goblin somersaulted through the air, past the horse’s rump, and slammed hard into the ground.
There was a triumphant shout from the Amorran lines, and the chant began anew.
“Fortex, Fortex! Amorr, Amorr!” Marcus couldn’t help joining in. The men had even drawn their swords and were beating them on their shields in time with the chant. On Marcus’s left stood a draconarius pumping his signal horn aloft in victory.
In response to the cheer, Fortex unsheathed his sword and caused Incitatus to rear again. His stunned foe had pushed itself to its feet unsteadily, but both its sword and shield were lying on the ground well out of its reach.
Fortex urged his horse forward in a gallop, drew back his arm, and struck the head off the helpless goblin commander in a single powerful stroke. The skull helmet flew off with the force of the blow, and for a moment it looked as if his cousin had slain a two-headed monster.
A terrified wail arose from the watching goblins that drowned out the victorious shouts of the Amorrans, and it grew even louder when Fortex leaned over to spear the severed head on the end of his longsword and raised it over his head like a pagan hero of old.
He may have shouted something, but if he did, no one heard it, as the deafening roar from the Second Knights that answered his gesture drowned out the wailing wolfriders as well as the sounds of the battle raging to the south. Marcus joined the knights around him in raising his lance and returning what he thought was a salute.
Caught up in the excitement of the victory, the draconarius standing beside Marcus half-sounded the horn he was already holding to his lips. It came out more like an aborted fart than a proper signal, but it was enough to cause about twelve or thirteen knights—already mounted and stirred to the edge of violence—to urge their horses forward and begin making their way down the steep incline.
“They’re going forward!” cried Dardanus. “What do we do? Clericus, what do we do?”
“Sound it,” Marcus shouted at the standard bearer, who was frozen in fear, shocked by what he had inadvertently done. “Sound it again! We can’t call them back—just sound the advance!” He leaped into the saddle. “What’s done is done! Gaius killed the brute, so let’s pray they look like running.” He raised his fist. Fortex! ”
“ Fortex! ” Most of the Second’s knights were already mounted now, and they echoed his cry, their lances stabbing at the sky.
“Amorr!”
“ Amorr! ”
The draconarius sounded the horn, properly this time. Its deep booming resonated powerfully over the tumultous clangor of the battle and was echoed by the roars of the bloodthirsty Amorran cavalry.
Marcus rose in his stirrups, raised his lance, and pointed it toward the foe below. The terror was gone, and in its place was only fury and the desire to drench the field in oceans of goblin blood.
“Advance!”
THE CROWS
A large black crow, one of hundreds eagerly anticipating the evening’s feast to come, rode the winds high overhead. As the black mass below began to pour down the hill in ever-growing numbers, small rivulets began to leak away from the vast grey pool that awaited its onslaught at the bottom. The little rivulets grew to a stream, and then a flood, until the pool began to flow like a river before the first black tendrils even reached out to touch grey.
The crow emitted an excited “caw” to its brothers. Tonight they would gorge themselves on wolfsmeat and glut themselves on goblinflesh.
CORVUS
The ebb and flow of battle always seemed to follow a similar pattern, Corvus thought as he watched the ragged ranks of the goblin army march into what he intended to be the field of slaughter.
A less experienced commander might be impressed by the huge quantity of armed troops as they moved, apparently inexorably, across the very meadow over which he’d ridden the day before. There were an awful lot of them, between four and five
There was a triumphant shout from the Amorran lines, and the chant began anew.
“Fortex, Fortex! Amorr, Amorr!” Marcus couldn’t help joining in. The men had even drawn their swords and were beating them on their shields in time with the chant. On Marcus’s left stood a draconarius pumping his signal horn aloft in victory.
In response to the cheer, Fortex unsheathed his sword and caused Incitatus to rear again. His stunned foe had pushed itself to its feet unsteadily, but both its sword and shield were lying on the ground well out of its reach.
Fortex urged his horse forward in a gallop, drew back his arm, and struck the head off the helpless goblin commander in a single powerful stroke. The skull helmet flew off with the force of the blow, and for a moment it looked as if his cousin had slain a two-headed monster.
A terrified wail arose from the watching goblins that drowned out the victorious shouts of the Amorrans, and it grew even louder when Fortex leaned over to spear the severed head on the end of his longsword and raised it over his head like a pagan hero of old.
He may have shouted something, but if he did, no one heard it, as the deafening roar from the Second Knights that answered his gesture drowned out the wailing wolfriders as well as the sounds of the battle raging to the south. Marcus joined the knights around him in raising his lance and returning what he thought was a salute.
Caught up in the excitement of the victory, the draconarius standing beside Marcus half-sounded the horn he was already holding to his lips. It came out more like an aborted fart than a proper signal, but it was enough to cause about twelve or thirteen knights—already mounted and stirred to the edge of violence—to urge their horses forward and begin making their way down the steep incline.
“They’re going forward!” cried Dardanus. “What do we do? Clericus, what do we do?”
“Sound it,” Marcus shouted at the standard bearer, who was frozen in fear, shocked by what he had inadvertently done. “Sound it again! We can’t call them back—just sound the advance!” He leaped into the saddle. “What’s done is done! Gaius killed the brute, so let’s pray they look like running.” He raised his fist. Fortex! ”
“ Fortex! ” Most of the Second’s knights were already mounted now, and they echoed his cry, their lances stabbing at the sky.
“Amorr!”
“ Amorr! ”
The draconarius sounded the horn, properly this time. Its deep booming resonated powerfully over the tumultous clangor of the battle and was echoed by the roars of the bloodthirsty Amorran cavalry.
Marcus rose in his stirrups, raised his lance, and pointed it toward the foe below. The terror was gone, and in its place was only fury and the desire to drench the field in oceans of goblin blood.
“Advance!”
THE CROWS
A large black crow, one of hundreds eagerly anticipating the evening’s feast to come, rode the winds high overhead. As the black mass below began to pour down the hill in ever-growing numbers, small rivulets began to leak away from the vast grey pool that awaited its onslaught at the bottom. The little rivulets grew to a stream, and then a flood, until the pool began to flow like a river before the first black tendrils even reached out to touch grey.
The crow emitted an excited “caw” to its brothers. Tonight they would gorge themselves on wolfsmeat and glut themselves on goblinflesh.
CORVUS
The ebb and flow of battle always seemed to follow a similar pattern, Corvus thought as he watched the ragged ranks of the goblin army march into what he intended to be the field of slaughter.
A less experienced commander might be impressed by the huge quantity of armed troops as they moved, apparently inexorably, across the very meadow over which he’d ridden the day before. There were an awful lot of them, between four and five
Similar Books
