Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [110]
Then he saw the enemy riders, silvery force astride their white mounts, riding over the crest of the hill to meet the Bloodriders’ charge.
“Ah,” he chuckled to himself. “They ride forward to bring on their deaths that much more quickly.”
And he paused for a minute to watch the fight.
*****
Aileen, lying in the grass at the crest of Freeman’s Down, saw the Bloodriders break into the field. She waited only long enough to ascertain the direction of the charge, and then scuttled to Osprey. The mare grazed patiently a dozen yards downhill of her mistress.
The sister knight scout sprang to her saddle as the horse broke into a gallop. She cut several circles in the air with her sword, and the rest of the company, already mounted, charged up the hill toward her at the signal. Aileen shed her tunic of brown and green, and seized the lance she had thrust into the ground. In another second, she fell into her position on the left flank.
The Sisters of Synnoria charged in brilliant formation. The great white horses cantered gracefully, a precise six feet apart. The line of twenty silver lances, gleaming righteously, the knights held aloft. From the tip of each, the gaily colored pennants still trailed into the air.
The knights rode with visors down, metal armor gleaming. Each matched the movement of the others so exactly that they might have been one knight and nineteen shadows.
Laric, leading the charge of the Bloodriders, saw the pennants, and then the silver lances, arise from behind the crest of the hill, and he knew that the riders would follow. His cracked and bloody lips moistened at the thought of the one he sought. The horsemen thundered on, each Rider grimly silent atop his snorting, pounding steed. They did not alter their course, but thundered directly toward the oncoming horsewomen.
The savage fighting along the ditch faded slightly, and then paused, as northmen and Ffolk alike turned to watch the clash of the mounted riders.
The breastplates and faceplates of the horses, and the armor of the sisters, all gleamed flawlessly in the sun, casting long shadows across the rolling down. Sharp, hot reflections of silver flickered like beacons over the rest of the battlefield.
The white horses broke into a gallop as the line rumbled down the gentle slope of Freeman’s Down. The momentum of the steeds built, aided by the weight of metal each horse carried. The Bloodriders had them outnumbered five to one, but the Sisters of Synnoria had the advantage of downhill speed.
As she rode, Aileen felt her lance nestle comfortably beneath her shoulder, and she sighted the tip upon the chest of a leering Bloodrider. The ghoulish figure raised his sword and cracked open his mouth. Then the lance splintered through his chest, breaking his body and slamming him to the ground. Around him, many of his comrades met the same fate – in all, about twenty Bloodriders crashed to the ground in the first instant when the forces met.
The remaining Bloodriders spun their more agile steeds to swarm like sharks around the sisters, hacking with weapons while the black horses kicked and bit. Aileen, alone on the left end of the line, deflected blows from in front and behind her. Her lance became useless in this close combat, but she did not want to drop it.
“Forward!” cried Brigit. “Don’t slow!”
And in seconds the speed of their horses carried the sisters clear of the savage Riders. Aileen, however, felt the searing thrust of cold iron tear her shoulder. Somehow, one of the frightening horsemen, desperate for blood, had stretched out and cut her.
The pain of the wound rushed through her body, blurring her vision and sending the horizon reeling. She felt the world growing black, and she slumped in the deep saddle. Osprey held her place in the line, even as Brigit ordered the company about, while her mistress rode, unknowing, into another charge.
*****
Laric’s blood pounded in ecstasy as he pulled the dripping blade from the wound. His eyes glowed with unearthly fire, and he raised his voice