They stood tall as from the saddles they swung their steel with the desperation of those who had expected a rout and found a wall; while from below, death rose to meet them in the form of a thousand reaching blades.
By every law of war, the Legions should have shattered. The initial shock had been absolute, lances had splintered through the front ranks, and the weight of the destriers had carried the knights deep into the heart of the squares allowing them to seminate confusion all the way to the marrow of the formation.
But the men of Yarzat did not flee. They stood in the red ruin of their formation and began the grim work that was expected of them.
Had the prince not been there perhaps they would have routed, or perhaps not. History was all made up of big ifs. But what use was to talk of road not yet taken, while a mountain await to be climbed?
