Sargos flung a javelin high into the willow branches. A scream rewarded him; an enemy lookout toppled from his perch and lay writhing until an archer dispatched him with a knife.
The heavy thud of many horses on the move reached the Warlord over the noise of his warriors clearing the willow grove of enemies. Sargos jerked his horse around and drew his last javelin from its leather bucket next to his right stirrup. His household guards followed suit, and the whole band streamed at a canter around the left side of the grove. He had left the warwagons behind with the reserve, three thousand heavy lancers-mostly hillmen, and six hundred chariots that were as useful on these muddy fields as udders on an ox. Warchief Vanar Halgoth and his Raven Cult berserkers were beating upon their shields and screaming taunts into the air. Althea and Headman Jardar Hyphos were on the move with twelve thousand light archers, most armed with horn bows and leather armor. Sargos didn't hold them in high regard, since they were as wheat before Kalvan's steel scythe of iron hats and cannon, or fire tubes as the tribesmen called them.
Ah, would that I had men to be my eyes and ears on parts of the field I cannot reach myself. Such is Kalvan's way, or so the prisoners have told us. Yet how could they reach me, in the midst of my foes, to bear their messages? To remain in the rear, merely so that I may know more-that is a coward's way and no warrior would follow me.
A contrary voice in Sargos' mind muttered, Kalvan leads that way, as often as not, and who says that those who follow him are not warriors? Enough of your warriors are with Wind after meeting them!
Clear of the willows, Sargos reined in and stared in disbelief. Riding down the hill in the enemy's center moved two mighty bands of armored horsemen, like vast steel-scaled serpents. Toward the head of each band floated banners, the red and white colors of King Nestros and the maroon and green of King Kalvan.
So Kalvan will take his chance of joining the spirits today? Well and good.
As Sargos prepared to charge, he saw Althea riding up to him shouting, "There you are!"
Sargos smiled and lifted his arms. "To victory, or to death!"
"If you don't wait until my archers arrive, it will be death from my bow!"
Sargos gave Althea a smile that forced her to sit back in her saddle. "Now, you will have your chance to proof your archers, my dear. They will test their mettle on Kalvan's armor."
Althea put her hand up holding a short arrow with a wedge point. "These barbs have been tested against the Black Knights! Now let Kalvan choke upon them."
Sargos laughed! "If I should die today, we will meet again in the Hall of Heroes!"
Althea leaned over and bussed him on the cheek, saying, "Together, my hero. If you fall, I will die avenging you!"
Before Sargos could reply, Headman Hyphos rode up at the head of a small army of mounted archers. He waved his spear. Sargos called Hyphos over, "The Kings are coming. Let us join them. If Kalvan falls, his army will die!" Sargos knew that statement was true with a certainty that told him it had been delivered by the gods.
Ranjar Sargos stood tall in his stirrups. "Hyphos, send the archers to the flank. Sting them good! Halgoth tell your berserks to follow me. Ikkos and Trancyles, ride like the wind and bring in all the warriors Chiefs Ruflos and Egthrad can spare! Tell Warchief Ulldar it's time to use the reserve."
"The chariots, too?"
"Yes. Let Kalvan's iron hats break their teeth upon them."
The two were young men on fresh horses; they vanished in a spray of mud clods. Sargos drew his sword and adjusted his throat guard, his one piece of armor that was metal all through instead of metal over leather. Althea waved as she rode off with her small army of archers. Headman Hyphos was just there for those hardheads who could not accept having to take orders from a woman-already, as Althea proved her prowess with the bow and as a commander, they grew fewer and fewer in number until now it was truly her command.
Sargos' sword hummed over his head as he whirled it. The day was too overcast for sunlight to shine on it, but those close by saw it and heard it humming. Their shouts told others what was happening, and the war cries rose until they seemed a solid wall across the front of the advancing foe.
Then Sargos made a quick prayer to the Raven Hag, lowered his sword and spurred his horse through the thicket. Behind him came the thunder of thousands of charging horses. A moment later he broke through the hedge and onto a rise, where he surprised a troop of Rathoni iron hats. One lifted a poleax and before he could strike, Sargos' sword buried itself in his armpit, where the chainmail armor was most vulnerable. The axeman lost his balance, bleeding profusely, and dropped both poleax and reins. Sargos slashed his sword at the horses' neck, opening a long scarlet wound; the horse bucked off its rider and knocked into two more horses. The iron hat was lost in the churning hooves.
Moments later the archer vanguard was by his side, sowing death and confusion among the Rathoni iron hats. At this close range, their arrows went through the Rathoni chainmail armor like cheesecloth. "Red!" he cried. One-Eyed Red, splattered with blood, but uninjured, rushed to his side.
"Warlord?"
"I've got a message for Althea. Tell her to ride right up to our foes before they fire. If they'll hold their formation and fire at twenty rods, they can cripple Kalvan's flank!"
One-Eyed Red nodded, pumped his arm, turned his mount and rode away.