Free Valdemar 05 - [Vows & Honor 02] - Oathbreakers by Mercedes Lackey

reasonable: Kelcrag had stationed his foot there; they might be vulnerable to a charge of heavy cavalry. Leamount’s own western flank was commanded by Lord Shoveral, whose standard was a badger and whose mode of battle matched his token; he was implacable in defense, but no one had yet seen him on the attack, so Kelcrag might well believe that he had no heart for it.
    He was, one hoped, about to be surprised.
    One also hoped, fervently, that Kelcrag’s mages had not noticed that it was mage-light and not lightning that had flickered to their rear.
    :They’ve no reason to look for mage-light, mindmate,: Warrl said soberly. :Kelcrag’s wizards are all courtly types. They very seldom think about hiding what they’re doing, or trying to make it seem like something natural. To them, mage-light is something to illuminate a room with, not something to use for a signal. If they wish to pass messages, they make a sending.:
    â€œI hope you’re right, Furface,” Tarma replied, mounting. “The more surprised they are, the more of us are going to survive this.”
    At Idra’s signal, the Hawks moved into a disciplined canter; no point in trying too hard to stay undercover now.
    They urged their mounts over hills covered only with scraggy bushes and dead, dry grass; they would have been hard put to find any cover if they’d needed it. But luck was with them.
    They topped a final hilltop and only then encountered Kelcrag’s few sentries. They were all afoot; the lead riders coldly picked them off with a few well-placed arrows before they could sound an alert. The sentries fell, either pierced with arrows or stumbling over their wounded comrades. And the fallen were trampled—for the Hawks’ horses were war-trained, and a war-trained horse does not hesitate when given the signal to make certain of a fallen foe. That left no chance that Kelcrag could be warned.
    Ahead of the riders, now stretching their canter into a gallop, was the baggage train.
    Kethry and her two companions rode to the forefront for the moment. Each mage was haloed by one of Kethry’s glowing mage-shields; a shield that blurred the edges of vision around a mage and his mount as well. It made Tarma’s eyes ache to look at them, so she tried not to. The shields wouldn’t deflect missiles, but not being able to look straight at your target made that target damned hard to hit.
    The two hedge-wizards growled guttural phrases, made elaborate throwing motions—and smoking, flaming balls appeared in the air before their hands to fly at the wagons and supplies. Kethry simply locked her hands together and held them out in front of her—and each wagon or tent she stared at burst into hot blue flame seemingly of its own accord.
    This was noisy; it was meant to be. The noncombatants with the baggage—drovers, cooks, personal servants, the odd whore—were screaming in fear and fleeing in all directions, adding to the noise. There didn’t seem to be anyone with enough authority back here to get so much as a fire brigade organized.
    The Hawks charged through the fires and the frightened, milling civilians, and headed straight for the rear of Kelcrag’s lines. Now Kethry and the mages had dropped back until they rode—a bit more protected—in the midst of the Sunhawks. They would be needed now only if one of Kelcrag’s mages happened to be stationed on this flank.
    For the rest, it was time for bow work. Kelcrag’s men—armored cavalry here, for the most part; nobles and retainers, and mostly young—were still trying to grasp the fact that they’d been hit from the rear.
    The Hawks swerved just out of bowshot, riding their horses in a flanking move along the back of the lines. They didn’t stop; that would make them stationary targets. They just began swirling in and out at the very edge of the enemy’s range, as Tarma led the first sortie to engage.
    About