The Dragon’s Path by Daniel Abraham

imagined the wind of the charge, the heat and speed of the horse beneath him, the fierce cries of battle in his throat. He hadn’t thought about the numbing hours sitting in the saddle, his armor cooling against him, while the infantry formed, shifted, and re-formed. The noble line of knights, sword and lance at the ready, was a clump of men laughing, trading dirty jokes, and complaining that the food was either sparse or spoiled. It felt less like the noble proving ground of war than the ninth day of an eight-day hunt. Geder’s spine was a single burning ache from his ass to the base of his skull. His thighs were chapped raw, his jaw popped every time he yawned, and his mouth tasted like sour cheese. His squire stood by his side, Geder’s battle lance in his hands, shield slung across his back, and a wary expression on his hairless face.
    “Palliako!”
    Geder shifted. Sir Alan Klin rode a huge black charger, the steel of its barding all enameled red. The man’s armorglittered with dew and the silver worked into a dragon’s wing design. He could have stepped out of an ancient war rhyme.
    “My lord?” Geder said.
    “You’re with the charge on the west. The scouts report it as the mercenary forces Vanai’s bought, so it should be the easiest fighting.”
    Geder frowned. That seemed wrong, but fatigue made it hard to think through. Mercenaries were professional fighters and veterans to a man. And that was where the fighting would be
easy
? Klin read his expression, leaned to the side, and spat.
    “They aren’t protecting their homes and wives,” Klin said. “Just follow where Kalliam goes and try not to knock your horse into anyone. Knees get broken that way.”
    “I know that.”
    Klin’s pale eyebrows rose.
    “I mean… I mean I’ll be careful, my lord.”
    Klin made a clicking sound, and his beautiful charger shook its head and turned. Geder’s squire looked up at him. If there was any amusement in the Dartinae’s glowing eyes, it was well hidden.
    “Come on,” Geder said. “Let’s get in place.”
    The hell of it was, what Klin said might be true. Perhaps he was sending Geder and the youngest Sir Kalliam into the easiest part of the coming battle. A charge, a few sword strokes to one side and another, and the paid forces call surrender before anyone got too badly hurt. It would be a mark of Klin’s ability if he could have all his knights alive, and increase his own glory by keeping the fiercest fights for himself. Anything to impress Lord Ternigan and stand out from the marshal’s other captains. Or perhaps Klin wanted Gederto die in the battle. Geder thought he might be ready to die if it meant not riding anymore.
    Jorey Kalliam sat high on his saddle, speaking to his bannerman. His plate was simple steel, unadorned and elegant. Six other knights were with him, their squires all close and ready. Kalliam nodded solemnly to Geder and he returned the salute.
    “Come close,” he called. “All of you. To me.”
    The knights shifted their mounts in. Sir Makiyos of Ainsbaugh. Sozlu Veren and his twin brother Sesil. Darius Sokak, the Count of Hiren. Fallon Broot, Baron of Suderling Heights, and his son Daved. All in all, a pretty sad bunch. He could see from their own expressions that they’d drawn similar conclusions from his arrival.
    “The valley narrows about half a league from here,” Kalliam said. “The Vanai are there, and they’re entrenched. The scouts are saying the banners here on the western edge belong to a mercenary company under a Captain Karol Dannian.”
    “How many men’s he got?”
    “Two hundred, but mostly sword-and-bows,” Kalliam said.
    “Brilliant,” Fallon Broot said, stroking the mustache that drooped down past his weak chin. “That should leave enough for all of us to have our turn.”
    Geder couldn’t tell if it was meant as a joke.
    “Our work,” Kalliam said, “is to hold tight to the edge of the valley. The main thrust will be on the eastern end where