The echoing horn makes your blood run cold.
It signals the rebel cavalry facing down your right flank to charge. With a cacophony of shouts, the three hundred riders surge forward. Lances fixed, armor gleaming in the sun, you realize the tremendous threat that they pose.
There's no river to hold them back. No ditches or traps. No wall of mud.
"Arthur Hornraven," Elya says hurriedly, pointing at the group.
Velinor echoes her sentiment, shouting, "'Ere they come, Marshal!"
"I see them," you hiss back.
You turn to Darin and order…
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Milon lowers his visor as he rides forth with the rest of his group. He's one of two hundred and thirteen knights, rushing forward to intercept the three hundred rebels. In the middle of the formation, he can barely see anything but the backs of his own comrades.
His horse powers forward beneath him. His lance is couched, tight in his grip. The world around him is drowned out by hoofbeats and the muffled sound of his own breathing.
Milon catches a glimpse of the rebel cavalry wheeling around to face his group, changing their original course.
They now charge head on.
And within moments, they make impact.
His lance meets steel and punches through.
Next
The brutal melee ensues just beyond your infantry line. Two hundred and thirteen of your riders meet with roughly three hundred of Rade's. The sound of metal on metal echoes through the air. The cries of man and horse alike blend together into one terrible noise.
First blood has been spilled.
You're not sure you like your odds. The enemy cavalry outnumber your own. An equally pressing matter is the fact that the melee is occurring in between the loyalist and rebel lines. If any true decisive battle is to occur, this skirmish cannot be continued.
You weigh the options in your mind. Weigh the cost of lives.
"Understood," Darin replies. He gives the signal with his trumpet.
Men shout to pass the order further down the chain of command. Soon, the infantry advance.
But they don't get far.
Almost immediately, a horn sounds from the rebel line. The enemy riders react, and within seconds, the ones in the rear break away from the fighting and rush for the safety of their line. More do the same.
Your riders hesitate. Some move to pursue, but you know it's pointless. You tell Darin, "Signal for the infantry to halt and for our riders to get their asses back in formation."
Darin nods and gives the orders. As the rebel cavalrymen move back to their line, your archers are only able to shoot a single, ragged volley before they move fully out of range.
You look over the soil and count the dead and wounded left behind by both groups.
The losses are light. Very light. Both sides engaged only briefly, and the high-quality armor of the knights is difficult to break through. From what you can tell, only seventeen of your own and six of the rebels lie dead.
Darin glances over to you. "That was… not as horrific as I anticipated."
Before he can continue, a horn from the rebel line blasts.
And Rade's infantry begin to move forward.
Next