Jeff Salyards - Scourge of the Betrayer

At this range, all three of the bolts struck true. Two of the lancers fell from their saddles, badly wounded or dead, and a third held on bravely, despite having a bolt sticking out of his shoulder, though he slowed and fell behind the others.

The remaining riders lowered their lances, while the Syldoon reloaded their crossbows again. However, this time, all three dropped back and moved behind the horses bearing the dead. Though they were hardly harnessed together, the horses didn’t try to flee in separate directions as I anticipated, and kept the same spacing and grouping.

The remaining lancers were almost upon them when the Syldoon loosed their third volley. Another lancer fell from his saddle, raising huge chunks of grass and sod as he hit the ground and rolled to a stop. Another had been struck in the thigh not protected by a shield, though how much his armor did to negate the injury I couldn’t tell, as he rode on. The Syldoon had slowed just enough to let the riderless horses pass them, then fell in behind. Most of the lancers saw that the horses in the middle were bearing only dead men and were roped together and veered away at the last instant to avoid them. One of the lancers either failed to see the ropes or thought perhaps he could charge through them unaccosted. He was wrong. As he rode between two of the horses to spear the Syldoon, his horse attempted to jump the rope. But it caught its front legs and both horse and rider were pulled down as if by an unseen giant’s hand. The two horses bearing the dead were nearly pulled down as well, and the other horses around them tried in vain to race off in a different directions, pulling the ropes tight and slowing the entire group down. One of them reared up and the dead body slung across its saddle toppled backwards, landing in the grass. Then the horses started forward, and it took me a moment to understand why. It had one of the lancer’s spears stuck in its chest and was tossing its head side to side in panic and pain before trying to gallop off, drawing the other uninjured horses behind it.

The Syldoon slowed their mounts just enough to avoid being pulled into the tangle as the remaining lancers swept past on either side, then rode out from behind the chaotic jumble of horses and dead men.

Even from this distance, we could hear the lancer’s horse scream as it attempted to rise, having broken one if not both of its front legs. It fell back to the ground. I’d never heard a horse in so much agony before, and it was truly an awful sound, almost human.

The Syldoon spanned their crossbows again as they rode on. The lancer who’d been shot in the shoulder and fallen behind the charge tried to spear Braylar’s horse, but Braylar got clear and the lancer flew past.

Most of the lancers were turning their mounts and preparing to give chase, but one of them raised his long spear above his head and shouted something. Having gotten the attention of the other riders, he pointed once toward the three Syldoon, and then swept the spear in our direction. Three of the lancers wheeled around and galloped back to join their wounded companion. The other six kept riding for our copse. Everyone around me was leading their horses into the fragile shelter of the trees, but I stayed where I was, transfixed. The Syldoon reloaded their crossbows on the run and were turning to face their pursuers.

The wounded lancer was closest and I saw Mulldoos shoot a bolt into his horse’s neck. The animal collapsed, crashing to the earth. The lancer didn’t roll free and was crushed in the fall as the horse toppled forward in a tangle of limbs.

The other three lancers closed in, and Mulldoos galloped off while Braylar and Vendurro raised their crossbows and loosed again. One of their bolts struck another lancer in the helm. The bolt didn’t penetrate, but it struck solidly before ricocheting into the grass. Vendurro and Braylar split off. The two remaining lancers began to pursue Vendurro, but they realized that in doing so they were exposing their backs to two Syldoon who were quickly reloading their crossbows and they turned and began riding towards us as well.

I jumped and nearly loosed my own crossbow as Hewspear grabbed my arm and told me to get off my horse and retreat into the trees. I hadn’t even heard him ride up. The copse wasn’t nearly as wooded as it had appeared from the lower ground-the trees were only loosely crowded together. The lancers coming for us wouldn’t be able to mount a charge so long as we stayed behind the thin trunks, but they also wouldn’t need to dismount in order to attack. Still, it was the only ground that offered anything in the way of a defensive position, so it was as good a place to mount a stand as any, even if it appeared to be a last stand.

I watched the riders coming up the hill and glanced around quickly. One of the Brunesmen was tying the horses bearing the underpriest and his guard to each other, and then the end of the rope around the closest tree trunk. Lloi and Hewspear were holding their crossbows, though not aiming them yet, and Hewspear had his long slashing spear and another loaded crossbow leaning against a tree alongside him. His face was pale, and he seemed to be in great pain.

Gurdinn was at the front and turned to face us. “Turn your horses sideways at the edge. Keep them there as long as you can. Those bastards ran from rope, they sure as sun will turn from a wall of horse. Make them ride around to get to us. Without speed and flat ground, they’re just bigger targets.” His men laughed, albeit nervously, but I noted Lloi, Xen, and Hewspear didn’t. “Use your shields, use the trees, and stay together.”

He turned and his men maneuvered their horses forward as I heard the lancers pounding towards us. It seemed impossible only six horses could make such a drumming, and I thanked Truth they weren’t riding us down on level, unimpeded ground. If this was the kind of fear a handful of horses could instill in a man on the ground, I didn’t see how even the most stalwart infantry managed to stand firm against a full cavalry charge.

I moved my own horse forward as best I could, fighting the urge to apologize to the beast for using it so callously. Lloi laid her crossbow down and did the same, whispering to it quietly, but Hewspear remained where he was, leaning forward with a hand on one knee, breathing slowly.

One of the Brunesmen yelled something down at the lancers as they started up the hill, and then another one took it up, and finally Gurdinn did as well. Their chant or warcry was a mystery to me. I wanted to yell something in defiance as well, but nothing sprang to mind. The lancers were three hundred paces away, perhaps less, and I wiped one of my hands on my tunic and raised my crossbow, taking aim.

Hewspear said, “Let them come closer. And take a step back from your horse. If it gets jittery and ruins your first shot, you might not get another.”

I looked over at him, and while he was forcing himself to stand perfectly upright, his face was drained of color, and blue veins shone underneath a sheath of sweat, almost glowing.

“After we both loose, hand me the other crossbow, quick as you can, then load yours, quicker still. Can you do that? Did Captain Killcoin show you how to span one?”

I nodded.

“Excellent,” he said. “An excellent skill, that. And as it happens, much more useful than brewing or playing a lute just now. Though I’m partial to a well-played lute. More so a well-brewed brew.” He shocked me with a wink.

I gaped at him, but then he looked down the hill. “Take aim and loose on my word, not before.”

I did as he commanded, wondering how he could be so steady. The lancers were halfway up the hill. I was looking down the length of my bolt at the man and horse a hundred paces away, watching the target grow and grow, shifting the crossbow slightly to track the movement, when I heard Hewspear finally say, “Shoot.”