The heavy cavalry plunged once more into the fray, trying to stem the growing tie washing through, thundering forward, spears lowered, to crash into the enemy. Men were ridden down, run through yet still they came, and still they fought on. With swords and axes and maces they hacked down at heads and arms, trying to batter their way forwards. Spears jabbed up, removing riders from saddle,s or hands grasped and pulled them down to the ground.
Desperation drove them on, to prevent a disaster, and great deeds of courage they performed, fighting on when most would have given up, fighting not to save themselves, but an army.
Off to the north, where Ivkarha and Aedmorn rode with the Shanani, they could see the unfolding disaster, even as they watched the Luadha ravage the flank of the enemy they had struck, driving it back in disarray, spears flashing red as they pushed on. If they could but roll up the flank, they could try to close the gap; if they could make it in time.
The battle descended into chaos as he dust clouds rolled across it, of screaming men fighting tooth and nail, hack and clawing at each other, flinging themselves ever forward with a fanaticism that defied description, desperation and rage boiling within.
Ivkarha wheeled her mount around, watching as fresh enemy reserves began to march forward to be thrown into the fray, to break the defenders in one last charge. “Shanani, to me!” she yelled as the desert raiders continued their slashing attacks, firing into the rear of the enemy forces engaged, a mere drop against the storm raging. With arrows alone they could not hope to stem the tide. “The time has come,” she called out, “The time for fell deeds and a bloody hand. Az-Ashar shall ride with us, and it may be that we shall ride with him by the days end, but ride we shall!”
A roar went up from the Shanani. Bows were swapped for spears and they formed up behind Ivkarha and Aedmorn, riding forth, towards the rear of the foe and the breach. Low down they crouched as they set their mounts into a charge, the ground flashing beneath them, hooves churning, horses lathered with the effort, dust all around. Into chaos they rode, into blood and death.
Spears drove deep into the enemy, horses reared and lashed with hooves, cracking skulls. High in her saddle stood Ivkarha, hewing again and again with her sword while Aedmorn’s axe cut a bloody swath through the foe, limbs and heads cleaved. The enemy recoil at the ferocity of the charge, ridden asunder, yet too few of them there were to turn the tide. For a moment it felt as if they would break and run, the sudden assault upon their rear taking them by surprise, fear rising in them but amidst the chaos and confusion, a figure in a crimson cloak, an officer of some kind, managed to beat some semblance of order into them, to push men forward to deal with the new threat. The surge of renewed resistance met the fierce and fell hand of the desert riders.
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Time and against he desert men fell back, regrouped and charged once more, into the desperate, clawing mass, trying to break them, trying to clear a path through as ever closer the enemy reserves came, as ever more the break in the line widened.
Ivkarha turned to look at the marching enemy and shook her head grimly. “We shall be trapped between them soon,” she called to Aedmorn as he hacked ferociously down with his crimson stained axe. Nearby, one of the Shanani desert men and his pony went down under the weight of numbers, pulled to the barren earth and rent with many blows.
A flurry of stones crashed into the pack of frenzied foe, shattering bones as the struck. Then upon them fell the slingers with knives and short blades; they had pressed forward on their own, as the spearmen continued to battle on, to carry the fight forward. Spotting the desperation of the fight, they had launched an assault of their own, cutting down the surprised foe, coming out of the clouds of dust kicked up unseen.
Ivkhara roared and charged in once more, slicing downwards with her sword as her horse pushed aside men trying to recover from the attack by the slingers. Her reckless charge sent her deep into the enemy ranks, and behind her came the remaining Shanani, plunging forward, hacking and slashing as they came.
It was a ride to ruin and damnation, for there could be no coming back from it. Too deep had they ridden on their reckless charge, too far had they carved a path and behind them the enemy had closed, to trap them within a ring of steel.
No thoughts they gave to that though, for all that remained was the desire, the need to to kill and slay, to take the enemy with them in a hope that some part of the army could be saved.
Ivkarha roared her defiance as she fought on, bleeding from a glancing cut across her leg and another across her brow, her long, dark hair now bloodied. Her eyes blazed with the ferocity of her spirit, and death rode with her, a hot desert wind that accompanied her, swirling the dust around.
Loud she laugh, carrying above the terrible fray, and all who heard it shuddered at the sound of it, for here was one maddened by death and blood lust, and only by a hard won death would she be stopped. Fell were the swings of her blade, rising time and again to hack and hew, to main and slay.
Ahead of her appeared the warrior in the crimson cloak, the one that had rallied the soldiers of Aisan Avar’s army, and all thoughts of hers but to reach him were forgotten. The army she could not defeat, but he at least would fall to her blade before the end came.
And so she kicked her horse on into one last effort, and bore down upon him, screaming defiance, a blood stained figure like some terrible angel of vengeance.