Брайан Макклеллан - Wrath of Empire

Gustar nodded. “Unless we intervene soon, the smart option is to head around to the south and be past them by tomorrow night. They’ll be too busy securing the city to chase us – and they’ve only got a few hundred cavalry anyway.”

Styke twirled his lancers’ ring, considering. There was a lot of smoke rising from the southern suburbs, but the northern half of the city was still untouched and full of people he could save. “I don’t want to leave an enemy behind us,” he said. “The Dynize already have Swinshire. If we let them take Bellport, we’ll be completely cut off on the Hammer.”

To his surprise, Gustar smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that. Hit ’em from the rear and they won’t see what’s coming. I’m only worried about the Privileged. We don’t have a powder mage to put a bullet in their head.”

Styke handed Gustar back his looking glass. “Leave the Privileged to me.”

The Mad Lancers swung south, using the hills beyond the floodplain as cover and coming up directly behind the Dynize position to slam into their supply train at a gallop. Styke gave the order to keep formation tight and only slow enough to kill anyone who raised a weapon. Then they came over the hills and found themselves less than a hundred yards from the rear lines of the enemy infantry.

Styke paused long enough to assess the situation, and was surprised to find Ka-poel riding up to him through the chaos they’d left of the Dynize train.

“You need to be back with our reserves,” he said. “Find Sunin and Celine. Stay with them.”

Ka-poel shook her head emphatically and showed him her slate. Enemy bone-eye.

Styke inhaled sharply. He was familiar enough with Privileged to know when to show caution and when to charge. But he was not familiar with bone-eyes beyond the ones in Landfall who’d kept the Dynize lines from breaking. “Will they be dangerous to our men?”

Ka-poel shrugged and spread her arms. I don’t know.

Styke ground his teeth. “All right, change of plans. You’re coming with me. Stay on horseback and stay close. We’re going to kill the Privileged first, then run down the bone-eye.” He flipped his reins and raced to the edge of the hilltop, where the Mad Lancers had just finished spreading out into a line formation. The old lancers were on the left flank, led by Ibana, with the Riflejacks on the center and right, Gustar out on their wing. New recruits were mixed in equally.

Styke rode past the old lancers and pointed. “Gamble, Jackal, Chraston, Ferlisia. Bring your boys and follow me. We have a Privileged to kill.”

Styke took command of the center with about two dozen of the old lancers directly behind him and Ka-poel at his side. Down on the floodplains some of the Dynize infantry had just noticed them and were desperately trying to get the attention of their officers.

“Send ’em to the pit!” Styke roared.

Amrec leapt forward. They galloped down the hill, flying over the soft grass and leveling out on the plain. Mere seconds passed before he drew his carbine, fired off a shot, then exchanged the weapon for his lance. Carbine blasts went off all around him, and the Dynize lines turned in a panic, attempting to fix their bayonets.

They were too late.

The tip of Styke’s lance tore through a woman’s shoulder as she tried to raise her musket, and her companion fell beneath Amrec’s hooves a split second later. The sound of the line being trampled beneath iron-shod hooves made Styke’s heart sing, and he dug his knees into Amrec’s sides.

They were through the rear lines in moments. Styke raised his lance, gesturing for the old lancers he’d set aside to follow him as he slowed and cut sharply mere yards behind his own left flank. Amrec leapt the bodies of crushed Dynize soldiers, and they swung out wide, beyond the lines of Dynize infantry that began to organize as the charge faltered.

Styke checked over his shoulder to see if Ka-poel was still with him, only to find her at his side. Her horse foamed at the mouth from the hard run, and her brow was furrowed with concentration.

“The trick to killing a Privileged,” Styke shouted to her, “is to take them by surprise. Privileged are just like any other fool – in the middle of the battle they get tunnel vision. Any minute now someone is going to turn him away from his bombardment and direct him at the lancers. Our goal is to reach him before –”

Styke’s words were cut off by a sudden jet of flame shooting across the battlefield. It was startlingly close and heading toward the Mad Lancer line where Styke had been mere moments before. Dynize and cavalry alike were consumed, and the air was filled with the screams of men and horses and the sickening smell of charred flesh.

“Before that happens!” Styke finished, sawing hard on the reins and directing his small squad of lancers back into the chaotic line of Dynize soldiers. They plowed the poor bastards down with the force of their charge, not even bothering to lower their lances. Styke caught the scent of brimstone on the wind and followed his nose. He soon saw the flash of white gloves among the teal uniforms and shiny breastplates. “Lances!” he bellowed.

His small entourage sprang into a V formation, lances lowering. The Privileged’s bodyguard was turned toward the main attack, and they didn’t see Styke’s flanking maneuver until the last moment. The sound of horses hitting soldiers was an audible crack, and Styke saw a gloved hand flash upward and wave toward him.

His lance struck the Privileged in the left eye and came out the back of his skull, tearing the entire side of his face off as Styke’s momentum carried him onward. Styke whooped loudly, laughing as blood spattered across his stolen breastplate and Amrec’s mane. “Where is the bone-eye?” he shouted at Ka-poel.

Ka-poel’s horse suddenly leapt out in front of Amrec, and Styke found himself following her as she clung closely to her horse’s neck, weaving the creature expertly through lines of confused soldiers. He could smell the copper of her sorcery, trying to differentiate it from the other bone-eye’s, but soon realized that he shouldn’t have bothered.

Still clinging closely to her horse, Ka-poel drew a machete with one hand and leaned down, letting her speed carry the blade into the back of a woman’s neck. The woman spun, blood spurting, and fell to the ground with a cry. Ka-poel immediately jerked back on the reins, and Styke had to do the same to keep from plowing into her. She leapt from her horse and straddled the woman, finishing the job with two blows from her machete.

The Dynize soldiers, who until now had been confused but not disorganized, broke with a suddenness that shocked Styke. They began to run immediately, throwing down their weapons and fleeing. Styke drew his sword and laid about him until there was nothing else to swing at, then took a moment to breathe.

Cleaning the blood from his face, he watched as the Mad Lancers crushed the Dynize against the river.

“Two hundred of ours dead,” Ibana reported. “Twice that many again wounded.”

Styke nodded at the number, pleased. He sat astride Amrec, flanked by Ibana and Gustar while the lancers mopped up what remained of the Dynize forces. As he’d expected, killing the Privileged had been as simple as flanking the bodyguard. So few people were brave enough – or stupid enough – to charge directly at a Privileged that it was surprisingly easy to take them unaware.

The bone-eye, however, had been the breaking force. He remembered that particular sorcery from Landfall, how the Dynize had been impossible to break until enough of their bone-eyes had died. Their will had shattered with the same suddenness here.

“You know,” he said to Ibana, “the Dynize at Windy River didn’t break like this. They were tough bastards, even after Flint put them through the grinder.”