Leftenant Damon Forester of His Majesty’s Cavaliers yanked his blade out of a Tremalaine infantryman and continued to hack his way through their lines.
Blood flew, men and horses screamed, and the ground churned into a frothy morass of bloody mud.
Damon felt hands find purchase on his person. The desperate grasping and tugging overbalanced him and he tumbled to the ground.
Dirty faces surrounded him, while blades flashed in the dying sunlight. A cacophony of sound arose as sharpened edges quested for the fatal chink that would spell his doom.
He slashed back, ineffectually, until his enemies tore his sabre from his grasp. Weaponless, he kicked and screamed and flailed and prayed.
His hope fled when men pinned his arms and legs to the ground.
A Tremalaine soldier’s face twisted into a cruel sneer as he lifted his blade for the killing stroke.
Damon closed his eyes.
He opened them in confusion as death cries rattled in the air around him.
His fellow Cavalier, Yallo, reared his horse back; it’s ironshod hooves tore and pounded Damon’s would-be killers. Yallo’s blade flicked out to rend and maim flesh.
The Tremalaine troops scattered, or died, depending on the speed of their reactions. Ironflank, Yallo’s warhorse, circled around Damon.
Yallo kicked himself free of the saddle and landed beside Damon. He reached down and Damon grasped his hand. Yallo heaved and pulled Damon off the ground.
Damon’s chest and shoulders shook, his breath came in ragged gasps. He looked at Yallo and his eyes widened.
Damon pulled his dagger, and in one swift movement, sent it tumbling across the sky right beside Yallo’s face. A yell faded into a gurgle.
Yallo turned to see a Tremalaine soldier who attempted to stab him in the back sink to the ground, a dagger protruding from his eye socket.
Damon and Yallo looked at each other and nodded. Yallo remounted Ironflank, while Damon pursed his lips. A piercing whistle cut through the sounds of Hell to bring Wintergreen, Damon’s warhorse, to him at a gallop.
Damon grabbed his fallen sabre and remounted. A half-grin crossed his face and he gestured toward the archers and ballistae that kept the Drake Knights at bay.
Yallo grinned back. He made a sweeping gesture to indicate Damon should go first.
The two friends wheeled their horses together and charged into the thick of the fray once more.