Deathwings!
“Ware!” Thenalakti suddenly shouted from across the column.
Horns blew, taking up the warning call. With the precision of a dance, the Elven army stopped and deployed for battle.
Suddenly Kellen could see all of it, spread out before him like the markings on a map. The Deathwings above, and the coldwarg packs heading for the army, preparing to strike the column at several places at once under cover of the growing storm. Thenalakti, Duarmel, and Shunendar were on the far side. He couldn’t reach them. But he, Keirasti, and Churashil were here, and the flanking units became skirmishing units when the call to battle was given.
“Coldwarg,” he said to Ciltesse. “They’ll go for the unicorns first.” He stood in his stirrups and drew his sword, making himself as visible as he could. “Skirmishers! To me!”
—«♦»—
THIRTY mounted Knights pounded up the line. They were ninety by the time they reached the head of the line, and Kellen saw his first coldwarg in the flesh. The creatures were nearly the size of a unicorn. Their remote ancestors might have been wolves, but wolf was only a small part of their nature now. They carried their heads low, their thick necks and heavy shoulder-hump of muscle giving killing power to the enormous jaws that could crush a limb—or a neck— with one bite. Their silvery fur was faintly dappled, giving them perfect winter camouflage, and their thick wide paws were perfectly adapted for running over snow. They were the ultimate predator, and the pack sweeping toward Petariel and the others outnumbered the Unicorn Knights three to one.
Kellen swore softly to himself, seeing the perfection of the trap. The unicorns could not retreat to the safety of the army, and they could not outrun the pack.
People will die here.
It was Kellen’s last private thought.
“Archers!” he shouted. “Keirasti! Churashil! Split them up!”
Suddenly the air was filled with arrows. He’d seen Jermayan drop an ice-tiger in seconds with the deadly Elven bow, but though every arrow found its mark in a coldwarg body, the arrows barely seemed to inconvenience the monsters.
They did, however, make the coldwarg aware that Kellen’s force had arrived. Half the pack split off from attacking Petariel’s knights and came for Kellen’s, flowing over the snow toward them like a ripple of wind.
The skirmishers could expect no assistance from the main body of the army. Kellen could sense that it had problems of its own. Ancaladar and Jermayan weren’t able to stop all the Deathwings. Some of them were getting through. And not all the coldwarg were going after the unicorns.
Chursashil and Keirasti had split off. Keirasti drove past him, heading for the coldwarg that had nearly reached Petariel’s force.
Kellen and Churashil drove into the other pack side by side. The Elvensteel-shod hooves of their destriers plowed the shattered bodies of the coldwarg that hadn’t moved fast enough to escape into red ruin beneath them.
But it wasn’t enough.
The horses grunted as they wheeled, presenting tight walls of hooves and armor to the pack. It was the traditional defense against coldwarg, but defense would not serve the Elves this day. The moment the Knights had taken their position and braced for attack, the coldwarg facing them turned away and took off to resume the assault upon the unicorns once more.
Follow, and they were vulnerable. Yet there was no choice. Kellen spurred Mindaerel to the attack once more.
As soon as they left the safety of close formation, the coldwarg turned back and attacked.
It became a deadly dance over the snow. Through his battle-sight, Kellen was aware that Thenalakti, Duarmel, and Shunendar had joined him, but the other commanders were as handicapped as he was by the coldwarg’s tactics. The beasts would not stand and fight the skirmishers, and when the cavalry gave chase, they were easy prey. All around him he could hear the shouts of Elves and the screams of horses.
Despite their best efforts, the Elves were too spread out. Every time they tried to regroup, the coldwarg went after the unicorns again. The Unicorn Knights were clustered together, but the rest of the skirmishers, Kellen included, were scattered by now in a wide ring around them. He could see it as clearly as if he sat upon Ancaladar’s back. And the coldwarg were taking every advantage of that, scattering them further.
He had to make them come to him.
“Shalkan!” Oh, please don’t let Shalkan be dead; I don’t think I could stand it—
“Kellen.” The unicorn appeared out of nowhere. He was red with blood; he looked as if he’d been bathing in it. But he was alive. Why hadn’t Kellen made him wear his armor? He’d make him wear it every day from now on; he swore it.
“I’m going to form square around the unicorns. Make them stand when I do.”
“They won’t—” Shalkan began.
“Make them.”
Shalkan sprang away. A coldwarg leaped out of concealment in the snow and bounded after Shalkan. Without a thought Kellen sent Mindaerel after it, sword poised to strike. A single downward blow severed the creature’s spine.
For a moment he had a breathing space. He looked around, unable to see anyone he recognized. Where was Keirasti? Where was Thenalakti?
“Square!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, unable to tell if anyone could hear him. “Square around the unicorns! Skirmishers!”
On the fields of Ondoladeshiron he’d seen the Elven Knights practicing their maneuvers and thought of those maneuvers as only a pretty dance, useless in the war they were about to fight.
Today Kellen learned differently.
All about him on the battlefield, a ripple seemed to move through the Elven Knights as the order was passed. They moved as the fingers of one hand, fighting through their separate retreats to execute the order Kellen had given. He urged Mindaerel down into the fray, closing up with the Knights to either side.
Slowly, bloodily, the square formed. The Knights fought for every inch of ground. The pack seemed to sense what was happening, and tried to drive through the gaps in the forming lines, but at last the monsters were fighting on the Elves’ terms. They met a wall of steel and sword and hoof, and at last the impenetrable square closed around the Unicorn Knights.
“Is everyone—” Kellen began.
“Oh, Leaf and Star.” Beside him, Duarmel’s voice was flat with despair.
Kellen looked. His heart sank.
Across the battlefield, he saw Keirasti riding toward them, her mare running flat-out. Petariel was behind her in the saddle. Limping along beside the mare on three legs, her top speed now only that of the mare’s, was Gesade.
There was no hope. Gesade must have been wounded, Keirasti had stopped to cover her retreat. And now the three of them were going to die in sight of sanctuary, because if Kellen broke the square to send out a rescue party, the cold-warg would take more of them, not just his friends.
The coldwarg circling the square saw them in the same instant.
“Archers, fire,” Kellen said, his voice rough. “Everyone, hold steady.”
He had no spells that would stop a coldwarg pack. Jermayan did, he was sure, but Jermayan wasn’t here.
But he was a Knight-Mage.
“Duarmel, take command. Hold them.” He gathered up Mindaerel’s reins.
“Take me. I’m faster.” Shalkan was suddenly at his side.
Kellen didn’t question how Shalkan knew what he was going to do, or what it cost the unicorn to stand so calmly among the knights. He flung himself from Mindaerel’s back to Shalkan’s, and with a bound, they were away.
Shalkan flew over the snow like a blast of wind. Kellen barely noticed that he had no trouble keeping his balance on Shalkan’s bare back. The Elven arrows flew all around them, but despite the wind and the snow, Kellen knew that none of the shafts would strike Shalkan.
The coldwarg were not hurrying as they loped toward their prey. The death of their victims was certain, and they would savor the fear before the kill. Though some fell to arrows, the others did not slacken. It would only take one or two to accomplish the kill.