The Will Of The Kings.

Rise of the Dalon. Part 9. (Not Copy Edited yet)

Lord Andrews's men were now cutting through the Waltish lightly armoured warriors. Great lumps were being hacked out of their line, but the carnage had not reached the Waltish rear ranks, and those at the front fought on against the steel clad beasts. Many of their blows wasting themselves against the crushing might of their foes. It was all they could do just to slow the advance of the Farnbreth axe men. Finally the Waltish captains began to draw their men back, the fight was lost and if their men broke they would all die. It was that fear that drove their discipline. Back the Waltish line went.

The Sarris had not fared any better and having lost their second fight of the day they were running for the rocks. Not in disarray. The Sarris were breaking fast from the fight using their remarkable speed and agility to reach the rocks and reform.

Borrock looked on from his position. His infantry had been beaten but it looked as if they would rally at the rocks, to hold his right or follow Firminors cavalry to reek revenge. For the few captains who found themselves with such a luxury as time to spare, their eyes looked up the hill as Firminors cavalry battered Carrings wall, and continued to carry hope for the southerner's beleaguered right wing.

Carring had presented his shield wall and held his ground; he did not have the numbers to reform a castle big enough to shelter Lord Andrew. Carrings men were inflicting casualties only when Firminor drove his horse at and into the wall. And when Firminor came it was on his terms. The great attacking hulks of the Farnbreth axe men had few options when forced on to the defence. Firminor kept his horse moving, running circles round them, avoiding being pinned down. The first few charges had had little effect, but soon Carrings wall began to show gaps and it was only a matter of time before someone faltered and let the cavalry in. Then the lumbering hulks would be picked off as the horse finished the job. The punishment being dealt out to Carrings men could not be endured for long. But they did not have to. Lord Andrew had pushed the south men back, but he would not exchange those mud hut men for Carring and Stock. He had begun to reform to support them when a deeper rumble rose up from behind the ridge, which announced the coming of the Farnbreth cavalry, just before they poured over it.

Hundreds came, Firminor had heard them coming and had expected them at some point. The axe men would have to wait. He had horse enough to face the new threat and seeing the foot men reform in the rocks, he knew he still had time. He called the orders and they rang out around him. His horse pulled away from Carrings wall and rallied around him and his standard. Firmonor turned his horse to face up towards the now charging Farnbreth cavalry and his men followed him. No time to form up fully. He stood in his stirrups and lifting his sword he ordered the charge. Those who had reached him went with him, those who had not, instinctively turned and charged. Firminors line was ragged but these were the best cavalry Borrock had and for good reason.

Farnbreths cavalry came on in good order, horses chest to chest. Once again the thunder of thousands of hooves filled the air, the ground shook as they clashed. A great crushing thud as they met each other's charge. Riders were lifted from their saddles as lance and sword finished them. Horses collapsed with pierced chests and gaping sides, riders dying under them or scrambling to their feet to defend them selves only to be run down. The impact saw those of Firminors riders who had not reached his standard, or not reached enough support, slaughtered in an instant. Others who had gathered away from his standard held but would not last long. Farnbreths cavalry had hit home in fantastic order and across much of the field were destroying Firminors, but those with Firminor were many. Many of the best riders, galloping in cloe order smashed straight through the Farnbreth line, throwing it in to disarray. Firminor was still at their head and the greater weight of them emerged on the other side. Firminor again lifted himself in his saddle. Although the adrenalin rushed, he knew he was becoming to old for this. His horse was bleeding from a wound in it's rump but it did not stumble. His experience told him that now was the time to see this fight won or lost. Those not with him were dead, dying or struggling to stay alive. But he had broken straight through. Many of his enemies had their backs exposed. "Slaughter them," he screamed and drove his heels in to his horse. Adrenalin and blind fury filled them all. As he hurled himself onward Firminor knew that Farnbreths cavalry had to reform to take his second charge. To win the fight Firminor knew he had to reach them and their backs before they could do so. The time passed painfully slowly as he raced to close the gap, back down the hill. In what seemed like slow motion he pushed deep into the fold of Farnbreths cavalry slashing and stabbing. Whether he had done enough he could not be sure.