Page 124 of Given to the Black King

Below us, Ghenn sees.

A horn sounds from the black-country center.

The slopes move.

Men who have lain beneath gray cloaks since before dawn stand in two long lines. Black shields rise. Spears lower.

The pass begins to close around Osk.

Not completely.

The east lane remains open, exactly as written.

The Blue Gulls and Red Pikes move through it. Nobody attacks them.

The Split Sun hesitates.

Osk sends cavalry to block their withdrawal.

That decides them.

White cloth rises over the split sun. Their spears turn outward against Osk’s riders long enough to clear the lane. Then they leave too.

Three companies gone.

More than two thousand men removed by paper, seals, and one promise kept in public.

My hands shake around the pennant pole. Fear is part of it. So is the force of what we have just done.

Torgan’s center moves forward.

The battle begins.

There is no order in it from the wall. Only sections I understand one at a time.

Osk’s levies enter the narrowing road.

Black-country shields hit them from the front.

Hidden spears close from both slopes.

The White Horse company stays with Osk. Their captain must still believe the coast silver will arrive.

Torgan reaches them first.

I know him by his horns and the empty space men try to keep around him.

A spear breaks against his shield. He throws the broken shaft aside and takes the man behind it off his feet.

Another comes from his left.

Torgan’s claws catch the attacker’s sword arm. His blade follows.

He does not rage.

He works.

Step. Strike. Turn. Move.