Chapter 23

Sidorian Lines, Lysmir Woods, Northern Lynese

The Sidorian cavalry rode through the tightly packed streets of the village, infantry following behind. They had to move quickly, since this level of movement would be impossible for the Lynesians to miss, but they needed to keep their men together, ready to fight when they got through to the other side.

William wasn’t overly concerned that they’d manage the task. They were good men, battle-hardened, and understood the need to maintain a good formation. The only moment that worried William was as they turned a corner, bringing into sight a row of houses marked with a grim symbol, a black handprint, put there by the Order of Healing to tell anyone that ventured near that the Elder Curse lay inside.

He’d warned the men to expect it, told them it was harmless and that the Disciples had confirmed that as long as no one went inside, they were safe. But telling men that was a far thing from them believing it, and part of William worried about the reaction he would encounter when the men actually saw the warnings for the first time.

Thankfully, his worry was for naught. The men definitely looked askance at it and even his line seemed to edge away from it as they passed, but his men didn’t slow or falter. They were set to their duty, and hopefully, trusted his leadership.

William spurred his horse onward, leading the way through the winding streets. The village seemed eerily quiet, with villagers who hadn’t fled hiding as the enemy army pushed through their streets.

Passing the last of the plagued houses, William pulled down his visor, a move copied by the other knights leading the charge.

“Here we go,” William muttered to himself before commanding, “Pick up the pace. At the double time. For Sidor.”

Kicking his horse as he turned the corner, launching the beast into a gallop, William could see enemy soldiers ahead of him. The terror on their faces was clear. They might have heard the commotion, the sound of men and horses, but they’d ignored their own senses, doubting anyone would ride through the cursed village. They hadn’t believed it possible until they saw the first Sidorians.

The men with him and behind him echoed his yell as the knights all charged at a gallop, the infantry behind them running flat out, screaming like the specters of ghost stories.

The Lynesian soldiers scrambled to form a defensive line, shields locking together as they braced for the Sidorian charge. Spears thrust forward, a bristling wall of steel points aimed at the oncoming cavalry. They were slow, however. Slow to react. Slow to move.

William led the charge, his sword raised high as he urged his mount forward. The distance closed rapidly, the ground shaking beneath the combined might of the Sidorian cavalry.

The Sidorians collided with the Lynesians with a resounding clash of steel and flesh. Horses slammed into the Lynesian line, their armored bulk shattering spears and sending men tumbling. William swung hard with his sword as they rode through the line, cleaving through a Lynesian shield and biting deep into the soldier behind it.

The rest of the Sidorian knights and cavalry followed after him, hacking and slashing from atop their mounts, while the Lynesian infantry desperately tried to drag them down. Men screamed in pain and fury, the sound mingling with the ring of steel on steel and the whinnying of wounded horses.

“Hold the line!” a Lynesian captain near William bellowed. “Drive them back!”

And then the Sidorian infantry hit, smashing into the gaps created by the cavalry. An entire section of the Lynesian line stumbled back as the Sidorians attacked, trying to defend the infantry in front and the knights in their midst.

Inch by bloody inch, the Lynesian line began to buckle. Men fell, trampled beneath the hooves of the cavalry or cut down by the onslaught of Sidorian spears. William spurred his horse forward, not allowing his men to stop or slow down, where the enemy could pull them from their horses. He led a wedge of knights into the heart of the Lynesian formation. His sword rose and fell, each blow claiming another life.

“Push forward!” William yelled. “Break their line!”

The Lynesians had been caught on the back foot, and his men had the momentum. Slowly at first, with one man here or there running for their lives, the enemy’s line began to crumble, until the slow loss became a torrent. Once enough began to run, the rest followed as the enemy soldiers scattered, their formations breaking.

Only in one section, but that was all William needed. The Sidorian knights and infantry poured through the breach, spreading out to engage the disoriented Lynesians, the wedge growing with each moment.

“Well done,” William shouted. “Their line is broken! Push forward! Roll them up!”

William pulled back on his reins, his horse prancing as he looked up and down the line, as a pocket began to open in the heart of the Lynesian line. Reorienting himself, he could see that the Lynesian line had begun to break apart where the Sidorian wedge had cut into it. More and more infantry poured into that breach, pushing either side of the Lynesians further apart with each moment that passed.

“We have them on the run!” Baron Pembroke said, pulling his horse next to William’s and lifting his visor.

“We’re not done yet. Follow the plan. Take half our force and roll up their right flank. I’ll take the other half and do the same on the left. Push them back between yourself and the men holding our flanks. Smash them.

With a firm nod, Pembroke snapped his visor back in place and began shouting orders. William left him to it, focused on his own side of the battle.

“With me, men of Sidor!” William cried, raising his sword high. “Let’s finish this!”

A roar of approval went up from the Sidorian ranks as they fell in behind their young commander. William spurred his horse forward, leading the charge into the left half of the Lynesian army.

William’s cavalry smashed into the Lynesian left flank. The Lynesians, already reeling from the Sidorian breakthrough, scrambled. Swords clashed against spears, shields splintered, and men cried out in pain and defiance as the two forces collided.

William led the charge, his sword a blur of steel as he hacked and slashed at the enemy. His knights followed close behind, their lances finding gaps in the Lynesian armor and sending men tumbling from their saddles.

The Lynesians weren’t beaten, however. Not yet. They rallied around their own commanders, forming tight clusters of shields and spears to fend off the Sidorian assault. They fought with the desperate courage of men who knew they were all that stood between their comrades and annihilation.

William gritted his teeth as a Lynesian spear glanced off his shield, the impact jarring his arm. He knew he had to keep the pressure on, to drive the Lynesians back towards the waiting Sidorian right flank. But the enemy was making him pay for every inch of ground.

The Sidorians redoubled their efforts, the infantry surging forward to support the cavalry. Slowly, painfully, they forced the Lynesians to give ground, the enemy soldiers fighting tooth and nail every step of the way.

Sweat streamed down William’s face beneath his helm, mingling with the blood and grime of battle. His sword arm ached from the constant exertion, but he pushed the pain aside. There would be time to rest later.

More Sidorian infantry joined the fight, increasing the odds against the enemy, who were being pressed into their own reinforcements, giving William a wider front to fight on and compressing the enemy together, limiting how many swords they could get into the fray at any one time.

Slowly but surely, the Lynesian left flank began to buckle under the assault. The Lynesian line bent, then broke, the enemy soldiers falling back in increasing disorder. Seeing the enemy try to flee, pushing back into their own lines, not yet realizing they were trapped, the Sidorians surged forward. They crashed into the wavering Lynesian ranks like a tidal wave, scattering the enemy soldiers.

The Lynesian left flank crumbled, trapped between the hammer of William’s force and the anvil of the Sidorian right flank under Sir Alistair and Commander Haverhill. It was only then that the enemy realized they were surrounded.

The reaction was mixed. A large group of the trapped men threw down their weapons and raised their hands in surrender, realizing the situation was hopeless and having no desire to throw their lives away on a lost battle.

A few officers tried to rally their men. William saw a Lynesian captain trying to get his men to fight on and spurred his horse forward, closing the distance between them. The captain turned to face him, sword raised in defiance.

“Yield, Sir,” William called out, his voice firm but not unkind. “There’s no need for more bloodshed. Your men are beaten.”

The Lynesian captain hesitated, his sword wavering. For a moment, it seemed he might surrender. But then his face hardened, and he lunged at William with a cry of rage. William parried the blow easily, trading blows with the man as their two horses circled around each other. The man was already tired and beaten, however. With a final, desperate lunge, the captain overextended himself. William saw his chance and took it, his sword sliding past the captain’s guard and plunging into his chest. The captain’s eyes widened in shock and pain. His sword fell from nerveless fingers as he slumped forward in his saddle.