by Brian Murray
A roar went up from the men and they thundered from the valley towards the white city.
***
The Chosen stood on the mound, squinting to the east. Through the dust he could see the gleam of his cavalrymen’s armour. The Grey Pony clan came into sight and pride swelled in his soul.
“What the hell is going on?” asked Platos
“Gordy,” whispered the Chosen. He turned to look at the Dread who stood motionless, staring out to the east. Even the Dark One with his three bodyguards had left his tent to see what caused the sound. The horsemen thundered into view and the Chosen saw his mentor, General Gordonia, riding a pure steel-grey pony. The ultimate prize for the clansmen was to ride a pony of the clan’s name; usually only the chieftain owned and rode such a mount.
The Chosen turned his attention back to the Dark One who pointed at the cavalrymen. Two of the silver-armoured men stalked away from him, and one pointed to one of the huge warriors. The Chosen looked back at General Gordonia, who raised his war-hammer and, without breaking their gallop, the clansmen changed formation.
***
General Gordonia raised his war-hammer and knew behind him the clansmen would change their formation. The clansmen smoothly changed into several charging wedges and veered off at different angles. On his prized grey pony, the years flowed away from the general, like the air streaming over his body. No longer an old man with arthritic knees—he was again a clansman leading his brethren into battle. Several warriors surrounded the general as they bore down on the beasts. Gordonia felt a flash of irritation, but knew the men were protecting their general. It would be a massive blow if they lost him in the first attack. Gordonia took a glance at the mound as he thundered by. He caught a glimpse of the Chosen and he raised his war-hammer in salute, then returned his mind to the job at hand. His charging wedge smashed into the Dread.
***
The Chosen watched his general. He saw the older man look in his direction and raise his war-hammer. The Chosen swelled with pride. He raised his swords and returned the man’s salute. Then three of the charging wedges crashed into the Dread. Ponies immediately started to fall, but the wedges penetrated deep into the beasts’ ranks. The clansmen smashed and clubbed the beasts with their war-hammers, trying to keep their ponies moving. The beasts howled at the horsemen with contempt that masked the screams from men, ponies, and beasts. A horn sounded twice and in unison, the clansmen wheeled their ponies and disengaged from the enemy. As the first three wedges rode from the fight, three more charged in. They clashed.
Ponies, clansmen, and beasts were sent tumbling, but the momentum of the wedges pushed them deep into the Dread.
The horn sounded again, three times. The second trio of wedges turned and rode from the carnage. A third group of wedges now charged into the fray. The Dread had by now learned their lesson and stood ready, hissing and baying. The clansmen rode without fear at the beasts that rushed forward to meet their attack. The ponies clashed, but unlike the first two charges, this one stalled. The clansmen hacked, chopped, and cut at the beasts that now dragged the men from their ponies.
Gargling screams of death tore through the air.
***
Daraxo, the youngest son of the clan’s chieftain, led one of the last three charging wedges. He had been told the clansmen would be fighting beasts, but he had not expected these creatures. Positioned two rows behind the point riders, the young clansman screamed a war cry and bore down on the enemy. When the front men clashed with the enemy the horsemen bunched up, but Daraxo still had room to swing his war-hammer. It had a leather strap that went around the wrist and this gave the horseman more control. He could then use momentum to smash the hammer down. Now facing the creatures, the young clansman soon realised they stood the same height as the riders on their horses. Over the sounds of battle, he ordered the drawing of swords. He looped the strap of his hammer over his saddle horn, drew his tulwar, and started hacking at the beasts. A Talon Hunter reared to his right and he hacked at the beast. He slashed the beast across the face, but it still kept coming towards him. Beside Daraxo, a fellow clansman stood in his stirrups and smashed his war-hammer down on the beast’s skull. There was an audible, sickening crunch and the creature crumpled under the blow. But a Talon Hunter dragged the clansman, who helped Daraxo from his pony. The man’s screams quickly died when the beast tore away his throat.
Daraxo heeled his pony forward and stabbed down at the beast feeding on his clansman. He stabbed the beast through the neck and it collapsed on the dead man. He wheeled his pony and charged at another beast. His pony cannoned into its back. He hacked out with his tulwar. The thick steel blade bounced off the Shadow’s exoskeleton. Using his left hand, he grabbed and swung his war-hammer. It crunched loudly against the beast. The creature turned to him and hissed. Without hesitation, Daraxo stabbed his tulwar into the beast’s maw up to the hilt, just far enough to skewer its brain. Then over the clamour of fighting, Daraxo heard the single horn blast.
“RETREAT!” he bellowed and slapped his pony’s rump with the side of his tulwar. The pony did not need urging. It galloped from the fray to where the other Grey Pony clansmen waited.
***
Seeing the wedges had come to a halt among the Dread, Gordonia ordered the herald to blow his horn once. He watched the clansmen as they tried to turn and escape. Nearly half of the clansmen did not escape the skirmish.
From his vantage point, General Gordonia saw the carnage left behind when the last three wedges disengaged. He was thinking about changing his plans when he heard rhythmical rumbling from the east.
***
The losses suffered by the clansmen were high, but just as many beasts lay dying or dead. The Chosen watched horrified as the beasts moved among the injured men, ponies, and their own to dispatch them without sympathy. The fatalities were high, but this was what both he and Gordonia had expected.
Beyond the carnage, through rising dust, the Chosen heard a rhythmical thud, thud, thud. He peered through the dust to his left and right, and gasped. He estimated around seven hundred clansmen had been lost in the charges. He said a quick prayer for the dead, then he looked up to the east and waited.
Through the dust emerged the mighty Caynians. Leading the Caynians rode two warriors in silver armour that gleamed in the sunshine.
Gordonia gasped aloud when his saw the front line of the huge warriors on their massive mounts. Again, the general looked to his left, then right. His clansmen were bloodied but their dark faces appeared set and determined. Before the clansmen, the Caynians kept coming. Then they stopped. In unison, the huge warriors reached over their backs and pulled clear their weapons—either a huge, double-headed battle-axe or massive broadswords, all scratched and stained red by battle. They waited. Their mounts pawed the ground, churning the grass and exposing the brown soil.
Gordonia estimated that about two thousand of the huge warriors waited before his clansmen. He looked at the rest of the Dread that were either feasting on dead clansmen or watching the Caynians. He looked at the Caynians and smiled a smile without mirth. He sat on a grey pony, the prize of his clan, and before him stood his enemy. He leaned across his saddle and spoke to the herald. The herald nodded and General Gordonia winced from a sharp pain in his right knee as he stood in his stirrups. He raised his tulwar and pointed it at the Caynians.
“CHARGE!” he bellowed and urged his pony into a gallop. The Grey Pony clansmen screamed their war cry and charged after the general, forming one massive charging wedge.
***
The Chosen saw his clansmen charge towards the massive horsemen with General Gordonia leading them. He watched the Caynians just sit there whilst the clansmen closed the gap. Then, one of the silver-armoured warriors slowly drew his broadsword. He raised the weapon into the air . . .
***
Malice watched the clansmen charge towards him. At that moment, he received a telepathic message from the Darklord. He smiled inside his helm. He drew his broads
word and raised it above his head.
“I want their leader alive!” pulsed the warrior telepathically. He waited. His mount pawed the ground. He pointed his sword towards the charging clansmen. Slowly, as one, the Caynians moved forward.
***
The Chosen watched in awe. The Caynians gradually built up speed like a boulder tumbling down a slope, swiftly gaining momentum and closing the gap between them and the clansmen. The drumming sound of the Caynians mounts’ hooves easily drowned out those of the clansmen’s smaller ponies.
The gap rapidly closed between the two sets of horsemen. Both looked deadly, but the Chosen had to admit the Caynians appeared awesome. He held his breath.
***
General Gordonia watched the gap between him and the enemy horsemen close rapidly. Timing would be everything. The gap closed. Gordonia raised his sword.
***
Chaos charged his horse forward, his blood high. This would be his first true battle against the mortals during this incarnation. Not since the Dark Wars had he fought them and how he now hungered for their deaths. The warrior did not realise how much he missed battle—missed death. The skirmish against the Royal Lancers months earlier had been entertaining, but just a skirmish, not an out-and-out battle. He smiled inside his helm, drew one of his black-bladed short swords and held it out before him, watching the clansmen race to their deaths. He picked his first victim and focused on the rider. He saw their leader raise his sword and a horn sounded four times. The clansmen changed formation. Chaos pulled slightly on his reins and frowned.
***
On the general’s signal, the Grey Pony herald blew his horn four times. The single charging wedge split into two and angled away from the massive horsemen, who dwarfed them. The clansmen galloped past the edges of the Caynians. The nimbler ponies wheeled rapidly and now charged at the Caynians’ backs. The Caynians tried to halt their charge and turned their massive mounts, but their momentum kept them moving forward. When the Caynians managed to turn, the clansmen hacked and chopped with their tulwars.
***
The Chosen watched the change of formation and smiled. He instinctively knew the clansmen could not survive a head-on clash. He watched the more agile Steppe ponies turn rapidly and charge into the Caynians’ backs.
They clashed.
The clansmen hacked and cut with great courage and viciousness at the taller warriors. The emperor knew they had one chance to defeat the enemy, and this was it.
***
Daraxo heard the signal and led his force to the left of the charging horsemen, whilst General Gordonia, his uncle, led the other force. As soon as his men passed the huge enemy, he reined in and skidded his pony to a stop on its haunches. In a cloud of dust, he wheeled his pony sharply, then he charged in the rear of the horsemen. Daraxo was one of the first to clash with the massive horsemen. Standing in his stirrups, he cut high and slashed the first warrior across its neck as he turned. Ducking under a wild swipe, Daraxo dragged on his reins to the left and at the same time cut backwards. Turning his mottled grey pony, he swayed in his saddle to avoid a slash aimed at his head and stabbed at the warrior. The Caynian reacted quickly. It slapped Daraxo, sending him sprawling from his pony.
Daraxo landed heavily on his side, but rolled to his feet. He ducked under another lunge meant to decapitate him. Reversing his sword, he jumped high and plunged it into the side of the attacking Caynian. The huge warrior swayed on his mount. Daraxo just managed to drag the warrior from its mount and vaulted into the high saddle. Screaming a war cry, he jabbed his heels into the mount’s flanks and charged into the fray. He cannoned the massive animal into another Caynian who was trying to decapitate another clansman. Daraxo turned his horse, jumped behind the Caynian, and sliced his tulwar across the warrior’s throat. The Caynian swayed for a moment then pitched from the horse.
Daraxo saw one of the silver-armoured warriors sitting on his mount, slicing and hacking all clansmen who attacked him, killing all. He heeled his mount into a gallop aimed for the armoured warrior. He ducked under a slash and cannoned his mount into the silver warrior’s horse. The warrior’s horse reared violently and the warrior fell, landing heavily on his back. Daraxo turned his mount and watched the warrior swiftly roll to his feet and draw a second black short sword. He surged forward and kicked the warrior in the back. The warrior swayed to one side, avoiding the clansmen’s boot, and slammed one of his swords into the neck of Daraxo’s horse. The horse fell as if poleaxed. Daraxo jumped clear and landed lightly on his feet.
He turned and faced the warrior.
***
Chaos spun and stabbed a horse trying to charge into his back. He watched the clansman leap clear of the falling horse and turn to face him. Chaos bowed his head then stepped forward, his eyes blazing deep in his helm.
The clansman attacked.
***
Daraxo watched the warrior bow his head. He roared a war cry and attacked the warrior. Daraxo did not see the block, the parry, or the riposte. He staggered forward another step. His legs buckled beneath him and he fell to his knees, dropping his sword. He raised his hand and touched his neck. His fingers slipped into a deep gash. Pulling his hand away, he saw his crimson life fluid covering his fingers. The young clansman pitched forward. He died before the warrior stepped over his body.
***
With immense pride, the Chosen watched his clansmen battle, but the toll was high. They killed one Caynian for every seven to eight clansmen. Soon, only clusters of clansmen desperately battled the Caynians. Not enough. Soon only one clansman sat defiantly on his grey pony surrounded by Caynians. The Chosen could not drag his eyes from the carnage.
The clansman who remained sitting proudly on his pony was his friend, his mentor—General Gordonia.
***
General Gordonia lost years when he attacked the massive warriors, fighting better then clansmen half his age. Surrounding the massive horsemen, the clansmen charged deep into their ranks. They slashed and cut at the huge warriors. Pride surged through the old man’s veins, giving him extra strength, but all around him his clansmen started to fall. The Caynians turned their mounts to face the charge. He turned in his saddle to give a retreat command but watched his herald pitch from his saddle. There will be no retreating now, thought the general, and he ducked under a murderous chop. He swayed in his saddle to avoid another blow and stabbed out at his attacker. His blade cut flesh but not too deep. Around the general men screamed; men died, but he remained strong on his pony. A Caynian tried to hack at the general, but the clansman twisted in his saddle. The broadsword slapped the general on his right arm, deadening it, and he dropped his tulwar. Using his left hand, he looped the pony’s reins around the saddle horn and reached for his war-hammer. Stabbing his heels into his pony’s flanks, he charged forward again. Beneath the pony’s hooves, the red-stained, churned earth was littered with the dead.
Gordonia charged into the back of another Caynian, but he had very little power in his left arm. The blow caused no damage. The warrior turned his mount and faced the general. Gordonia raised his war-hammer and drove it down. The Caynian causally slapped the weapon to one side. The Caynian raised his huge broadsword. The creature’s eyes glinted with victory as it aimed a cut towards the general’s neck.
“HOLD!” bellowed Malice.
The Caynian twisted his wrist and the blade sailed over his prey’s head—just. General Gordonia heard the call and sighed. He released his grip on his war-hammer and the leather strap tugged on his wrist. He looked around and realised he was the last of his clansmen still fighting.
A silver-armoured warrior approached Gordonia. He removed his helm and placed it on the horn of his saddle. Gordonia looked at the warrior—his skin was greyish-white and he had eerie, glowing red eyes.
A smile grew on the warrior’s face. “Greetings, General Gordonia.”
Gordonia frowned. “Do I know you?”
“Unfortunately, we have not met. My name is Mali
ce, the Dark One’s Warlord. Your men did well today.”
General Gordonia did not hear any sarcasm in the warrior’s voice. “Thank you,” replied the general, bowing his head.
“I cannot let you fulfil your aim to die on your pony. You see, we have to make an example of you,” said the warrior, whose voice seemed sad to Gordonia. The general’s left hand curled around the handle of his war-hammer. He screamed a war cry and dug his heels into his pony’s flanks. The grey pony was game and charged at the warrior’s huge mount. The pony rammed Malice’s stallion and Gordonia, with his last bit of energy, arced the war-hammer towards the warrior’s head.
***
The Chosen watched the events, his face unreadable. He could not hear the conversation, but his heart leapt when he saw Gordonia urge his pony forward. He saw his friend raise his war-hammer aimed for the warrior’s head. At the last moment, the warrior twisted his body and the hammer clanged loudly on his metal-plated shoulder. The silver-armoured warrior nonchalantly slapped Gordonia backhanded, sending the old man tumbling to the blood-soaked ground. Two of the Caynians dismounted, lifted the fallen general from the ground, and carried him back to their camp.
“He did well,” said Platos. He looked at all of the dead clansmen and sighed. The number of dead enemies was the only thing to lift the big smithy’s spirit, but it gave him little solace.
“Aye, he did well,” replied the Chosen, glumly watching the warriors carry his friend to the camp. They disappeared into the Dark One’s tent and Rowet bowed his head and knelt down. The men on the mound saw their emperor kneel and they followed suit. He said a prayer for his friend and the other Grey Pony clansmen. Along the mound, the defenders said a silent prayer for their fallen comrades. The Chosen rose to his feet and looked towards the Dark One’s tent.
