.
Fifty Rojags died from the stones and spears. Another hundred died or fell in screaming tangles of men and horses. Those who didn't lose their lives or their saddles soon lost their courage. By the hundreds they reined in, piling up into still more tangles. Those who still managed to stay in their saddles formed a great solid milling mass. Blade kept riding, and he was almost up with the Pendari when the second salvo came down. The massed Rojags could not have made a better target if they had been taking orders from the commander of the siege engines.
How many Rojags died as stones and spears plowed through their ranks, Blade never knew or even tried to guess. Hundreds, perhaps a thousand. And the survivors lost the last remnants of their courage. The Rojags became a churning mob. Every man tried to turn his horse around and plunge wildly away from the death striking down from the skies. In their panic they only jammed together more tightly than before. They were still jammed together when a third salvo landed. The screams from its impact had not died away when Blade saw black smoke spout from the tops of every tower along the walls of the city. Every gate large enough to let a mounted man through flew open, and out at a full gallop came ten thousand horsemen. All the picked troops of Pendar were riding in a single charge. The air split apart again from war cries and the whistle of so many arrows. For a moment the sky seemed to turn black above Blade.
Once again Blade had the sick feeling he was going to be shot down or ridden down by his own side. The Pendari were coming on as if the devil were at their heels, and shooting arrows like firemen pouring water on a fire. The arrows sliced down out of the sky all around Blade, hitting dead Rojags, live Rojags, the bare ground, and a few Pendari, a great many horses, and anything else in their path. One sliced across his upper arm, leaving a bloody oozing gash but not sinking in. Then the Rojags finally broke and ran. They could run now-so many had been killed that the survivors at last had room to turn their horses.
Blade saw Guroth ride up to him with a broad grin on his dust-caked face. He was leading the Golden Steed. Blade hastily dismounted his Rojag prize and remounted the Golden Steed.
Guroth looked across the plain at the vanishing enemy. «So much for the Rojags. I do not think they will stop running until they are back in their own mountains.»
«Perhaps not. But the Lanyri will not run. We will have to beat them.»
«I hope they will not run. Like you, I do not want them to escape.»
They turned their horses and spurred away after the Rojags. They made no effort to keep up with the headlong charge of the ten thousand Pendari who were riding fresh horses. They passed the ruins and the litter of dead Rojag warriors and horses at a trot. Then they were swallowed up in another swirling curtain of dust, this one raised by the Pendari charge. It was so thick they could barely see twenty feet ahead. Blade found himself navigating more by sound than by sight.
There were plenty of sounds all around. Men and horses screaming, Pendari and Rojag war cries, the snap of bows, the whistle of arrows, the pounding of thousands of hoofs. The Pendari were no longer sounding their trumpets. The enemy was in sight and there was nothing to do but chase him. It was every man for himself.
Then a new sound tore through the dust and rose above all the rest of the noise: Lanyri battle horns, sounding the alarm. Blade fought back an urge to spur the Golden Steed up to a gallop; he did not want to throw away its last strength.
Pendari trumpets now joined the booming Lanyri horns. Then Blade and Guroth and the Pendarnoth's Guard rode out of the dust and saw the battle that was raging before them. Sixty thousand Lanyri infantry were formed in five massive squares, each with its baggage wagons and civilian camp followers inside. The sun made a blinding glare on the acres of armor and glinted on the deadly accurate spears the Lanyri threw at any Pendari who rode within range. A good many Pendari horses were already running about with empty saddles, and a fringe of Pendari bodies was spreading around each square. Any Pendari who tried to ride in and use his lance had only a slim chance of riding out again alive.
The Rojags had kept right on going, the sight of their allies apparently having done nothing to cure their panic. It looked as if they were going to be out of the battle for good. So most of the Pendari were riding around the massed Lanyri squares, shooting arrows from a distance beyond spear range. That kept the Pendari safe but did little harm to the Lanyri. Except for those in the two outer ranks, they kept their shields over their heads. The Pendari arrows came down in black clouds but stuck in the tough, leather-covered wood.
Blade led his guard in until they were just beyond spear range and let them try a few arrows anyway. For the moment he could think of nothing better to do. In fact he was not even sure there was anything to do, for the moment. Once more the Pendari were outnumbered five to one or more. When the main army came up…
There was a particularly deafening blast of the heavy toned war horns. Then the ranks of one of the squares began to open from the inside, as a force of mounted men began to push its way out into the open field. Blade peered through the dust and the glare and made out the red-cloaked figure of General Ornilan leading the horsemen. Behind him rode some five hundred heavily armored men. These must be the mercenaries he had mentioned.
Ornilan led the mercenaries through the last ranks of the Lanyri infantry and out into the open. They shifted from column into line, and Blade saw them checking their weapons and armor. His own guardsmen began dropping arrows among them, but heavy armor covered both men and horses and few were hurt. Then the line of mercenaries began to roll toward Blade.
Blade realized what Ornilan's game was. He was throwing his heavy cavalry straight at the Pendarnoth, seeking to kill or capture him and so break the spirits of the Pendari. It was a desperate venture, even if it was Ornilan's last chance of a decisive victory. Blade admired Ornilan's courage in risking himself along with the mercenaries. Such courage deserved to be met on its own terms.
For a moment Blade toyed with the idea of deliberately meeting Ornilan with only equal force-five hundred of his guardsmen. There was another moment of shock as he realized how close he had come to such a chivalrous-and foolish-gesture. He ordered his trumpeter to sound the charge. The Pendari swept forward, and with the eyes of both armies on them, the two lines met.
They met with a crash and a shock that threw both lightly armored Pendari and heavily armored mercenaries out of their saddles. But the mercenaries were riding heavier horses than the Pendari, and they stood the shock better. Their heavy lances drove through Pendari leather, while their mail kept out Pendari arrows and their shields blocked the lighter Pendari lances.
Blade snapped his own lance on a mercenary's shield and nearly ran straight into his opponent. The man was wielding a huge straight broadsword, almost large enough to require two hands. Blade saw it shear through one Pendari's leather cap as though it were paper and split the man's skull down to the chin. But Blade slashed at the mercenary's face before he could shift his guard. The man's mouth opened in a scream of agony as blood gushed from his mutilated nose and lips. Half-blinded, he reeled in his saddle. Blade swung again and slashed across. His sword drove under the base of the heavy iron helmet and into the back of the mercenary's neck. It did not penetrate his mail collar, but the impact, with Blade's arm behind it, crushed the spinal cord. The mercenary's eyes rolled up in his head and he toppled stiffly out of his saddle.
Another mercenary rode at Blade. He crouched low in his saddle so that the man's lance went over his head. Then the mercenary was riding past. At last Blade found himself facing Ornilan. He did not try to avoid the combat
, for Ornilan at least deserved the honor of a personal encounter.
The Lanyri general wore a short sword at his belt, but there was a broadsword in his hand and a shield on his other arm. If the Lanyri despised horsemen, Blade would never have known it from seeing Ornilan handle his big roan stallion. It towered over the Golden Steed by at least four hands. It reared up and struck out at the smaller horse with both fore-hoofs, but the weary Golden Steed was still fast enough to swing aside, and the smashing hoofs came down on the ground. Then Blade and Ornilan were at too close quarters to be able to do any more maneuvering. It was straight hard fighting.
Blade had no shield. But he was stronger and faster than Ornilan, and his sword had a point as well as a slashing edge. Ornilan's sword clanged against his at each stroke, while his own slashes and thrust sometimes got through Ornilan's guard. Most of these merely grated or scraped the general's armor, but before long two little trickles of blood showed on Ornilan's bare arms, and one on the side of his neck.
Why didn't he strike down Ornilan's horse and then ride the man under? He didn't know. He only knew that Ornilan was fighting with complete honor and complete courage. As both Richard Blade and the Pendarnoth, he had to fight the same way. He no longer found it odd that he was thinking in this almost medieval fashion with both men mounted, their endurance was increased. Because no man on either side cared to interfere, the fight went on, seemingly endless. Blade was vaguely aware that his guardsmen had finally driven the mercenaries back. A good many from both sides now lay dead on the ground around the two duelists.
He was explicitly aware that his arm muscles were beginning to scream in protest at the endless sequence of thrust, slash, and parry. His eyes were stinging from the sweat pouring into them. The same sweat was turning the dust caked on his face into mud. He began to wonder if his greater strength and speed would be enough to carry him through.
