“Still, Kalif, I think . . .”
Ilathor stood up in his stirrups and called out. “Form up in a line! We will charge their western flank.”
“Kalif, the men are exhausted. Perhaps one night’s rest . . .”
“Jehral, I have given the order. Come, fight by my side, my friend.”
“Yes, Kalif,” Jehral said.
Thousands of horsemen rode up to line the ridge, riders formed up side by side in one long line.
“They know we’re here,” said Jehral.
“Then let them tremble.”
Ilathor held his sword aloft and his men followed suit, until every desert warrior clutched a curved scimitar above his head.
Jehral prepared himself, rehearsing the activation sequence for his weapon, practicing techniques in his mind that would decapitate enemy warriors with heavy slashing blows.
“Charge!”
Ilathor waved his scimitar over his head and kicked his stallion into a gallop. Jehral spurred his gelding to keep up, and soon the thrill of the charge filled his spirit. Hooves thundered across the hard ground. Riders in black and yellow roared as they sped forward, their steeds eating up the earth as they rushed in a line that rapidly became a wedge, with the kalif leading from the point of the spear.
Jehral saw the kalif deftly nudge his stallion in a slight direction change and realized Ilathor was heading for the cluster of black flags. Jehral saw their leader—a man in black-and-white checkers, wearing a three-cornered hat—call out a series of orders as he turned his men to face them. Jehral’s eyes widened. The man in black was a revenant, but he behaved like a man.
With a heavy sense of dread, Jehral remembered Miro’s story of fighting Diemos, the king of Rendar. They’d never faced the last of the three kings. This must be Gorain, the king of Nexos. The revenants in black and white uniforms around him were his men.
The Hazarans struck the enemy with their relentless charge, screams of men and horses filling the air and the ring of steel on steel clanging like temple bells. The enemy fell under the scimitars, and the horsemen surged ahead to fill the widening gap.
Then Jehral saw Ilathor ahead, embroiled in the fighting, dispatching his enemies with strong blows of his muscled arm, but caught in the thick of the fray.
“Kalif,” Jehral called, “pull back!”
Jehral wasn’t sure whether Ilathor heard him or not, but the kalif continued pressing through the uniformed revenants, his knees on his stallion’s flanks taking him ever closer. Ilathor charged in a direct line for the black pirate king.
The battle slowed to a vicious series of images, snarling revenants lunging up at the riders and Hazarans slashing with curved blades as Jehral fought with all his energy to reach the kalif. He felt revenants pressing him on all sides, grotesque visages tilted to look up at him to be met with crushing blows of his enchanted blade. He slashed down at a revenant, cleaving through its head, and then dispatched a tall warrior on his other side with a deep cut into the neck and chest. Jehral spurred his gelding forward, but the revenants were everywhere.
Jehral saw the pirate king counter a blow from the kalif. Gorain’s moves were smooth and graceful as Ilathor then narrowly blocked his riposte. Jehral’s heart pounded as he saw the kalif was outclassed. This warrior moved as quickly as a bladesinger.
The man in black and white grabbed the stallion’s bridle and pulled down, hard. Ilathor jerked back on the reins to bring his steed back up, but Gorain grimaced and thrust up at the kalif with a glowing sword of thin steel.
Ilathor screamed as the blow struck the center of his chest, and then he slumped in the saddle.
“The kalif!” Jehral cried.
Jehral felt the revenants give ground as the Hazarans pushed forward to reach their leader. A brave horseman smashed his mount into the pirate king, but the rider was met with flashing steel that took the head off his mount. The man fell and Gorain’s followers hacked at the Hazaran’s body. Jehral finally reached the kalif and cut away the clawing revenants as he took hold of Ilathor’s reins in his hand. He wheeled and with a sense of relief felt the stallion come with him.
“Fall back!” Jehral said. The men took up the cry around him, and with a valiant effort the Hazarans pulled free of the enemy’s grip and wheeled back out of the fray. They rode at full gallop, and their slower enemy didn’t give chase.
The horses fled with frantic terror, but Jehral didn’t halt the mad flight until they’d reached the safety of the temporary camp in the hills. He swiftly issued orders from the saddle, relieved when the men didn’t question his command.