about that now. Ahead, the remaining riders were clearing—the dussieh-riders toward Sasha's line, the Hadryn back toward the north. There was indeed a Hadryn line forming…yet it was disorganised and chaotic, stretching wide across the fields and fractured in places. It was blocked by wheeling mobs of riders and appeared to be mostly comprised of infantry in the middle. Here was a chance, but it was quickly fading. They had to form up fast. Too long, and the Hadryn defensive line would become an impenetrable wall of armoured men and cavalry, against which her exhausted, lighter cavalry would dash themselves like waves upon a cliff.
She stood in her stirrups and half-turned. “Through the centre!” she yelled. “Get those infantry! Split them down the middle and they'll run like sheep!”
Officers repeated the order, and yells echoed further out toward the flanks. Sasha waited for three repeats, and charged. Peg heaved himself tiredly into a gallop, great limbs now heavy where they had once been sprightly. There was fear in his every sinew, his eyes rolling, his ears far back …and yet he ran straight toward that shield-fronted line that bristled with sharp things that cut, simply because she asked him to. Sasha loved him as much at that moment as she had ever loved anything.
A sudden burst of wind tore across the fields, whipping the grain ahead of the racing line. It howled into the Hadryn, as horses whinnied and reared, and the front ranks of infantry hid their heads behind their shields to keep the swirling debris of hoof-torn grain from their eyes. The Hadryn cavalry tried to charge, uneven and ragged. The infantry stood firm, crouched behind their shields. Suddenly the air was full of whistling arrowfire, men and horses to the flanks and rear falling. The shields raced closer, a wall like any fence, and Peg simply leapt, straight over their heads.
He came down in their midst, men trying to scatter, hooves plowing into bodies as soldiers were flung spinning like tops on all sides, others diving flat for cover…Peg lost balance as he tried to gather, front legs flailing as he hit another several men, Sasha riding the saddle down with a desperate grip. He hit and rolled with incredible force, Sasha felt herself flying, colliding with something hard, then rolling instinctively with arms over her head as the forest of hooves descended upon her with an earth-shaking roar. Hooves struck near, steel met steel, and then flesh, a body falling, spattering her with blood.
She risked a look up as the rear of her formation cut through what infantry remained standing. She could not see Peg—a relief, since he was not lying dead or wounded, but a concern, as she was now more or less alone, and afoot, with enemy all around. She stumbled to her feet, gasping at the pain of her left shoulder. There were bodies lying about, some still moving, limbs broken from impacts, or mail torn by blades. Some were running, trying to reform in small groups, others picking themselves up off the ground, as the battle continued all around.
An infantryman came at her from the side—shield and spear. She saw the unusual combination with disdain, knocking the thrust aside and reversing for the wielder's head. The shield intervened, but her serrin steel cut halfway through the wood, meeting the helm with force enough to knock him over. Her shoulder blazed with pain, but another two were coming at her…a straggling dussieh-rider cut one down from behind, reining about as he realised who was in trouble. Sasha feinted the remaining man, danced back as he slashed at her, took his sword arm on the down stroke, and tore him open with the reverse.
There were horses racing through now, hurdling bodies, Hadryn and rebels in mutual pursuit. Terel came galloping, sending an infantryman spinning with a flashing blade, a Falcon Guardsman riding wide to guard his approach. Sasha switched the blade to her left hand, indicating she wished him on the right—but Terel pointed urgently behind her. She spun and saw a pair of Hadryn cavalrymen charging straight for her.
She feinted left, then dove right across the leader's path, rolling under his whistling blade as he somehow made that backhand reverse with amazing skill…and came to a crouch directly in the second rider's line. She swung, falling backward as blade met blade in defence…the shock nearly tore the weapon from her hands, no sooner falling than Terel met that man in full charge and