The riders streamed away from the hill, across the open expanse, the hooves of their mounts chewing up the dry ground, clouds of dust trailing in their wake. Ivkarha rode ahead, sword aloft, defiance on her face and in her eyes and voice. “Ra-Armal!” she yelled, “Ra-Armal and Az-Azshar!”
The men of the Shanani, men of the deserts just as she, spread out behind her, an arc of shimmering silver and red, guiding their ponies with their knees as they readied their horsebows, knocking feathered shafts to them but not yet drawing back, their spears now thrust through straps of their saddles.
The enemy grew closer yet, a swirl of horses and chariots that peeled off and struck then pulled away again as spears and bows tried to keep them at bay. Men fell before their sudden strikes, leaving a trail of bodies that marked the slow, laborious retreat of Langa’s beleaguered force.
At first the foe did not spot the approach of the riders, the dust they kicked up from their movement obscuring them but then a band of them, perhaps a score in strength, turned aside from the assault, and galloped towards them, sabres in hand. One led them, a man in a green cloak, with a bronze helm from which flowed a green dyed horsetail, bedecked in a silver breastplate that had been edged and embossed with gold. Gold too sparkled at his neck and around his arms, and emeralds glistened from the gilded hilt of his sabre.
On they came, readying to unleash a charge upon the Shanani. Ivkarha slashed with her sword and turned her mount aside, to avoid the oncoming rush. Behind her, the Shanani split apart into two groups, one wheeling to the left, the other to the right, drawing their arrows as they did. They unleashed a flight of them, slashing through the dust filled air at the enemy. Men tumbled from saddles and horses screamed and fell, throwing riders to the ground. Another volley flashed in, and more of the foe came crashing to earth in a welter of blood and confusion.
The enemy horse, confused by the attack, unable to come to grips with the speedy mounts of the desert riders, broke apart and scattered, hose that remained. Ivkarha wheeled about and thundered back, towards where the gaudy clad leader of the enemy horse milled about, shouting and cursing. As he saw her, he took up the challenge and dug his heels in, forcing his tiring mount forward, to meet the challenge.
The two streaked across the duty plain towards each other, swords extended, hooves thundering as they pounded. Then they met and crossed, swords shimmering through the air; a clash of blades, a slash and then they were passed.
Ivkarha reined in her mount and turned it about, to see her foe slow to a trot then topple from the saddle, throat opened up by her swift slash. He crumpled to the ground, there to have his blood soak into the thirsty earth. With a grim nod to herself, she made signal with her sword for the others to re-join her.
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The Shanani regrouped once more and fell in behind her, riding again to meet the foe. Two chariots swung away from the clash of armies from where they had attacked, and the crew looked up in surprise as the Shanani flashed in towards them, sending deadly shafts lancing their way. One crew fell from their chariots, transfixed by the feathered shafts, leaving their chariot careening empty across the plains.
A horse from the other chariot fell, tangled up in the harness, causing the chariot to flip into the air, launching the screaming crew from it. The chariot crashed down and shattered and Shanani riders rode down the crew where they had landed, pushing on.
Closer still did they come to the fighting, where men of Langan’s army fell slowly back, spearmen setting for charges, before turning and retreated back away, preparing for yet another meeting, with skirmishers darting in and out of the formations to unleash javelins and darts on the enemy, while horses and chariots slashed in at them. Banners waved high, drums thundered and shouts echoed in the air.
A cheer went up from the beleaguered army as Ivkarha brought her men in closer, for them to unleash their arrows upon the enemy riders that were harassing them, to shoot and turn and wheel away before coming in once more. Enemy skirmishers rushed forward to try and engage them but the wily desert men would have none of it, keeping their distance and concentrating on the enemy riders and chariots, preventing them from getting to close to the retreating right flank of the army, buying them time.
One by one though, the Shanani unleashed the last of their arrows, the last flights flickering through the air with unerring accuracy, and then they were done. Ivkarha brought them together once more, falling back a little way, to rest up and take stock of their efforts and the situation.
“I see what you mean of the desert way,” Aedmorn mused, “Though it has not stopped the foe. They come on yet.”
“It was not ever going to, but we made them wary, and that is enough,” Ivkarah told him. “Even so, they fought badly; a more worthy foe would have made matters hard for us. These changed not their tactics in the face of what we did.”
“They have numbers to spare, and care little for losses. See, they come on still.”
“There is little more that we can do for now,” Ivkarha said. “To go up against them in melee would be folly. But we shall stay here for now, in case we are needed.”
“Not for much longer,” Aedmorn said. “Look, they have begun reaching the line that Langan has proposed.”
As they watched, the first of the retreating troops arrived at the line between the Hills of Treorch to the west and the lone hill to the east where Gesir and his men awaited. There they turned and made ready, setting spear butts to the ground, to make a wall of wood and steel.
“This may work yet,” Ivkarha remarked. “Come, we must be back to Gesir and prepare for our part in the coming clash.”