Kushiel's Chosen - Jacqueline Carey [311]
I know he did not count on the hundreds of unarmed commonfolk.
It was a standoff. The soldiers of the Royal Army were strung in a broad arc across the road and the borderingfields. Our company halted, and Tarren d'Eltoine gave a single command; the Unforgiven responded like a well-oiled machine, pikemen spreading out in a double line to face de Somerville's soldiers, the cavalry bunched behind, poised like an arrow to pierce the Royal Army's lines. We were secure behind them, bolstered on both sides and behind by the Queen's Guard under Lord Trente's command.
Ysandre's herald, who had been chosen no less for his bravery than his ringing voice, made his way to the forefront of the party, bearing a standard from which flew both the Lily and Stars of Elua and his Companions, and the Silver Swan of House Courcel.
"Make way!" he cried, his voice echoing across the shorn fields. "Make way for Ysandre de la Courcel, the Queen of Terre d'Ange!"
There was a pause, and I knew the commander of de Somerville's cavalry was assessing the situation. He could not identify the Queen at that distance, but he could count our numbers and he was no fool. In a moment, he nudged his tall mount forward, wheeling it in the road. "Imposter!" he shouted. "Vile impersonator! We will meet you and your Black Shield traitors at the gates of the City!"
With that he raised one hand and uttered a command, and the outspread wings of the Royal Army cavalry collapsed, folding in upon themselves as they whirled in an ordered retreat, showing us the flying haunches and tails of their mounts. Some of our D'Angeline followers ran after them, yelling, but soon gave up the chase.
"Well," Tarren d'Eltoine remarked thoughtfully. "We know they will be awaiting us."
In a few short hours, he was proved right.
I had not been there in the field, when Drustan mab Necthana, Ghislain de Somerville and Isidore d'Aiglemort assailed the vast might of the Skaldic army with a few thousand men. I had seen it happen, from atop the ramparts of Troyes-le-Mont; still, that was not the same thing. This day, though, I knew how they must have felt. The white walls of the City of Elua gleamed in the distance, and between us and the City lay the whole of the Royal Army. Although the standing army was only four thousand strong, we numbered a mere six hundred, and the odds were much the same.
Percy de Somerville would not make Waldemar Selig's mistake; he kept a portion of his troops in reserve, relentlessly guarding the egresses from the City. If Barquiel L'Envers had the means to mount a counterattack, he would not be given the opportunity.
The bulk of his forces were awaiting us, and they were in such a formation that let us know de Somerville had taken our measure from his cavalry's report, and prepared to meet us. Even as we drew nigh, a row of archers kneeling in the forefront with L'Agnacite longbows loosed a volley.
"Up shields!" Captain d'Eltoine shouted; and up they rose, a wall of black-painted steel warding the skies. It is an old Tiberian tactic and a good one, effective with infantry; it was not designed for use with cavalry. A rain of arrows fell hissing, and I heard the skittering of metal on metal as they glancing off shields, and cries of pain where they found flesh, the awful sound of the wounded horses. Someone nearby was moaning. Peering out from behind Joscelin's arms—for he had leaned over to grab me hard, pulling me half out of the saddle to ward me with both vambraces—I saw a boy of no more than twelve to the side of our column, green with pain as he put an uncomprehending hand to the shaft protruding from his chest. He'd run on ahead, to get a better view.
"Ah, no," I murmured. "Elua, no!"
Ysandre saw it too; her throat moved as she swallowed. It was almost in a whisper