The horses running free across the battlefield were not ones that could be chased down, most especially by those that were wounded and could only half hobble. Skittish and in some cases wounded and exhausted, spooked by all the noises of battle, they would shy away from any that would near them.
Aedmorn had hobbled down to the base of the hill, and there he stopped, leaning upon the spear he held. “They will not let us come to them,” he had said, “But they will come to us.”
He let his good eye close, the other already swollen shut, and let out a breath, concentrating on the life that flowed around them, of man and beast, some weakened to the point of death. He let forth a silent call, a whispered sound and around them the horses suddenly halted their runs, tossing their heads, pawing at the ground. One by one they turned and made their slow way across to where Aedmorn stand, a score of them. Nervous still despite his calming call, they quivered in expectation.
“All is well,” he told them gently, reaching out his hand towards the nearest of the horses, a big black stallion. The horse shied away at first but then relaxed, allowing Aedmorn to pat the big horse’s head. “Calm, my friend. Be calm.”
Tension flowed out of the big black as the soothing voice and hands of a cruaith, and it stood easy, waiting. Aedmorn turned his attention to another, a grey, and once more he brought it under control with his mastery of beasts, of the blessings bestowed upon him by the Green Goddess not one of the least.
When at last the two mounts were prepared, Ivkarha and Aedmorn gathered up fallen weapons that had been lost by those slain in battle, spears, javelins, swords and daggers. Readying their new mounts, they swung up into the saddles, slowly due to their aches and pains and wounds.
Urging their horses forward, they began to ride, across the long open expanse of barren ground, towards where Aisan Avar awaited, beyond the altar that still smouldered. Their faces were set, resolute and grim and accepting, for they that two alone could not defeat the many there, not wounded as they were.
Ivkarha began to hum a low, mournful sounding tune as she rode along, a tune of loss and remembrance. No words needed to be said, for the tune enough spoke enough.
“I have not heard that before,” Aedmorn told her, “And yet it sounds familiar; it ouches a part of my soul.”
“It is an old, old swordsong,” Ivkarha responded, “All but forgotten. Perhaps the oldest and the first, sung when the world was young and my people rode the lands, a song gifted to them by Az-Ashar himself to sing over the fallen. The words may have been forgotten but the tune remains, engraved in our memories.”
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“Tis passing strange that it would spark such a memory in me,” mused Aedmorn. “I have heard many of the swordsongs of old, yet this one not.”
“I can not help you in this, old friend.” She glanced towards him, then frowned and look further back, to see the rest of the horses that had come at the call of Aedmorn following after them, a herd behind its leader. “Did you do this?” she asked.
He looked behind before giving a shake of his head. “No, this is not my doing. I can not make them do what they do not wish, nor force them to follow.”
“Follow nonetheless they are. Mayhap in the chaos of the battle they feel safer around you.”
“It could be,” he said, then laughed. “Whatever the cause, it shall give our foe pause to think.
They began to pick up speed, the horses long legs stretching out, eating up the distance and the herd behind them kept up the pace until manes and tails streamed behind them. Dust was kicked up, and billowed above them, a shroud that loomed high above, whilst a hot breeze picked up, coming from behind them, blowing the dust with them. Higher and higher it rose, a vast bank of wind driven dust that rolled like waves descending upon the shore.
Laughter came from the pair as they thundered ever onward, laughter that held a maddened edge to it, and cries were given voice; “The Green Goddess!” and “For Az-Ashar.”
Their aches and pains seem to slip away as they were caught up in the moment, the surge of emotions that ran through them drowning it out. Though yet their wounds remained, they did not hinder them as much; renewed they felt, and ready for the coming storm.
Onward they streaked, and upon the altar they bore down, the tempest of their passing extinguishing the smouldering remnants, as if a great hand of wind had swept it aside, the coals scattered to the barren ground. One of the rampaging horses reared up as it neared and lashed out with its hooves, sending the stones of the altar flying, dismantling the affrontary to nature.
Ahead now they could see a stir among Aisan Avar’s camp, soldiers scurrying about as they watched the oncoming charge, some pointing, others trying to prepare themselves to receive it. From the palanquin the figure of Aisan Avar could be seen to tumble, almost pulled forth by aides and helpers, rushed over to a waiting horse. They thrust him up upon it, while others climbed atop their own horses, to turn, to make to flee.
Barely had they done so when the storm of windblown dust hit them, the winds moaning as all was swept up in it. Ivkarha screamed her defiance as she kicked her mount ever on, and the crashing of thundering hooves shook the very earth, as if nature herself had gone to war. They crashed into the soldiers that waited for them, horses rearing and screaming, lashing out with hooves to crush skulls and limbs, or snapped at faces with their teeth, to tear them open. Men shouted and ran about, half blinded by the dust, while Ivkarha and Aedmorn lashed at them with weapons in hand.
Chaos consumed the camp, the chaos of nature and death combined, a storm to sweep away those that opposed it, and at the heart of it rode Aedmorn and Ivkarha.