I unsheath my sword, shifting it to my left hand, and grabbed a javelin.
"You really should get a heavier blade," Aeldor advised me. I responded with a noncommittal grunt.
Fael remarked, "We'll be lucky to get two throws in before they're upon us."
"Yes," Aeldor agreed.
That meant only one throw for me.
"Aim for the horses," Kasrin instructed. I found that amusing; what else was I supposed to aim for? The enemy line was now clearly visible, stretching out to flank us on both sides. But that wasn't my concern. It was someone else's job to ensure our line held, and if they failed, it wasn't my problem.
Of course, it was my life on the line. I recalled my grandfather's words about trusting officers even when they seemed unworthy. My hand began to cramp from gripping the javelin too tightly, and I forced myself to relax.
I wasn't accustomed to this. Similar situations among the Vorgan just didn't compare.
