He made his way to the far end of the canyon, finding Illian overseeing preparations. “I told you to make ready the main camp, sister,” he said in annoyance.
“Draker has it well in hand,” she replied, meeting his gaze with little sign of contrition. “And since I have trained these people, I am unwilling to let them face battle without me.”
He fought down the urge to order her gone. She was becoming less deferential by the day, exercising a certain flexibility in interpreting his orders and often more than willing to argue her case. It was not necessarily a bad thing, he knew. There always came a point in the Order when novices stepped from their masters’ shadow, but he had hoped it might take longer for her; she still had much to learn and he feared the consequences of her ignorance.
“Stay close to me,” he said. “No more than an arm’s length away at any time. Understood?”
Her defiance softened a little and she nodded, hefting her crossbow and notching a bolt before clasping a second between her teeth in what was now a recognisable pre-battle ritual.
“Brother!” Dallin stood atop a rock pointing to the canyon’s west-facing opening where the Volarian cavalry had appeared.
“You know the plan!” Frentis called to the others as they made ready, hefting their assorted weapons and arranging themselves in a loosely ordered line. They were mostly his original fighters from the Urlish mingled with the more able recruits gathered on the march, Weaver and his Varitai among them, laden with ropes and cudgels. All had tied dampened cloths around their mouths, something he hoped the Volarians would interpret as an effort to avoid recognition.
“We have to hold the first charge,” Frentis went on. “When their lines break, pair off and cut your way to the centre of the canyon.”
The Volarians came to a halt a hundred paces away and began forming up. There was clearly an animated discussion taking place in the centre of their line, Frentis recognising the tall figure of the commander’s son as he bickered with the burly sergeant, gesturing impatiently at the waiting rabble of miscreant slaves. Charging uphill on horseback over broken ground, Frentis mused, watching the sergeant being shouted down before the commander’s son drew his sword, pointing it directly at him. Your father really would have been ashamed, Honoured Citizen.
Frentis turned to Illian as the Volarians spurred into a charge, stones scattering as they laboured up the slope. “The big fellow next to the tall man, if you would sister.”
The bolt flew free barely a second after she brought the crossbow to her shoulder, rising and falling in a perfectly judged arc to smack into the sergeant’s breastplate before the riders had covered half the distance, the burly form falling from the saddle to lie limp on the rocky ground. Illian moved with an unconscious speed to reload the crossbow, grunting as she braced the stock against her midriff, slamming the next bolt into place and biting down on another, all in less than three seconds, a feat Frentis had never seen anyone match. The crossbow string snapped again as the riders came within twenty paces, a Free Sword tumbling to the ground with a bolt protruding from his helmet.
Frentis found himself nurturing a reluctant admiration for the way the commander’s son came on, spurs digging into his horse’s flanks as he strove to get to grips with his father’s murderer, blind hate and rage writ large on his face, seeking to wipe away his shame with courage, a courage that made him oblivious to the fact that the ground had disordered his company and he had outpaced his men to charge alone.
Frentis ran towards a nearby boulder, the hate-filled Volarian now no more than ten feet away, veering to intercept him. He leapt atop the boulder, bringing him level with the son, whirling to deliver a slash that connected with his long-bladed cavalry sword, the Order blade shattering it above the hilt. The Volarian hauled his horse to a halt and tried to wheel it around, fumbling for a spare short sword strapped to his saddle, then arching his back as Illian’s crossbow bolt slammed into it.
She ran in as he fell, pinning him to the ground with a boot to his neck and raising her dagger. “Leave him,” Frentis said, striding forward to slam his sword pommel into the Volarian’s temple, leaving him senseless. “We’ll see what he has to tell us later.”