Page 35 of The Kingdom of Flames

“To Scalehall!” Dritha shouted.

“Encarmine!” the riders shouted their Lord’s name and turned from the approaching assault to the southern gate.

The world became hooves and clinking metal. Celestine had never ridden his hard. With almost fifty others they thundered into the darkness. It was perilous riding. Many fell as they galloped towards the hills, the flames of their torches reaching back against the wind.

Celestine fought to ride with her mount, keeping her spear upright. Something was off with her sword sheathe. It slapped against her flank mercilessly, some strap she hadn’t tied down.

The moisture left her mouth, and she fought to stay upright, balancing herself and the spear. They rode and turned before the southern ravine. The night was dark, perilous even for a strong rider.

I’m going to fall.

Celestine tilted to the right as they turned too much. Far too much.

I’m going to fall.

Celestine felt the world slip under her. It was too much to keep up with the pack and stay upright. The ground beckoned with its unstoppable allure.

I'm going to fall

A rider went down to her left. Then, another ahead of her, the woman was trampled under the frantic hooves. Another rider crashed behind her as if struck by something.

“Ambush!”

We are being attacked.

Celestine looked up, and she heard Dritha cry out. The air snapped with a whipping sound. She saw the flash of an arrow’s fletching, then more. Horses downed, riders were crushed by their comrades.

An arrow deflected off of her breastplate, nearly knocking her off. Only the fear of the grip of her hand on the pommel of the saddle kept her upright.

The enemy came from the shadows, or maybe they discovered them in their frantic charge. They crashed upon one another, and Celestine learned about the churning crunch of cavalry. The brutality of inertia so mercilessly stopped. Riders flew from their saddles. A long spear impaled a comrade. Steel didn’t sing, it screamed with blades and shields.

This was far from the broken formations they practiced. There were cries for them to regroup. Celestine had her spear knocked out of her hand by another rider swinging a sword at her face. His pale flesh under his helm corpse-like, his face a sneer.

They fought with enemies in dark leather and scale in the melee's chaos. They looked almost like ghouls. But they were men. Celestine fought to keep her mount upright, spinning, wheeling in the onslaught.

The ride had ceased. Now they were fighting. Her compatriots fell, and the enemy fell. Some wounded, some knocked asunder, some crawled on the dead only to be trampled to death in the spinning dash of hooves.

“Celestine!” Dritha called to her as she freed her sword to prepare to defend herself.

Dritha was fighting two men. She steered her mount with her legs. Her eyes were ablaze. She stabbed under the helm and ripped her blade loose with a long spray of blood. A halberd slammed into her side, but her friend stayed upright, grabbing the weapon with one hand and trying to stab with the other.

“Dritha!” Celestine called and urged her mount towards her friend. Battle was fear. It was the fear of failure. It was the fear of losing Dritha and more of her sisters and brothers.

The enemy rider pulled his halberd back, swinging wide to end Dritha with its final momentum. Celestine crashed her mount into his, frantic with the need to disrupt his swing. It worked. His blade went too low, the flat of it smacking into Dritha’s horse.

“She’s here!” a voice called behind her.

Celestine didn’t turn. She swung with one hand, the days in the schola coming back to her, and delivered the edge of her blade into the rider’s helm. Steel hammered on steel, and the man fell from the force of the blow.

“Dritha!” Celestine shouted to her friend.

The woman smiled at her, a moment of strange calmness and connection in the insanity of this ambush. At that moment, they were sisters. They were comrades.

“Ride!” Dritha shouted to her. “Ride to Scalehall! We will hold them!”

Celestine did not want to leave. She turned, seeing the fierce clench of her comrades fighting these darkly clothed riders. The hiss and screech of conflict rang out in the night air. She felt so cold. The shock of it all, the dreamlike state of this.

“Run!”

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