The Golden Steed

Pendari trumpets now joined the booming Lanyri horns. Then Blade and Guroth and the Pendarnoth's Guard rode out of the dust and saw the battle that was raging before them. Sixty thousand Lanyri infantry were formed in five massive squares, each with its baggage wagons and civilian camp followers inside. The sun made a blinding glare on the acres of armor and glinted on the deadly accurate spears the Lanyri threw at any Pendari who rode within range. A good many Pendari horses were already ru

The Rojags had kept right on going, the sight of their allies apparently having done nothing to cure their panic. It looked as if they were going to be out of the battle for good. So most of the Pendari were riding around the massed Lanyri squares, shooting arrows from a distance beyond spear range. That kept the Pendari safe but did little harm to the Lanyri. Except for those in the two outer ranks, they kept their shields over their heads. The Pendari arrows came down in black clouds but stuck in the tough, leather-covered wood.

Blade led his guard in until they were just beyond spear range and let them try a few arrows anyway. For the moment he could think of nothing better to do. In fact he was not even sure there was anything to do, for the moment. Once more the Pendari were outnumbered five to one or more. When the main army came up…

There was a particularly deafening blast of the heavy toned war horns. Then the ranks of one of the squares began to open from the inside, as a force of mounted men began to push its way out into the open field. Blade peered through the dust and the glare and made out the red-cloaked figure of General Ornilan leading the horsemen. Behind him rode some five hundred heavily armored men. These must be the mercenaries he had mentioned.

Ornilan led the mercenaries through the last ranks of the Lanyri infantry and out into the open. They shifted from column into line, and Blade saw them checking their weapons and armor. His own guardsmen began dropping arrows among them, but heavy armor covered both men and horses and few were hurt. Then the line of mercenaries began to roll toward Blade.

Blade realized what Ornilan's game was. He was throwing his heavy cavalry straight at the Pendarnoth, seeking to kill or capture him and so break the spirits of the Pendari. It was a desperate venture, even if it was Ornilan's last chance of a decisive victory. Blade admired Ornilan's courage in risking himself along with the mercenaries. Such courage deserved to be met on its own terms.

For a moment Blade toyed with the idea of deliberately meeting Ornilan with only equal force-five hundred of his guardsmen. There was another moment of shock as he realized how close he had come to such a chivalrous-and foolish-gesture. He ordered his trumpeter to sound the charge. The Pendari swept forward, and with the eyes of both armies on them, the two lines met.

They met with a crash and a shock that threw both lightly armored Pendari and heavily armored mercenaries out of their saddles. But the mercenaries were riding heavier horses than the Pendari, and they stood the shock better. Their heavy lances drove through Pendari leather, while their mail kept out Pendari arrows and their shields blocked the lighter Pendari lances.

Blade snapped his own lance on a mercenary's shield and nearly ran straight into his opponent. The man was wielding a huge straight broadsword, almost large enough to require two hands. Blade saw it shear through one Pendari's leather cap as though it were paper and split the man's skull down to the chin. But Blade slashed at the mercenary's face before he could shift his guard. The man's mouth opened in a scream of agony as blood gushed from his mutilated nose and lips. Half-blinded, he reeled in his saddle. Blade swung again and slashed across. His sword drove under the base of the heavy iron helmet and into the back of the mercenary's neck. It did not penetrate his mail collar, but the impact, with Blade's arm behind it, crushed the spinal cord. The mercenary's eyes rolled up in his head and he toppled stiffly out of his saddle.

Another mercenary rode at Blade. He crouched low in his saddle so that the man's lance went over his head. Then the mercenary was riding past. At last Blade found himself facing Ornilan. He did not try to avoid the combat, for Ornilan at least deserved the honor of a personal encounter.

The Lanyri general wore a short sword at his belt, but there was a broadsword in his hand and a shield on his other arm. If the Lanyri despised horsemen, Blade would never have known it from seeing Ornilan handle his big roan stallion. It towered over the Golden Steed by at least four hands. It reared up and struck out at the smaller horse with both fore-hoofs, but the weary Golden Steed was still fast enough to swing aside, and the smashing hoofs came down on the ground. Then Blade and Ornilan were at too close quarters to be able to do any more maneuvering. It was straight hard fighting.

Blade had no shield. But he was stronger and faster than Ornilan, and his sword had a point as well as a slashing edge. Ornilan's sword clanged against his at each stroke, while his own slashes and thrust sometimes got through Ornilan's guard. Most of these merely grated or scraped the general's armor, but before long two little trickles of blood showed on Ornilan's bare arms, and one on the side of his neck.

Why didn't he strike down Ornilan's horse and then ride the man under? He didn't know. He only knew that Ornilan was fighting with complete honor and complete courage. As both Richard Blade and the Pendarnoth, he had to fight the same way. He no longer found it odd that he was thinking in this almost medieval fashion with both men mounted, their endurance was increased. Because no man on either side cared to interfere, the fight went on, seemingly endless. Blade was vaguely aware that his guardsmen had finally driven the mercenaries back. A good many from both sides now lay dead on the ground around the two duelists.

He was explicitly aware that his arm muscles were begi

For more long minutes the fight went on. Blade's sword was begi

It was the Golden Steed that found the strength to neigh, and rear, and lash out with both fore-hoofs. It caught Ornilan's horse on the side of the neck, and the horse stumbled and lurched sideways as its rider launched another stroke at Blade. The stroke missed. Half off-balance, Ornilan was slow to bring his guard back up. Blade's sword flashed out in a thrust, at the full length of Blade's long arm. Its point drove into Ornilan's neck, tearing through skin and flesh. Blood spurted out, and down on the general's armor.

Although he must have known that the wound was mortal, Ornilan dropped his sword and clamped both hands over the wound. For a moment the blood slowed to a trickle. His face pale, he stared at Blade.

«Why, Pendarnoth? Why, when you were offered so much?»

«It wasn't enough, Ornilan.»

«But you are still going to…»

«Lose?» He shook his head. «I think not, Ornilan.»

The words were barely out of Blade's mouth when he heard Pendari horns sounding beyond the Lanyri squares. There were more of them than Blade had ever heard. They sounded in an arc miles wide, from far around on the Lanyri left to equally far around on the right. And behind the harsh music of the horns was the earth-shaking thud of hoofs-not merely thousands, but tens of thousands.