Only one of the green rockets flew high enough to be seen. That was enough. The cheers from both armies drowned out the trumpeters and captains like a hurricane drowning out a mouse's squeak.
King Nestros was pointing frantically downhill. "There! Behind that hedge! Sargos forms his battle line! We must reach it before he brings up reinforcements."
Nestros couldn't have been in more of a hurry if he'd read Napoleon's maxim, "Ask me for anything but time." Once again he was doing the tactically sound thing, out of a desire to cross swords with an enemy chief.
On his head be it, thought Kalvan.
No, wait a minute. If Nestros gets too far ahead of you, the Trygathi will say their Great King was braver than the Great King of Hos-Hostigos.
"Harmakros!" What would have been a shout under other circumstances was about as audible as a whisper.
The Captain-General reined in beside Kalvan. "Yes, Your Majesty?"
"You stay back here with the mobile command post. I have to charge with Nestros."
"That Dralm Bl-" began Harmakros, who thought better of using his trooper's vocabulary about an allied king, then mock-saluted. "As Your Majesty wishes."
Kalvan started to count off guards to ride with him, then saw Nestros and his heavy cavalry digging in their own spurs. This time Kalvan had to restrain his curses. Instead he signaled his own bannerbearer and dug in his spurs. It was a good thing Rylla wasn't here; she'd never let him forget this charge!
The bannerbearer took the reins in his teeth and drew his sword. Bearing the Great King's banner had been a much safer job than fighting in the front ranks-at least, until today!
V
Sargos jumped his horse over a ditch and turned it, meanwhile drawing his sword. To retreat was cowardly more often than not, but to stand with the men he had would not even slow the enemy. Like the Great River flooding, the enemy horse flowed on as if only the gods could stop them.
Crossbowmen were running up, but the range was still long. At this distance against armored men they would most likely waste their bolts. Against the enemy's horses, perhaps-"Hold your fire! Wait until they're closer and aim for their horses."
"Look, my chief!" Warchief Halgoth was pointing. He had just arrived with a hundred and fifty of his Raven Clan, some of them panting and foaming at the mouth, not six deep breaths ago. "Warlord, the kings offer themselves to the gods!"
It was true. The two royal banners were forging steadily toward the head of the enemy horsemen. Under those banners, Sargos could now see tight bands of splendidly armored cavalry. Their polished and silvered armor glistened under the lances of sunlight than poked out of the dark clouds above. Is this a warning or blessing from the god?
"They offer themselves to us!" Sargos snapped, since the gods refused to give their answer. He tried to quiet his own doubts. Have the kings had an omen, that the gods will give victory if they offer themselves as a sacrifice'?
"Then let us take what is offered," Warchief Vanar Halgoth cried.
Sargos patted his horse's neck and looked about him. The warriors he'd summoned were streaming toward him from all sides. Already the first of the chariots was in sight. Not all would be with him before he had to face the Kings, but the rest would know enough to fling themselves on the foe.
"Hoaaa! Tonight we offer two Kings' heads, to the gods of our land and the spirits of our dead!"