Joel Shepherd - Haven

Both loaders had fled, and he was alone up here and under fire, as arrows zipped in, impaling the wagon. He looked about, and from this vantage of height, saw something shocking. This was the only portion of the artillery defences that had collapsed. Even here, his cavalry were now fighting a losing battle to hold back the teeming tide of infantry that regrouped and charged the far side. Archers peppered them with arrows, and horses were falling. Very soon they would be overwhelmed.

The great torch upon the wagon's rear that lit the final rounds was still in its sconce, and burning. Nearby catapults were still firing, incinerating serrin riders, and the last hope of victory. Jaryd realised what he had to do, for Lenayin and everything that he loved. For Sofy, who would surely die with most of Jahnd if this attack did not succeed.

He grabbed the torch off the wagon's rear and fell flat atop the wagon's storage rails. Below, a hellfire round had been arrow-struck, and was leaking badly. He pushed the torch toward it, and held it there.

“I'm sorry, Sofy,” he murmured. “You can't save me this time. But I can save you.”

His ears were filled with the Goeren-yai war cries of his cavalry around him, battling to grant him more time. They'd be joining him in the spirit world, his brothers-in-arms, and that suited him fine. His last thought, as the fire lit, was of Tarryn.

“Hello, little brother. How've you been?”

The fireball was the brightest thing Damon had ever seen. It pierced the eyes with heat more white than orange, and every serrin on the battlefield turned completely around to save his or her vision. Flames roared through infantry in the middle of the Regent's formation and engulfed a neighbouring catapult, which also erupted. As did the next, and the next, and the next, a chain of fire like a rolling wall, engulfing men by the thousand.

When it died, the battlefield seemed paused, as though in shocked silence. Serrin stood their horses off, blinking and dazed. Across the Regent's army, men stared in disbelief.

Too close together indeed, Damon thought, recalling Kessligh's observation. Far too close. And a second thought, as he realised how many attackers had surely been within range of those fires. Jaryd was one of the best horsemen and warriors in Lenayin, and one of the most determined. Surely he'd been in close. Suddenly, he knew with certainty that his friend was dead. It was a certainty like serrin sometimes had, of things they could not possibly know about each other. He just felt it.

Damon did not cheer in triumph, or salute the bravery of fallen heroes. He gathered as many men as he could, and charged the nearest enemy cavalry he could find. Then he began killing.

Sasha stood on a rooftop in the sprawl of buildings that was the Ilmerhill Valley part of Jahnd. Gazing across the clusters of roofs and streets that separated her from the mouth of the valley, she could see a wall of infantry moving at speed toward her. Tens of thousands of men in armour, yet their formation was broken, as though they were fleeing. Somehow, it had worked. No one down in this valley, far from lines of communication, knew how it had worked. But all had seen the fireballs that had turned night into the brightest of days, and knew that the attackers had lost the majority of their most feared weapons.

The infantry that advanced upon them now behaved exactly like men who had talmaad at their rear, in the dark. Their artillery gone, their centre in flames, their backsides peppered with arrows from the night, they retreated to where they had cover. The city in Ilmerhill Valley, where they could hide behind walls, and talmaad could not see them. But where Lenays and Ilduuris could.

She turned and faced the yard behind. It was an animal yard, leading to a small slaughterhouse. Fitting, she thought darkly. It was crowded with Lenay and Ilduuri infantry. The past hour, they'd been discussing tactics, playing to each others' strengths, here amongst the buildings.

“Listen!” she yelled at them, and they quietened. “They're coming! We know how many they are, but think! Five thousand talmaad attacked and broke through. You've seen how they shoot. A single talmaad can easily kill ten men in a fight. That's fifty thousand. Our enemies retreat here because they're dying out there, by the thousand. They can't fight what they can't see, and what applies to serrin applies to us here as well.

“Their only advantage is numbers. But here, we force them to fight man on man, and numbers mean nothing. Like the talmaad , each of you is worth many of them. Forget tactics. Forget clever games. I want from each of you only one thing. I want blood!”

There was a roar, then fast silence. She had them. “Kill them all! Show them no mercy! You are warriors such as they cannot match without the assistance of numbers, cavalry, and artillery. I want each of you to make a personal tally. I want you to compete with your friends for kills and heads. Remember what they did to our fallen friends! Remember what evil they fight for! Remember what the serrin did to King Leyvaan the Fool and his army, two hundred years ago! They forgot that lesson then! We will teach it to them again!

“I am Synnich-ahn, the most deadly of the ancient spirits, and I want to drown in their blood!”

“Blood!” her army roared. “Blood! Blood! Blood!” They punched the air with their swords. Sasha seethed, drinking it in. She meant every word. She wanted to slaughter, this deadly night. She could feel the ancient spirits in her veins, urging her to more than mortal cravings. It was as though the spirits of all the recently departed were driving her, seeking revenge, wanting this fate that had befallen them to befall their enemies as well.

Aisha saw talmaad cavalry wheeling ahead, though she felt the urge to turn well before she saw the turning. She rushed that way, adjusting her seat upon the saddle, confident her horse could still see in the great glare from behind. The feudal cavalry were closing on big, fast horses, and the serrin line was too disorganised from evading artillery to cut them down in force.

She ran with the main group of talmaad , heading out to the Dhemerhill River as the light upon trees and fields grew dimmer, and shadows darker. She stopped near the bank of the Dhemerhill, as others stopped about her and looked back. Feudal cavalry were slowing now, though she could not see precisely. They appeared to have closed upon the talmaad 's rear ranks, where fighting continued at close range. But now, light from the great fires was fading.

Hellfire burned fast and hot, and would continue to burn for long periods after the first eruption. But that first eruption was by far the brightest and hottest, and the long fire that followed would be dim by comparison. Human cavalry had chased them all the way out here across the fields with blood on their minds, without a thought as to where the light that allowed them that chase was coming from. Now, moment by moment, that light was fading. The shadows were closing in and human riders slowed in concern, horses protesting at shapes in the dark, at trees and stumps and ditches.

Not yet, Aisha thought, walking her horse forward. She could feel a new momentum building, an inexorable tug, as with a large boulder beginning to roll from a high slope. Not yet. Noise from the oncoming charge continued to fade, in concert with the light. Now there were cries from the humans, as they realised their mistake. Calls to regroup, to form into lines. But they could not see each other to make that happen. Not yet.

Suddenly, the urge began to build. Now. Every serrin moved at the same instant. There was no need to move faster than a canter, but suddenly those ahead were filling the night with arrows, and men were screaming. She came across a trail and around some trees, and there they were, feudal cavalry, some knights, some Northern Lenays, milling and ordering and trying to re-form like blind men grasping about in a dark room. Serrin were firing into them on all sides, and they were falling.