Robert Hughes - The Power and the Prophet

“I only hope it may be cheaply won. Today!” Erri announced. “I pray that every Lamathian might prove a coward— and thus survive!”

At that moment the warriors of Lamath launched their attack on the unsuspecting Chaon flank. As their blue capes furled brilliantly behind them, they looked anything but cowardly.

General Joss was no novice. He had not expected an attack from the Northmouth, but he wasn’t entirely unprepared for it. That was, after all, the way to Lamath, and he’d given most of his adult life to battling blue-clad warriors. Had the blue riders kept silent as they started their charge, they would have met less resistance; for, while the snow slowed their mounts, it muffled the sound of their hoofbeats as well. The Dragonfaithers, however, roared out their battle cry. It warned Joss in time to turn his flank to meet them.

Without hesitating, he launched a counterattack. He sent his vanguard of riders directly into the Lamathians, breaking their charge and providing time to form the infantry into phalanxes. At the moment he had far more warriors in the pass than did his opposition. If he could succeed in walling off the remainder of the blue army, he might quickly rout them. The irony of this encounter flicked through his mind; at long last he was meeting his ancestral enemy with a fully outfitted army, yet the tight squeeze of Dragonsgate would permit less than a tenth of his force to participate. He’d made his reputation fighting border skirmishes and longing for a pitched battle on an open field. By the choice of the enemy commander, this was yet another border skirmish, and no one had more experience at such than Joss.

With his phalanxes formed, he sent one rushing forward to plug the gap, then closed the others behind it.

Only then did he wheel his horse to check the location of his queen.

Half of Joss’s riders always led the march. It was this vanguard that now meleed the attacking Lamathians. The other half always brought up the rear, protecting against surprise attacks from behind.

He’d positioned Bronwynn in this rear guard. He could see now that, just as he’d expected, she was struggling to get around the foot-soldiers and ride to the center of the action. He quickly formed another phalanx to block the Southmouth off from the rest of the pass and commanded the remainder of the column to remain stationary. Then he withdrew behind the line and waited for the queen to reach him.

“Who is it? What’s happening?” Bronwynn shouted angrily as she galloped up beside him. The line of warriors closed tightly before them and drew taut across the Southmouth. Though they faced the battlefield, the general’s primary purpose for them at the moment was to keep the Queen from racing into the fray. Joss had no doubt she’d do it if she could get through.

“We’ve been attacked by Lamath, my Lady,” Joss responded calmly. “As yet there’s no cause for alarm.

We’re better deployed than they. I think they expected to surprise us, but they mistimed their charge.

They’ve lost that advantage now.” Joss understated the case. In fact, the Lamathian assault had already been repulsed. The clash of armies and the screams of the dying distracted Bronwynn. She clapped her hands over her ears. Joss had long ago learned to block out those chaotic noises and he gazed unflinchingly at the section of heaviest fighting. The blue line was bending backward. Then it broke with surprising speed as three of Lamath’s most stalwart attackers were abruptly cut from their saddles. Joss said nothing, but he did permit himself a smile. That clinched it. He was certain the battle was won.

And it would have been, except for the dragon. From high in the sky there came a shriek that iced the blood. Thousands of heads jerked upward to watch the twi-beast come plummeting downward, and the battle, clearly won a moment before, was suddenly clearly lost. A thunderous roar rose up through the canyon, the battlecry of the host of Lamath, still hidden beyond the cliffs. The wall of blue riders reformed, then redoubled its attack, and terrorized Chaons fled before it.

“My Lady, ride to the rear,” Joss told Bronwynn firmly. He now unsheathed his own sword, prepared to die defending her escape.

“Command your army, Joss!” Bronwynn spat. “Don’t try commanding me!” The young woman rose up out of her saddle, standing in her stirrups as she faced her panicked host. “It’s a lie!” she screamed. “The dragon is dead! This is the trick of a shaped”

The noise in the pass was incredible. Few, if any, of her warriors could actually make out her words. But the sight of their golden-mailed queen shaking her sword at the dragon shamed her men into turning around. Once again, that small part of the Golden Throng who were actually engaged in combat faced the enemy.

Bronwynn had rallied them; now Joss sought to direct them. That was no easy task. Ranks were broken. The footing, already treacherous due to the snow, was growing more so with the bodies of the fallen. He did what he could, but not without an added touch of personal bitterness. They might win yet, he thought to himself, but now it would not be his victory.

Bronwynn cheered with pride at the effects of her words. She shouted encouragement at the top of her lungs. But then she began to notice various golden warriors turning back to look at her expectantly. The awesome weight of her new reputation dropped upon her once again. Of course! They expected her to win the battle for them!

The dragon had not ceased its horrid screeching. It had passed down the long incline, petrifying Bronwynn’s rear guard. Now it swooped back up the same route, flying low, causing rank after rank of golden warriors to collapse on their faces in fear. Bronwynn wheeled her horse around to meet it, her face a mask of rage that hid the uncertainty of her heart. It wasn’t that she feared this onrushing illusion.

She feared instead trying to shape—and finding that she lacked the power.

Her hesitancy sealed her failure. The twi-beast shrieked up into her face, and she threw herself backward off her horse. She fell in the snow uninjured, but to her watching host it appeared she’d been knocked from her saddle. The results were calamitous. The tide of battle turned again.

From their vantage point high above the action, Erri, Pelmen, and Serphimera watched the lines surging from one side of the pass to the other. Erri soon shouted himself hoarse and was reduced to whispering anxious comments. They had all been cheered by the Golden Throng’s initial resistance, but no one was surprised by the dragon’s appearance nor its predictable consequences. While it was hard to make out individuals from this distance, Erri thought he could pinpoint Bronwynn, and had cackled when the tiny figure’s challenging gestures had

rallied her forces together. His eyes were still on her when the dragon-shape flashed back over her head.

Like most of her army, he thought it had knocked her sprawling. “It knocked her off!” he rasped in shock. “The beast is substantial after all; it knocked her off her horse! Pelmen you must… Pelmen?” Erri looked around in vain, but the shaper was gone. He followed Serphimera’s pointing finger and saw a falcon diving into the fray.

Pelmen didn’t fly directly for the dragon. That would come later, when he had the attention of the combatants. It was necessary first to grab their attention, and he did so by flying to Bronwynn. The warriors who clustered around their dazed queen jumped back in amazement when a man dropped suddenly from the sky and kneeled beside her. Pelmen ignored them. “Are you all right?” he asked her quickly.

Bronwynn’s eyes widened. “Pelmen? You’re here?”

“Answer me,” he demanded curtly.

“I’m fine!” she blurted out.