His troops pulled back, and the Saldaeans and Arafellin arrived, riding in quick waves to break up the Trolloc lines and protect the retreat. Mandarb was wet with sweat; carrying two armored men was a difficult order for the horse, following a charge. Lan slowed the pace, now that they were out of direct harm.
"Deepe", Lan asked as they reached the back lines. "How is Andere?"
"He has a few broken ribs, a broken arm, and a head injury", Deepe said. "I’d be surprised if he could count to ten on his own right now, but I’ve seen worse. I’ll Heal the head wound; the rest can wait".
Lan nodded, reining in. One of his guards—a surly man named Benish who wore a Taraboner veil, though he wore a hadori above it—helped take Andere off Mandarb; they held him up beside Deepe’s horse. The one-legged Asha’man leaned down from the arrangement of straps that supported him in the saddle, placing his hand on Andere’s head and concentrating.
The dazed look left Andere’s eyes, and awareness took over. Then he started swearing.
He’ll be fine, Lan thought, looking at the battlefield. The Shadowspawn were now falling back. It was near dusk.
Prince Kaisel cantered up beside Lan. "That Saldaean flag bears the red stripe of the Queen", he said. "She’s riding with them again, Lan".
"She is their queen. She can do as she wishes".
"You should talk to her", Kaisel said, shaking his head. "Its not right, Lan. Other women from the Saldaean army are starting to ride with them as well".
"I’ve seen Saldaean women spar", Lan said, still watching the battlefield. "If I were to place a bet on a contest between one of them and a man from any army in the South, I’d bet on the Saldaean any day".
"But . . ".
"This war is everything or nothing. If I could round up each woman in the Borderlands and put a sword in her hands, I would. For now, I’ll settle for not doing something stupid—like forbidding some trained and passionate soldiers from fighting. If you, however, decide not to exercise that prudence, you are free to tell them what you think. I promise to give you a good burial once they let me take your head down off the pole".
"I . . . Yes, Lord Mandragoran", Kaisel said.
Lan took out his spyglass and surveyed the field.
"Lord Mandragoran?" Kaisel said. "Do you really think this plan will work?"
"There are too many Trollocs", Lan said. "The leaders of the Dark One’s armies have been breeding them for years, growing them like weeds. Trollocs eat a lot; each one requires more food than a man to keep it going.
"By now, they must have eaten the Blight out of anything that could sustain them. The Shadow expended every bit of food they could to create this army, counting on the Trollocs being able to eat the corpses of the fallen".
Sure enough, now that the battle had broken off, the Trollocs swarmed the field in their gruesome scavenging. They preferred human meat, but would eat their own fallen. Lan had spent four days running before their army, not giving them any bodies to feast upon.
They’d managed it only because of the burning of Fal Dara and Fal Moran and other cities in western Shienar. Scouring those cities for food had slowed the Trollocs, allowing Lan’s army to get its feet underneath it and organize its retreat.
The Shienarans had left nothing edible in any of the nearby cities. Four days without food. The Trollocs didn’t use supply lines; they ate what they came across. They’d be starving. Ravenous. Lan studied them with his spyglass. Many did not wait for the cookpots. They were far more animal than they were human.
They’re far more Shadow than they are either one, Lan thought, lowering his spyglass. His plan was morbid, but the Light send it would be effective. His men would fight, and there would be casualties. Those casualties would become the bait for the real battle.
"Now", Lan whispered.
Lord Agelmar saw it, too. The horns blew, and a yellow streak of light rose into the air. Lan turned Mandarb, the horse snorting at the command. He was tired, but so was Lan. Both could stand another battle. They had to.
"Tai’shar Malkier!" Lan roared, lowering his sword and leading his force back onto the field. All five Borderlander armies converged on the fractured Shadowspawn horde. The Trollocs had broken lines completely to fight over the corpses.
As Lan thundered toward them, he heard the Myrddraal yelling, trying to force the Trollocs back into order. It was far too late. Many of the famished beasts didn’t look up until the armies were nearly upon them.
When Lan’s forces hit this time, the effect was very different from before. Earlier, their attack had been slowed by the Trollocs’ close ranks, and they had managed to penetrate only a dozen paces before being forced to take up swords and axes. This time, the Trollocs were spread out. Lan signaled the Shienarans to hit first; their line was so tight, one would have been hard-pressed to find an opening of more than two paces between the horses.
That left no room for the Trollocs to run or dodge. The riders trampled them in a thunder of hooves and clanking barding, skewering Trollocs on their lances, firing horsebows, laying about themselves with two-handed swords. There seemed to be a special viciousness to the Shienarans as they attacked, wearing their open-fronted helmets and armor made up of flat plates.
Lan brought his Malkieri cavalry in behind, riding crossfield behind the Shienarans to kill any Trollocs that survived the initial onslaught. Once they’d passed, the Shienarans broke to the right to gather for another pass, but the Arafellin slammed in behind them, slaying more Shadowspawn that were attempting to form up. After them came a wave of Saldaeans crossing as the Malkieri had, then the Kandori sweeping from the other direction.
Sweating—sword-arm tired—Lan prepared again. Only then did he realize that Prince Kaisel himself was carrying the banner of Malkier. The lad was young, but his heart was right. Though he was somewhat stupid about women.
Light, but we all are, in one way or another, Lan thought. Nynaeve’s distant emotions in the bond comforted him. He could not sense much over the distance, but she seemed determined.
As Lan began his second sweep, the ground started exploding beneath his men. The Dreadlords had finally realized what was happening and had made their way back to the front lines. Lan directed Mandarb around a crater that erupted in the ground just before him, soil spraying across his chest. The Dreadlords’ appearance was his signal to stop the sweeps; he wanted to ride in, hit hard, and ride out. To fight the Dreadlords, he’d have to commit all of his channelers, which was something he didn’t want to do.
"Blood and bloody ashes!" Deepe swore as Lan rounded another explosion. "Lord Mandragoran!"
Lan looked back. Deepe was slowing his horse.
"Keep moving, man", Lan said, reining in Mandarb. He signaled for his forces to keep riding, though Prince Kaisel and Lan’s battlefield guard stopped with him.
"Oh, Light" Deepe said, concentrating.
Lan surveyed the scene. Around them, Trollocs lay dead or dying, howling or simply whimpering. To his left, the mass of Shadowspawn was belatedly forming up. They’d have a unified line soon, and if Lan and the others didn’t move, they’d find themselves alone on the field.
Deepe had his eyes on a figure standing atop what appeared to be a large siege engine; it had a flat bed, and was perhaps twenty feet tall. A group of Trollocs were heaving it forward, and it rolled on large wooden wheels.
Yes, there was a figure up there. There were several of them. Balls of fire began to fall toward the Borderlanders as they rode away, and lighting flashed from the sky. Lan suddenly felt like a target on an archery practice field.
"Deepe!"
"It’s the M’Hael!" Deepe explained.
Taim had not been with the enemy army for the last week or so—but now the man had returned, it seemed. It was impossible to tell for sure because of the distance, but the way the man flung weaves in rapid succession, he seemed angry about something.
"Let’s ride!" Lan yelled.
"I could take him", Deepe said. "I could—"
Lan saw a flash of light, and suddenly Mandarb reared. Lan cursed, trying to blink the afterimage from his eyes. There was something wrong with his ears, too.
Mandarb bucked and curvetted, quivering. It took a lot to shake the stallion, but a lightning bolt that close would unnerve any horse. A second flash of lightning threw Lan to the ground. He tumbled, grunting, but something—deep within—knew what to do. When he came to himself, he was already on his feet, dizzy, sword in hand. He groaned, staggering.
Hands grabbed him, hauling him up into a saddle. Prince Kaisel, face bloodied from fighting, held the reins. Lan’s guard made sure he was steady on his mount as they rode away.
He caught sight of Deepe’s corpse, mangled and lying in pieces, as they fled.
CHAPTER 17
Older, More Weathered
"Was not fruitful, Majesty", the voice said through Mat’s doze. Something was pricking Mat’s face. This mattress was the absolute worst he had ever slept on. He was going to thrash the innkeeper until he got his money back.
"The assassin is very difficult to follow", that annoying voice continued. "People he passes do not remember him. If the Prince of the Ravens has information on how the creature may be tracked, I would very much like to hear it".
Why would the innkeeper let these people into Mat’s room? He drifted toward consciousness, leaving behind a lovely dream involving Tuon and no cares in the world. He opened a bleary eye, looking up at a cloudy sky. Not an inn’s ceiling at all.
Bloody ashes, Mat thought, groaning. They had fallen asleep in the gardens. He sat up, finding himself totally bare except for the scarf around his neck. His and Tuon’s clothing was spread out beneath them. His face had been in a patch of weeds.
Tuon sat beside him, ignoring the fact that she was completely nak*d, speaking with a member of the Deathwatch Guard. Musenge was on one knee, head bowed, face toward the ground. But still!
"Light!" Mat said, reaching for his clothing. Tuon was sitting on his shirt, and gave him an annoyed look as he tried to yank it free.
"Honored One", the guard said to Mat, face still down. "Greetings upon your waking".
"Tuon, why are you just sitting there?" Mat demanded, finally retrieving his shirt from under that luscious rump.
"As my consort", Tuon said sternly, "you may call me Fortuona or Majesty. I would hate to have you executed before you give me a child, as I am growing fond of you. Regarding this guard, he is of the Deathwatch. They are needed to watch me at all times. I have often had them with me when bathing. This is their duty, and his face is averted".
Mat hurriedly began dressing.
She started to dress, though not quickly enough for his taste. He did not think much of a guard ogling his wife. The place where they had slept was rimmed by small blue fir trees—an oddity here in the South, perhaps cultivated because they were exotic. Though the needles were browning, they offered some measure of privacy. Beyond the firs was a ring of other trees—peaches, Mat thought, but it was hard to tell without the leaves.