Read Online Manly Wade Wellman - Novel 1986 by Cahena (v3.1) - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cahena (v3.1)
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now at the rear of the column. Riding, he watched
the developing pursuit. Another cry beat up in the morning air, an exultant cry
as of victory already won. He saw the wink of flourished blades. He urged his
horse to a trot and looked left, then right. The other Imazighen columns were
moving in.
“Our friends are charging!” he shouted his
loudest. “Fall into line and counterattack!”
Wild cries, everywhere. The right and left columns
of the Imazighen spread their fronts as they rode. From the approaching
Moslems, a massed shout . Wulf heard it:
“Ululululallahu akhbar!”
Back pealed a many-voiced response:
“There is also the Cahena!”
Bhakrann cantered past. “Let’s get them!” he
roared.
The far end of the central formation peeled out.
Here they came, the savage Imazighen horsemen, into a moving line of their own.
Wulf recognized gaunt Cham among them. They bent above tossing manes, their
shields up, their javelins lifted. He wheeled his trusty horse and rode
straight at the oncoming enemy.
A dozen leaps took him ahead of nearer companions.
“Come on!” Wulf yelled back as he galloped. Behind him drummed the hoofs.
He must make them come on. Here was the time in a
fight when you brought your men into it, hard and deadly. Then you were just
another warrior yourself, trying to kill, to keep from being killed.
The Moslem horses flew at Wulf, bigger with every
instant. To the front rushed a man on a bounding spotted horse with a tasseled
bridle. A chief, anyway a champion, eager to be first to
fight. First to fight could be first to fall, Wulf thought, like that
enemy scout just days ago.
He tried to judge everything at once. This was a
big man on a bigger horse than Wulf’s. Black turban, black
beard, square shield, flashing blade. As they drove together, Wulf kneed
his horse’s flank to veer right. They were close, close enough to strike.
Wulf felt the shock of a downsweeping blow on the
metal rim of his shield, heard the ring of his own mighty slash on the other’s
helmet. The Moslem crumpled and fell flat among scattered tufts of coarse,
thistly grass as Wulf reined clear of him.
“Yallah —”
someone screamed, and another foe rode at him.
Something purred past Wulf. A javelin smote the
charging Moslem’s belly. Wulf saw the look of blank amazement on the shaggy
face, saw the body fold in around the transfixing shaft, tumble to earth. He
didn’t know who had sped that javelin, whom to thank. He rode after the
countercharge.
It had scrambled around him and past. The air was
rent with shouts. He spared a glance to see the rear elements of the enemy
force swerving leftward to meet the rush of the Imazighen right column. Even as
they swerved, the other column swooped from the opposite side. The enemy had no
shields on their right arms to guard in that direction. Wulf saw a streaky
flight of javelins, saw men go down in swirls of garments. Then more
adversaries here, and he must fight them.
Horses danced around each other, men struck at
each other. The Imazighen were at stab-distance with their javelins. They rode
through enemy ranks that were ranks no more, that frayed, fell back to defend
themselves on three sides. Wulf chopped a turbaned man to earth. He saw the
Cahena, close at his left, her blue robe streaming like a banner.
A Moslem made his way toward her. She moved her
whole lithe body to launch a javelin. The man took it in his chest and toppled
backward as though yanked by a rope. A dozen Imazighen saw.
“There is also the Cahena!” they howled all
together, like a fierce declaration of faith.
She trampled over her fallen enemy. Wulf drummed
his horse’s flanks to speed up and join her. Another Moslem reined around in
front of them. Wulf saw his thicket of beard, the iron helmet-spike above his
turban. He hewed at Wulf, who caught the blade’s sweep with his shield and, at
close quarters, dashed the shield against the Moslem’s body, then drove his own point home. It
the developing pursuit. Another cry beat up in the morning air, an exultant cry
as of victory already won. He saw the wink of flourished blades. He urged his
horse to a trot and looked left, then right. The other Imazighen columns were
moving in.
“Our friends are charging!” he shouted his
loudest. “Fall into line and counterattack!”
Wild cries, everywhere. The right and left columns
of the Imazighen spread their fronts as they rode. From the approaching
Moslems, a massed shout . Wulf heard it:
“Ululululallahu akhbar!”
Back pealed a many-voiced response:
“There is also the Cahena!”
Bhakrann cantered past. “Let’s get them!” he
roared.
The far end of the central formation peeled out.
Here they came, the savage Imazighen horsemen, into a moving line of their own.
Wulf recognized gaunt Cham among them. They bent above tossing manes, their
shields up, their javelins lifted. He wheeled his trusty horse and rode
straight at the oncoming enemy.
A dozen leaps took him ahead of nearer companions.
“Come on!” Wulf yelled back as he galloped. Behind him drummed the hoofs.
He must make them come on. Here was the time in a
fight when you brought your men into it, hard and deadly. Then you were just
another warrior yourself, trying to kill, to keep from being killed.
The Moslem horses flew at Wulf, bigger with every
instant. To the front rushed a man on a bounding spotted horse with a tasseled
bridle. A chief, anyway a champion, eager to be first to
fight. First to fight could be first to fall, Wulf thought, like that
enemy scout just days ago.
He tried to judge everything at once. This was a
big man on a bigger horse than Wulf’s. Black turban, black
beard, square shield, flashing blade. As they drove together, Wulf kneed
his horse’s flank to veer right. They were close, close enough to strike.
Wulf felt the shock of a downsweeping blow on the
metal rim of his shield, heard the ring of his own mighty slash on the other’s
helmet. The Moslem crumpled and fell flat among scattered tufts of coarse,
thistly grass as Wulf reined clear of him.
“Yallah —”
someone screamed, and another foe rode at him.
Something purred past Wulf. A javelin smote the
charging Moslem’s belly. Wulf saw the look of blank amazement on the shaggy
face, saw the body fold in around the transfixing shaft, tumble to earth. He
didn’t know who had sped that javelin, whom to thank. He rode after the
countercharge.
It had scrambled around him and past. The air was
rent with shouts. He spared a glance to see the rear elements of the enemy
force swerving leftward to meet the rush of the Imazighen right column. Even as
they swerved, the other column swooped from the opposite side. The enemy had no
shields on their right arms to guard in that direction. Wulf saw a streaky
flight of javelins, saw men go down in swirls of garments. Then more
adversaries here, and he must fight them.
Horses danced around each other, men struck at
each other. The Imazighen were at stab-distance with their javelins. They rode
through enemy ranks that were ranks no more, that frayed, fell back to defend
themselves on three sides. Wulf chopped a turbaned man to earth. He saw the
Cahena, close at his left, her blue robe streaming like a banner.
A Moslem made his way toward her. She moved her
whole lithe body to launch a javelin. The man took it in his chest and toppled
backward as though yanked by a rope. A dozen Imazighen saw.
“There is also the Cahena!” they howled all
together, like a fierce declaration of faith.
She trampled over her fallen enemy. Wulf drummed
his horse’s flanks to speed up and join her. Another Moslem reined around in
front of them. Wulf saw his thicket of beard, the iron helmet-spike above his
turban. He hewed at Wulf, who caught the blade’s sweep with his shield and, at
close quarters, dashed the shield against the Moslem’s body, then drove his own point home. It
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