Lujan bit back trepidation. The pace of the cho-ja was dizzying, too fast for human reactions to encompass.
The Acoma soldiers clung in fear of life and limb. The ground rushed by very fast. Mox’l and his warriors leaped over washes and boulder-strewn scree. Now and again one clawed foot appendage would scatter a fall of loose stones. Human riders squeezed their eyes shut and thought ahead, anticipating battle with the enemy. Facing death by the sword seemed less risky than this headlong dash on cho-ja backs. By the grace of the gods, the Acoma Force Commander could do nothing but cling and hope that his company of humans would survive the ride without breaking their necks.
The land levelled out into sand flats. If Mox’l tired from his burden, he showed none of the signs a human might. His chitinous body did not sweat, and his armoured flanks did not labour with fast breathing. Lujan unglued watering eyes and glanced to either side. His fellow warriors were all still in place, though not a few looked white-faced and stiff. He called encouragement to his subofficers, then faced forward, into the whip of the air, to mark their progress.
The cho-ja had borne the warriors better than three leagues in a fraction of the time a human company could march. They made even better time in the flatlands, their quick, clawed feet raising minimal puffs of dust. In the distance, Lujan caught sight of a lone runner. Confident now, even exhilarated, he leaned down and pointed past Mox’l’s many-faceted eye.
The cho-ja Force Commander nodded without breaking stride. ‘A messenger of the enemy flees before us,’ he elaborated, his eyesight being keener than a human’s. ‘We must overtake him, else risk the success of our mission.’
Lujan opened his mouth to agree, then checked in a moment of inspiration. ‘No,’ he decided. ‘Let the man race in terror and reach his commanders unharmed. We will follow on his heels, and let his fear sap the heart from our enemies.’
‘Humans know humans best,’ Mox’l recited from hive proverb. ‘We shall proceed as you think best, for the honour of your Lady and our Queen.’
The ride ended at the base of the hills, before a chain of grottoes that notched the slopes opposite the valley where the allied armies of Acoma and Xacatecas had marched the day before. Lujan saw the runner scurry like a gazen into shadow, and then there rose a flurry of movement as warriors too tall for desert men emerged from hiding, in a rush to buckle their helms. They were not fully in armour, having expected to climb over the hills and then march upon Mara’s troops through the knolls overlooking the hardpan. Now, caught unprepared, they formed ranks in disarray, shouting for haste and cursing their loosened sword belts.
Lujan and his mounted strike force raced in until they were scarcely beyond bowshot range. Then the cho-ja stopped sharply. Human warriors dismounted from their insectoid companions, and the companies flowed into battle lines and charged. The manoeuvre could not have gone off more smoothly had they practised; apprehension kept the Acoma men from recklessness. They did not know how many of the enemy they might be facing. Mindful of their fellows, even the most hot-blooded of the warriors held their places as they ran screaming battle calls into the ranks of their enemy.
They struck, and the conflict was closed. Outnumbered, perhaps, but outraged at the trap that had been set to dishonour their Lady, the Acoma fought as though inspired. They had done the impossible, crossed leagues of hostile desert on cho-ja back; their muscles were fresh, and their bodies charged with the adrenaline of daring the unthinkable. Danger from the unknown was replaced by the familiar rhythm of thrust, parry, and lunge, as Mara’s green-armoured warriors engaged the enemy with a will.