Kushiel's Chosen

chase.
    "Well," Tarren d'Eltoine remarked thoughtfully. "We know they will be awaiting us."
    In a few short hours, he was proved right.
    I had not been there in the field, when Drustan mab Necthana, Ghislain de Somerville and Isidore d'Aiglemort assailed the vast might of the Skaldic army with a few thousand men. I had seen it happen, from atop the ramparts of Troyes-le-Mont; still, that was not the same thing. This day, though, I knew how they must have felt. The white walls of the City of Elua gleamed in the distance, and between us and the City lay the whole of the Royal Army. Although the standing army was only four thousand strong, we numbered a mere six hundred, and the odds were much the same.
    Percy de Somerville would not make Waldemar Selig's mistake; he kept a portion of his troops in reserve, relentlessly guarding the egresses from the City. If Barquiel L'Envers had the means to mount a counterattack, he would not be given the opportunity.
    The bulk of his forces were awaiting us, and they were in such a formation that let us know de Somerville had taken our measure from his cavalry's report, and prepared to meet us. Even as we drew nigh, a row of archers kneeling in the forefront with L'Agnacite longbows loosed a volley.
    "Up shields!" Captain d'Eltoine shouted; and up they rose, a wall of black-painted steel warding the skies. It is an old Tiberian tactic and a good one, effective with infantry; it was not designed for use with cavalry. A rain of arrows fell hissing, and I heard the skittering of metal on metal as they glancing off shields, and cries of pain where they found flesh, the awful sound of the wounded horses. Someone nearby was moaning. Peering out from behind Joscelin's arms-for he had leaned over to grab me hard, pulling me half out of the saddle to ward me with both vambraces-I saw a boy of no more than twelve to the side of our column, green with pain as he put an uncomprehending hand to the shaft protruding from his chest. He'd run on ahead, to get a better view.
    "Ah, no," I murmured. "Elua, no!"
    Ysandre saw it too; her throat moved as she swallowed. It was almost in a whisper that she gave the command to Tarren d'Eltoine: "Advance."
    And we did.
    It must have been a fearsome sight, that wall of Black Shields moving forward undaunted. Not all of them did, for some of Percy de Somerville's L'Agnacite archers had found their targets. It took me like a spear to the belly, to guide my mount around the body of a slain Camaeline cavalryman, lying in the road with glazed eyes still open, his hand clutching his shield's grip. I, who did not even know his name, had sent him here to die.
    Still we marched, and a second volley of arrows fell from the sky, and a third. A dozen men took grievous wounds despite their shields, until we drew close enough that Percy de Somerville ordered his archers to retreat through the ranks and sent his own pikemen, a thousand strong, to square off against our approaching forces while he moved two-thirds of his cavalry round to flank and enfold us. The countryfolk who had marched so boldly at our side huddled close behind the Queen's Guard, uncertain and fearful.
    Somewhere, on the distant white walls of the City of Elua, there was shouting and the sound of horns, but it was faint and far away, and our tiny company was islanded amidst de Somerville's soldiers, a bristling forest of pikes facing us. In the stillness, Ysandre de la Courcel gave a silent prayer, only her lips moving.
    "Herald," she said faintly, then. "Give the proclamation."
    The inner ranks of the Unforgiven shifted, allowing him a space in the vanguard from which to deliver his message to the Royal Army. He drew a breath that must have strained his lungs to bursting, shouting, "Make way for Ysandre de la Courcel, the Queen of Terre d'Ange!"
    With a roar, the pikemen of Percy de Somerville's army attacked, surging forward in a vast wave; surged forward, and broke, against the implacable wall of Black Shields, the Unforgiven of Camlach. All around and behind us it was chaos, de Somerville's cavalry forced into milling confusion by the presence of unarmed citizens fouling their course.
    "Ys-and-dre! Ys-and-dre!"
    The pikemen of the Unforgiven drove a wedge into de Somerville's infantry and the cavalry pushed from behind, widening it, and the Queen of Terre d'Ange rode into the gap. Amaury Trente, shouting orders, paused to glance around wild-eyed. "Queen's Guard!" he cried. "Now!"
    They had fewer