When I am free of this war, I shall never again hunt for pleasure, for I know now what it is to be hunted . . . and with amazement, she knew that the mind which held this thought was Orain’s.
How near to my own thought! Romilly felt again the bitter regret for the distance that had fallen between Orain and herself. We were so close in so many ways, so much alike! But the world would go as it would, and Orain was as he was and not as she would have him. She threw herself back into rapport with the sentry-bird, letting Ranald see through her mind, and relay to Orain and Alderic, what she saw in Rakhal’s army.
Horsemen were drawn up at the perimeter of his army, surrounding foot-soldiers and bowmen, and at the center, a number of great wagons, with the acrid smell she knew now to be the chemical smell of clingfire. They ringed the brow of the little hill completely while they took their stand there, it would be impossible to breach their defenses.
But that is precisely what we must do, it was Alderic’s thought, and he rode the company of two dozen men, headed by the small band of leronyn, breakneck toward the hill; suddenly stopped them.
Now!
And suddenly it seemed to Romilly that a great cloud of dust and fire moved on the hill, with a racing and a pounding of hooves, and cries . . . what soldiers are these? And then she knew that she had seen these men, the men who had deserted Rakhal and were riding away … it was like a great mirror, as if the image of this separate army were thrown straight at Rakhal’s men … for a little they held firm, while a cloud of arrows came flying down toward the close-clustered band of soldiers and leronyn at the foot of the hill. .. but they were shooting short, at the image of the racing soldiers …
Join with us! In the name of the Gods, everyone who has laran, join us to hold this image … on and on the racing cloud of dust, in which Romilly could now see indistinct shapes, horses’ heads like great grey skulls, the burning visages of skeletons, glowing with devil-fire inside the hidden cloud of dust and sorcery….
She heard a voice she had never heard before, reverberating within her mind, bellowing; “Stand firm! Stand firm!” But that could not stand against the assault of the ghostly army; Rakhal’s men broke and charged down the hill, riding straight into the cloud of magical images, screaming in terror, and their line faltered, broke in a dozen places. Fire struck up through the ground, licking, curling, green and blue flames rising . . . then it was as if a river of blood flowed up the hill, through the horses’ feet, and they stopped short, snorting, screaming in terror, stamping. Some of their riders fell, a few men held their ground, crying out, “No smell of blood, no smell of burning, it’s a trick, a trick-” but the line was broken; horses stampeded, colliding with one another, trampling their riders, and the officers struggled wildly to rally the broken line, to gather the men into some semblance of order.
“Now! Carolin!”
“A Hastur! A Hastur!” Carolin’s men charged, the main body of the army, flowing like water up the hill and into the broken ranks of the horsemen. Right over Rakhal’s outer defenses they flowed, and then they were fighting at close quarters, but Ranald and Alderic broke and dashed right through to the center of the armies, where the guarded wagon stood with the clingfire. Men were gathered, hastily dipping their arrows in the stuff, but Alderic and Orain and their little band rode right over them and toward the wagon. Swiftly, like a running tide of energy, they linked minds, and a band of blue fire rolled out toward the wagon with the clingfire. It struck, blazed upward, and then a roaring column of fire burst skyward, blazing so fiercely that Rakhal’s men scattered and ran for their lives. Burning droplets fell on some of them and they blazed up like living torches and died screaming; the fire ran through Rakhal’s own armies, and, panicked, they ran, scattered, and ran right on Carolin’s spears and swords.