The Golden Steed

Ornilan was throwing his entire army straight at the Pendari capital. Perhaps he did not know that the main Pendari army was lurking off to his right rear. Most of its fifty thousand men and horses were hidden in groves of fruit trees and fields of ripening grain. Most of the men were dismounted, saving their horses. Only a few thousand were mounted, enough to keep the Rojag scouts pushed back.

Or perhaps Ornilan knew and didn't care. Perhaps he couldn't resist this opportunity to get his army within striking distance of the walls of Vilesh without fighting a battle. If Ornilan was that sort of headlong fighter, perhaps there was no need to lure him into the trap prepared for him?

Blade very much wanted to believe that. Around him was only the Pendarnoth's Guard and two army regiments-barely two thousand horsemen in all. He wanted very much to believe that he didn't really have to sit out here on the Golden Steed and wait while five times that many Rojag cavalry advanced on him. But he couldn't let himself be that optimistic. He simply had to wait and see.

Around him also stood ruined cottages, the souvenirs of a Rojag raid two weeks ago. A thousand enemy horsemen had pushed right up to the walls of Vilesh. But when the smoke had cleared away, Blade realized that the Rojags had given him a valuable gift.

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If he was going to be bait, he was going to be tempting bait: Not only was he riding the Golden Steed, he was wearing the ceremonial war garb of the Pendarnoth. There had been no such thing until the night before, when a regiment of craftsmen urged on by Princess Harima had finished their work. Now Blade gleamed and sparkled all over as he sat in the saddle. His high-crested helmet was gilded and burnished, and the metal clasps of his leather armor shone golden. A massive gold buckle set with diamonds held a blue cloak encrusted with gold embroidery around his shoulders. His belt was made of gilded links of fine steel, with a gold buckle almost large enough to armor his stomach and groin. A scabbard of gilded leather held together with gold-headed rivets carried a sword with a jeweled and gilded hilt and gold engraving on the blued steel blade. The inscription read: «THAT THE PENDARNOTH MAY STRIKE DOWN THE ENEMIES OF PENDAR.»

Gilded greaves on his calves, gilded spurs on his boots, gilded bit and bridle and stirrups, gilded rivets holding the high-peaked saddle together-the gold and gilding went on and on. Neither Blade nor the Golden Steed could so much as twitch a muscle without making sun blaze from something golden. Blade hoped he and his mount looked both impressive and tempting. But he had a private, nagging feeling that he merely looked ridiculous.

He would find out shortly. The wall of dust was moving towards him faster now. He could see a dark line more than a mile wide taking shape at its base. The first rank of the Rojag cavalry was coming into sight. They seemed to be heading straight toward him, but there was only one way to make sure they would keep on coming. He nodded to his trumpeter.

Once more the harsh call of Pendari trumpets hammered at Blade's ears. He could never call it a beautiful sound, but it was impressive and inspiring when you were waiting for a battle to begin. All along the line of horses there were flickers of movement and flashes of metal, as two thousand men scrambled into their saddles. At the far end of the line, red smoke mushroomed into the air as a signal flare went off. That told the watchers in Vilesh that the «bait force» was on the move.

More trumpet calls, and the Pendari began to move. Blade urged the Golden Steed forward to keep ahead of the advancing line. He had to show himself in the open, to give the finishing touch to the bait.

Now the Pendari were clear of the ruins and picking up speed. A mile away the dust cloud was slowing down and widening. The Rojags were not coming straight in. They were reforming and extending their flanks. Blade shook his head. He couldn't let them do that. They had to be kept bunched and coming on.

Again Blade turned to the trumpeter. «Blow the charge.» More blarings, and then the sun glinted off lance points as the Pendari swung their lances down into position. The Golden Steed neighed loudly and tossed its head as it gained speed.

Ideally the Pendari should have covered most of the mile to the Rojag lines at a trot, breaking into a gallop only in the last few hundred yards. But none of the men cared about sparing their horses, or anything except getting at the Rojags. They were up to a full gallop within the first few hundred yards, and went thundering toward the enemy. To Blade, it seemed as if a solid wall of hoofbeats and war cries were rolling along just behind him.

As the Pendari charge came down on them, the Rojags stopped and began to bunch together. By the time Blade could make out individual horsemen in the dark line ahead, they were massed solidly, many ranks deep. Then the Pendari charge struck home.

Blade drove his lance into the first man in his path, and had it wrenched out of his hands. He heard an arrow whistle past his ear and suddenly realized that his sword was still in its scabbard. He barely jerked it free in time to parry a Rojag cut at his thigh. Then the Golden Steed crashed into the Rojag's mount and sent it reeling back. The Rojag kept his saddle, but that did not save him as Blade's sword flashed out and split open his skull. Then the Golden Steed was plunging into the solid ranks of the Rojags. Blade laid about him like a madman, using both hands on his sword, letting the Golden Steed go where it would.

The whole Rojag line was heaved back as the main body of the Pendari struck it. A hideous chorus of screaming men and horses rose behind Blade as Pendari lances drove into the Rojags. For a moment Blade and the Golden Steed might as well have been bogged in quicksand. He did not even have room to raise or swing his sword.

Then Pendari trumpets called again, and Blade felt the pressure on the Rojags ease. He slashed at the arm pushing a sword toward him, saw it jump free in a flurry of blood. Then he was digging in his spurs and pulling the Golden Steed's head around. The Pendari would be pulling back now, bringing their bows into play, further maddening the Rojags already stung by the charge. Blade had to get away from the middle of the Rojags before the arrows came down.

He used fists and feet and sword to clear his path, yelling and screaming as he did so. Some of the Rojags died or went down, others simply spurred their horses away from this madman in gold. One man shouted, «The Pendarnoth! The reward! He…» but died in the middle of his shout with Blade's sword smashing in his temple. And no reward could make the Rojags stay within reach of Blade when the fighting madness was on him.

After a minute the blind frenzy died away. He realized that he was almost alone among the scattered front ranks of the Rojags. A hundred yards away the last of the Pendari were disappearing in a cloud of dust. Blade dug his spurs in and the Golden Steed seemed to leap away from the startled Rojags. Weaving and dodging to throw off any Rojag archers, Blade spurred after his comrades at a full gallop. Yard by yard he closed the distance. He was almost up with the rear most Pendari before he looked back over his shoulder. The Rojags were still re-forming, but some of the bolder spirits were starting in pursuit.