Cael rode his fearsome steed of smoke and shadows back and forth across the line. His archers harassed Eowain's front lines from cover. Cries of pain and panic filled the air.
Then the brigands came up out of the wood.
Medyr and his acolyte rallied the men at the fore with their chants. The bandits surged up the hill at them, spears and swords thrusting. With their iron-shod blackthorn sticks raised like swords, Medyr and his acolyte met the villains not as drymyn, but as men of Droma.
From the hill, Eowain saw Cael slip out from between the closing lines. "Hoy, the right!" He pointed. Cael's horsemen had materialized from the trees and formed up for a charge on Eowain's weak right flank. Lorcán and the horse-lieutenant shouted orders. Eowain's meager wing of cavalry spurred their mounts. Eowain on his dappled grey leaped to the van. He bore down on Cael with the spear of Findtan raised to strike.
Cael answered Eowain's volleying challenge with sword held high and shield to the ready. The steed of smoke and shadows beneath him thundered, preternaturally silent, up the hill. Its milk-white eyes rolled.
Eowain's horse reared and shied from the phantasmal steed. He fought for control of the beast. Cael howled through this black-plumed helmet, his sword swung at Eowain's head. Eowain's horse whinnied and bucked.
Damn it! Eowain fell back on its rump and let Cael's sword swing over him, then parried the return slash with his spear as Cael rode by. It was a hard blow and shuddered through his arm all the way to his shoulder. His horse blew hard, kicked, then reared again.
Annwn with this! Eowain swung loose from the saddle and let go the horse before it got him killed. Free of his command, the horse plunged away from Cael's phantom beast as fast as it could go even before Eowain's feet struck the ground.
The horses of Droma snorted, fought their riders, and broke formation as Cael passed straight through them without the least impediment. Two men went down under his hacking broadsword. Four more were thrown from fearful mounts and trampled under plunging hooves.
Then the two cavalry wings crashed together all around Eowain. The brigands had the better of that meeting. Confusion reigned among the Horse of Droma. Riders struggled with spooked mounts. Loose horses reared at anything in their path. And Cael's ragtag bandits put spears through many a man.
Eowain knocked aside blades with his shield, took down two men with his father's spear. The barnyard smell of leather, horse-sweat, and dung rose in his nostrils. Everywhere was a welter of horse-flesh, and men towered over him in their saddles. Hot blood drenched him as he cut a rider's leg off.
Then he was shouldered aside by one plunging beast, battered by the hooves of another. His mailed chest blunted a spear-strike that drove the wind from him. A sword-blow rang from his helmet. Dazed, Eowain fought and shoved himself free from the mob.
He shook his head. Up the slope, the black-plumed Cael twirled his sword, then leveled its point at Eowain. His phantasmal steed stamped its hooves eagerly.
Eowain flexed his neck to right and left, felt vertebrae crackle. "All right." He hefted his shield and his father's spear. "Come on then, you bastard."
Cael's steed rose up and stamped both feet twice, then plunged down upon him. Eowain raised his shield and took the full weight of Cael's hammer-like blow upon it. He went down on one knee as Cael rode past.
Wherever the sorcerous beast rode, horses—both the bandits' and the Droma-men's—shied, shimmied, and shunned it. Cael reined it about and charged again on Eowain.
That nightmare has got to die. Eowain didn't normally care to target a man's steed. Good horseflesh was too valuable, and it was a cowardly way to fight, bringing down a man's horse. But this was no natural creature.
As Cael rode him down again, he swung the begrimed blade of his spear low. The animal didn't even flinch. The sharpened edge of the spear struck at its forelegs.
The shudder of the blow went up Eowain's arm painfully as if he'd struck an anvil with all his strength. Cael's sword rang off his helmet. Eowain spun and went down again on a knee.
He shook his head. Cael wheeled the beast around once more. The animal capered on its legs as if Eowain hadn't struck it at all. Like its hide is made of steel. He shook his head again.
Eowain could almost see Cael's grin through his visored helm. The bandit chief spurred the beast again. It leaped sprightly to its bloody work.
He set the butt of the spear in the churned mud of the field, twisted his hands around its ashen shaft, and dropped on it with his knee to lend it his weight.
The black chest and legs of the beast filled his vision. Cael aimed to trample him down into the mud and be done with him.
Annwn if he will. Eowain raised the blade of the spear and roared like a bear. "DROMA!"
Like a catapult stone, the full, freighted weight of the beast crashed into him.
The spear of Findtan held firm. Cael and the beast cartwheeled up over Eowain's head, then crashed down on him as they—all three—tumbled down the hill.
Eowain found himself flat on his belly. He'd lost his shield somewhere in the mud. He looked up into the milk-white eyes of the sorcerous steed. There was no natural fear there. No pain. Yet the spear of Findtan was plunged half its length through the beast's chest. It blew twice from its flared nostrils. Then its black, lathered hide melted away into the ground and disappeared. The spear of his father lay on the field coated in nothing more than oily black ichor.
Sore and shaken, Eowain pushed himself up and rested a moment on his knees.
Cael was not far away. He sat up slowly, pulled his black-plumed helmet loose and tossed it away. He shook his head and looked about to find Eowain.
His long, oily hair fell to his shoulders. His face was narrow and flat. Blood spurted from a nose surely broken, and grime covered his cheeks. He wiped at his mouth and looked at the blood on the back of his glove, then spit several teeth loose. "Well, Yer Grace?"
Eowain knew what he meant. "Aye." He nodded to the bandit-chief, levered himself up to his feet, and drew his sword. "Let's have done."
Cael nodded in return, found his sword in the mud near to hand, and rose to his feet. "I'll have that pretty little bride of yours, you know." With blade raised, he went on. "I'll split her gee wide open, I will."
They fought all through the day and into the twilight. At last, as sunset approached, weary of their sparring, Eowain and Cael each knelt in the mud, facing each other and breathing hard.
"Yer... a hard man... ta kill..., Yer Grace." Cael clutched his injured left hand close to his chest.
But Eowain had to admit it: the bandit was no slouch with a sword. Quick and agile, he'd picked and slashed at Eowain and worn him down through the long day. Only Eowain's bear-like strength and obduracy had kept him on his own feet.
Eowain's men had fallen back all around them, save for a handful of his personal guard. These held off Cael's bandits, who had less honor about their single combat.
Eowain lifted one knee and planted his foot on the ground. He intended to rise and continue.
Cael raised a hand. "Stay, Yer Grace." He nodded to the sun. "The light is gone. A night's truce? To meet again on the morrow?"
It was a gentleman's agreement. Perhaps Cael wasn't always a bandit? Eowain wondered where he'd come from, how he'd come to his present state.
But he was blowing hard, and his back and shoulders ached. He didn't really care enough to ask. "Aye," he agreed. "Upon the morrow then."
Eowain left the bandits in possession of the field.
—33—
Look for the next installment in this Continuing Tale of The Matter of Manred: The Romance of Eowain.
Want to learn more? Check out MDellertDotCom/The-Romance-of-Eowain. Or get the whole book now from Amazon for print and Kindle: getBook.at/Romance-of-Eowain.
And please don't forget to vote, tweet, post, pin, share, and otherwise help get the word out about this exciting new Adventure in Indie Publishing!