Don Bassingthwaite - World of traitors

But behind the horse cavalry, they met the cats.

There were no formations for them to evade. The tiger and leopard riders fought as the Valenar did, alone and in clusters. The already-trampled grass became a mass of green and brown as hooves and paws chewed into the ground underneath. Ekhaas watched an elf rider dart close to a hobgoblin, lash out with a scimitar, and wheel away out of sword’s reach. The hobgoblin nudged his tiger mount. The great cat coiled and sprang. Massive claws seized the haunches of fleeing horse and bore it down. The impact flung the elf out of her saddle. A goblin-ridden leopard pounced on her before she could even regain her feet.

The beat of the drums changed again. The infantry companies pressed forward once more, squares altering shape to become blunt-nosed wedges with the brute strength of bugbears at their head. The horse company reformed and drove in behind them.

“We have command of the field!” cried one of the warlords on the hill.

Dagii’s ears pressed flat back against his head. “A blow has been struck,” he growled, “but the battle continues.”

Beyond the foremost of the charging companies, Ekhaas saw one of the Valaes Tairn raise his hand. An orb of violet glass flashed in his grip.

Purple-tinged flames exploded at the head of the nearest Darguul company. Bugbears became writhing torches an instant before dropping. Hobgoblins scattered. The marching wedge cracked like a bone thrown into a fire. With a wild cheer, elves wheeled their horses into the broken company as drums sounded and the Darguuls fought to recover their formation.

Other wizards rode with the elves. Yellow vapors engulfed trees where goblin snipers perched. When they faded, dry leaves and goblins alike lay on the ground beneath. The tiger that Ekhaas had watched bring down a horse fell at the touch of an icy blue ray. Lightning crackled and arced among the spear points of another company. Across the battlefield, flame and frost and lightning ravaged the Darguuls, tearing openings for the Valenar to exploit. Here and there, hobgoblin warcasters responded with blasts of rippling force, but their spells were weak and few-dar were born to war, but elves were born to magic. Lightning-scorched shields parted and a warcaster thrust his staff at an elf wizard. The air shimmered between them, tearing at the elf’s red robes, but he held his ground and responded with a golden bolt that spun the warcaster around and sent him sprawling.

Arrows followed like a swarm of bees, tearing a hole in the Darguul company. Shields closed again, but the damage had been done and the formation was left with a gouge in its side. The company drew itself together, leaving the corpses of the warcaster and half a dozen warriors behind.

The early triumph of dar discipline over elven disarray was gone. In the moments when the battle shifted, Ekhaas could count more Darguul bodies on the churned ground than she could Valenar. Elven skill reasserted itself. Many of the Valaes Tairn had abandoned their horses to engage the hobgoblins on foot. The bristling spears of the surviving squares, so effective in warding off cavalry attacks, were little use against lithe foot soldiers who weaved between the shafts and wedged shields apart with scimitars. Armored squares dissolved into thick knots of hobgoblins fighting back-to-back, sword and shield against whirling scimitars. Though the great cats still stalked the battlefield, the remains of the Darguul horse cavalry had been reduced to a handful of mounted units fighting in shrinking clusters.

At the far edge of the battle, the starry banner of the Sulliel warclan moved into the thick of the fighting.

Dagii bared his teeth and retrieved his helmet, polished as bright as the rest of his armor. “There is no more command,” he said. “When war calls, all fight.” He scanned the three warlords who had stood with him on the command hill, then thumped his chest with his fists.

The warlords straightened like junior warriors on parade and saluted in return, then turned and hurried down the back of the hill. Keraal moved to retrieve the Riis Shaarii’mal, but Dagii shook his head. “No.” He looked at Ekhaas. “Take it when you leave.”

Ekhaas nodded and forced her ears to stand high as she met his gray-eyed gaze. He nodded to her, then slid his helmet over his head. A visor of brass hid the upper half of his face, as if in reverse of veils worn by the Valaes Tairn, and gave him a cold, merciless look.

He turned to the final four warriors on the hill: the command drummer, the command piper, and Biiri and Uukam, the lhurusk who had accompanied them to Tii’ator. “You will protect Ekhaas duur’kala with your lives. Our muut survives with her.”

All four answered together. “Mazo, lhevk’rhu!”

Then Dagii and Keraal were gone, following the warlords down the hill. Ekhaas looked up at the sun. Somehow it had already climbed another handspan and stood now at its zenith, an unblinking witness to the battle.

A voice shouted below. Ekhaas leaned past the earthworks and gazed down. The two companies that had been held in reserve stood straight. The one on the left, marching beneath the standard of an iron fox, moved forward, ready to take to the field. The lines of the other shifted and spread out, a frail bulwark to protect the command hill. From around the side of the hill came the three warlords, Keraal, and Dagii. The warlords were mounted on good horses and Keraal was on his bay once more, but Dagii rode on one of the finest tigers Ekhaas had ever seen. It was enormous, large even for a tiger. Its striped fur shone like fire and brass flashed from the high-cantled saddle strapped across its back. Its eyes didn’t hold the sinister intelligence of Marrow’s, but there was cunning there and a lust for blood. Under Dagii’s guidance, it loped out to take a place at the head of the company.

Dagii raised his sword-then whirled it around his head and let loose a battle cry. “Bring honor to Darguun! Attack! Attack!”

The roar of his tiger nearly drowned out the cry. In an instant, the beast was racing across the battlefield for the nearest cluster of elves. Keraal followed close behind, chain whistling around his head. The warlords and the warriors of the company followed, too, warriors trotting at a pace that ate up the ground, yet kept them in formation. The elves that Dagii had chosen as a target were still just turning when the lhevk’rhu reached them. His sword cut the head from one. The tiger’s claws tore another from his saddle. The weighted end of Keraal’s chain cracked the skull of a third.

Then they were through and plunging on. The dazed survivors they left behind lived only a few moments longer as the company of the Iron Fox rolled over them. Elves turned to meet the new charge like ants drawn to a dollop of honey. In the midst of them came the swallow-tailed banner of stars, and Ekhaas picked out the crystal-set helmet of the high warleader, Seach Torainar. Dagii must have seen the banner, too. He leveled his sword and shouted again, urging his tiger and his followers on.

The cheer that answered him came not just from the Iron Fox Company, but from all the Darguuls surviving on the field. New vigor seemed to flow into them, and they struck back at the elves. Formations drew back together. One piper, then another, and another, then even the command piper beside Ekhaas, began to play a fierce, determined tune.

Ekhaas looked down on the battlefield and clenched her teeth tight. The resurgence was glorious-and almost certainly doomed. Slim scimitars outnumbered heavy swords now. For every two elves that Dagii struck down, three more were ready to meet him.

“He turns muut into atcha,” said Biiri in awe. “If I survive, I will praise him before Lhesh Tariic!”

“Storytellers will chant his name,” said Uukam. He looked at Ekhaas, his ears high. “Stay as long as you can, Ekhaas duur’kala. Witness the end of a hero!”