The Spirit Stone - Katharine Kerr [169]
Some fifty yards from the Gel Da’ Thae front line, the Deverry swordsmen stopped walking to form up ranks as best they could. A few spearmen chuckled at what appeared to be this messy excuse for an army across from them; others took it up; the chuckles blossomed into full-blown howls of laughter when the cavalry joined in. In the midst of their scorn they apparently never noticed the dwarven axemen pivoting off under cover of their taller fellows and heading into the forest to the west.
Gerran heard the men around him muttering in rage, but they held their places as they’d been ordered to do. He himself smiled, just briefly. The Horsekin had made a mistake by enraging the Deverry ranks. Among the enemy sour brass horns sounded. The Horsekin spearmen held their position, but the cavalry began to move forward. Apparently their commander had decided that they might as well charge this disorganized bunch of human bumpkins and Westfolk deer hunters and get the battle over with.
From a distance came the sound of two enormous pairs of wings, beating the air. The cavalry horses tossed up their heads, sniffed the wind, and began to prance and tremble. The Horsekin laughter stopped. Gerran looked up, looked around, and saw the dragons flying up from the south. On the Horsekin side horns sounded again. The spearmen began to close ranks and move forward as the cavalry tried to turn away or back their mounts to the flanks of their army, but they were caught twixt cliff and woodland. The horses were rearing, tossing their heads and fighting for the bit while their riders fought just as hard to control them.
With a roar that split the sky the dragons swooped down in a long arc. The horses went mad, kicking, plunging, throwing their riders, bursting forward into the ranks of the spearmen where they kicked and bit anyone in their way. The spearmen began to curse and yell; some turned out of line to avoid the plunging hooves. Here and there a man screamed as he went down to be crushed by the out of control cavalry. The dragons flew some yards above the spear points of the infantry, swooped up and away, then turned for another plunge down, this time from the north. Some of the mounted men got their horses under control just enough to allow the spearmen to get free of them, but the infantry’s rear ranks had been pushed out of position.
While the dragons were turning, the Westfolk loosed their first volley of arrows. The shafts hissed as they rose into the air, then whistled down in a long arc of death, piercing the cavalry’s mail, striking their unarmored horses. Horses screamed and reared, only to fall, throwing their riders. The Gel da’ Thae spearmen flung up their shields in a well-practised manoeuvre to protect themselves. They’ll be our part of the job, Gerran thought, us and the Mountain Folk.
Over the screaming of Horsekin and the agonized neighing of their horses, brass horns blew desperately, signalling—what? Gerran had no idea, but the riders seemed to be trying to reform their ranks. Unfortunately for them, the dragons had completed their turn. The rain of arrows stopped. The two great wyrms swooped down again and destroyed the last bit of the cavalry’s morale. The few men still horsed gave in to their struggling mounts and let them run downriver. The silver dragon banked sharply, changed direction with a flapping of huge wings, and took off after them, while the black dragon scattered the few horses that remained on the battlefield. She flew too far above the spearmen for them to do more than shake their weapons in her direction.
Over the screams and shouting, Prince Dar’s silver horn sang out. The black dragon swung off and flew up high to let the Westfolk loose flight after flight of arrows. The unhorsed cavalrymen were trying to shelter under their small shields