A Time of Exile - Katharine Kerr [67]
“Savages, these people. That’s all I can say. Howling savages.”
“Look.” Cinvan pointed uphill. “There’s some more men, running into position, but they’re not swordsmen. Oh, ye gods, they’re carrying bows.”
“So what?”
All this time, the army had been traveling forward, a little faster now, the men pressing their horses to close the line and bunch together into a tight formation. Cinvan saw silver wink as Tieryn Melaudd blew his horn for his men to draw swords and ride ready to charge. Up ahead the elven line held steady, waiting, the swordsmen rock-still as the horsemen trotted forward, and forward again, until they were only some hundred yards from the mouth of the crescent. All at once a distant voice cried out in Elvish; at the signal it seemed that a wind swept through the waiting Westfolk and made the line shudder in a long flex like grass before a storm. Bows swung up, arrow points winked and glittered, there was a sound, a rushy hiss, a whistle, a flutter, as over a hundred cloth-yard arrows arced up high, then plunged down at full force into the mail-clad riders and their unarmored horses.
Screams burst out as horses reared and staggered, and men fell, some bucked off, others stabbed and bleeding right through their mail. Again came the hiss and rush of death; Lord Dovyn’s horn blew in a long sob for a charge, then cut off in mid-wail as a third rain stabbed into the ranks. Horses were panicking, and worse yet, Ming; charging was impossible as the dead or merely wounded bodies of men and beasts alike began to litter, then block the road. Carrying an empty, blood-streaked saddle, young Lord Dovyn’s horse burst free of the mob at the van and staggered uphill. Again the arrows, ever again—screaming out every foul oath he knew, Cinvan tried to force his horse through the mob by sheer will to reach the wounded tieryn’s side. All around him riders were trying to break free, to turn out to go up the hill or splash through the shallow edge of the lake, but inexorably behind came the press of their own allies, who could see nothing of the slaughter ahead, who only knew by the sound of things that the Bear clan was in danger and who out of sheer force of a deadly honor were rushing forward to join the battle and thus to trap the men they were trying to save.
Again the arrows, again and again, and now the Westfolk were cheering and screaming. As he reached the front rank and caught up with Melaudd, Cinvan saw that the women he’d so despised were archers, too, raining death down as hard as their men as they aimed at the exposed positions to the flanks. He wanted to weep—there was no time—the sword in his hand was useless—he went on cursing as the arrows came flying, again and again and again.
“Cinno! They’re trying to desert us!” Garedd yelled. “The allies! They’re pulling back!”
Cinvan turned his head to shout an answer just in time to see Garedd die, spitted through the chest by a broad-head arrow that snapped the rings of his mail front and back. With a cough and bubble of blood he fell sideways, only to be trampled by the horses of other Bearsmen as they desperately tried to turn and flee. Hissing and whistling, the deadly rain came again. Cinvan’s horse screamed and reared, kicking, as hard iron grazed its flank, but it came down able to stand. Silver horns rang out: retreat, retreat! in a blare of hysteria. Still untouched, Cinvan wrenched his horse around and kicked it into one last burst of gallop. He could see Tieryn Melaudd’s broad back just ahead and followed it blindly, unthinkingly, right into the shallow water at the lake edge. Behind him he could hear a few more men cursing and yelling as they splashed after to skirt the battle and turn round the archers’ position.
“To their camp!” Melaudd screamed. “Trample it! Vengeance! To their camp!”
Then the tieryn laughed, a madman’s howl, a keen of grief, equally mad. Out of loyalty alone Cinvan followed his lord while his mind screamed against the dishonor of such a low trick.
As best he could with his left hand, Aderyn was organizing