The horses broke into a canter, and the thundering of their hooves pounded audibly to Ashtaway on the mountainside-and, no doubt, throughout Sanction as well. Still, somehow, despite their speed, the knights maintained a precise line. Lances that had been upraised were now lowered, couched in the riders' flanks, silvery tips angling toward the pockets of ogres and other warriors who scrambled to form some kind of desperate, makeshift defense before their precious forges, barns, and arsenals.

Finally the attackers broke into a gallop, and here the slightest variations opened in their lines as the fastest horses pulled slightly ahead of the slowest. Even so, the knights and their chargers advanced as a wall, bristling with razor-sharp lances, fueled by a grim desire for victory.

The initial groups of defenders raised their weapons, some ogres displaying heroic courage in standing to meet the charge. Screams of pain rose from the field, mingled with the splintering sounds of spear shafts breaking and the shouted battle cries of the charging knights. Yet the horsemen swept past without pause, the straight line barely rippling over each pocket of defenders, and Ash was awed to see that not a single ogre remained standing once the rank had passed them. The knights and their horses, conversely, did not falter in the precise formation of their advance.

Other groups of defenders-ogres, bakali, and numerous human warriors-scrambled to raise weapons, to join ranks in the face of the thunderous onslaught. Unarmored, clapping helmets on their heads, breastplates hastily fastened over their cotton tunics, these ragged, frightened warriors emerged from the barracks and forges, urged toward the sounds of the charge by the profane exhortations of their captains. One by one the companies were pounded into the dirt by the inexorably advancing knights, until those that had not yet joined the battle turned and fled in a desperate attempt to avoid the crushing wave of death.

One or two horses fell, gutted or hamstrung by desperate ogres. Ash saw a knight climb to his feet beside a writhing mount. The man shook his head groggily, then drew a mighty sword. He cleaved a nearby ogre who showed signs of stirring, then looked around for further victims. When none showed, he raised the weapon and trotted, on foot, behind the rank of his fellows.

By the time Sir Kamford's charge swept fully across the vast plateau, the horsemen had smashed every defender who had dared to stand in their way. A few ogres still moved, but these were stunned by the shock of the attack. Ashtaway saw one of these stagger to his feet, look at the devastation around him, then collapse in apparent despair. Others tried to fight, but could offer only feeble resistance to a few dismounted knights who now charged forward in the wake of the horses. Most of the riders had discarded their lances, and now the riders chopped, slashed, and stabbed with cold efficiency.

The knights broke into smaller groups as the charge was segmented by the looming piles of coal and the blocklike structures of the forges, storage barns, and arsenals. Around the corrals, where horses bucked and snorted, fences went down under the hooves of chargers. More knights dismounted, smashing additional fences and prying open steel-barred gates. Like water flowing out of a breached reservoir, the horses streamed through the openings, while shouting knights, brandishing flaring torches, urged the frightened beasts into a raging stampede.

In Sanction itself, bright banners now flew from many staffs, while brassy horns brayed a constant summons to arms.

Ash saw troops streaming upward from the city, impelled by brash trumpets and hysterical cries of warning, but he could also see that these reinforcements would be too late. Flames spurted upward from one pile of wooden sticks-sticks that would never become the spear shafts that had been their destiny. Seizing the makeshift torches, the knights plunged through the camp, throwing flame at the stockpiles of coal.

Some of the men dismounted, smashing down the doors of forges and storehouses, charging inside with swords drawn. Soon smoke puffed from the broken doorways, and by the time the knights emerged to seek their next targets, orange blossoms of flame had begun to surge upward. A few more pockets of defenders tried to stand against the knights, but these were quickly ridden down and smashed.

More corrals collapsed under the onslaught, and herds of oxen lumbered in panic. Ashtaway had a brief picture of the food that stampeded away from them, thinking that a small portion of the herd would be sufficient to feed his tribe for years.

Frequently, now, the defenders of Sanction showed no heart for this battle. Ash watched with cruel pleasure as a whole company of human pikemen threw down their weapons and fled toward the city, only to be trampled beneath the hooves of the vengeful cavalry.

When bands of survivors did reach the broad roadways leading down into the city, their terror was a palpable force. Fleeing headlong, their shouts of panic audible even to the distant Kagonesti observer, these men piled into the wave of reinforcements that was trying to climb up the same road down which the routed defenders fled. Even when the fresh troops raised sword and spear in the face of their fleeing comrades, they couldn't bring the rout to a halt-the panicked survivors simply parted like water, scrambling through ditches and over rough slopes in their haste to escape the killing ground.

The combination of gravity, a lack of knowledge about their foes, and the palpable fear of the retreating troops gave pause to the fresh warriors. Many of the reinforcements stepped off the road to allow the running men to pass, while others actually turned and joined the flight. It amused Ashtaway to observe the contagious nature of this panic. Soon hundreds, then thousands, of men ran from a fight that they had yet to see! Of course, Ash thought with a tight grin, when these veterans later gathered around a bivouac's campfires, their roles in this furious battle would undoubtedly be embellished.

Much of the plateau was obscured by smoke now, as more and more fires erupted from the Dark Queen's arsenals and strongholds. Knights rode back and forth, many bearing torches, chasing the fleeing animals, trying to infuse even greater panic to the stampede. Sir Kamford, Sir Blayne, and the other leaders shouted and waved their arms, seeking to collect their men into companies, reforming the ranks to pursue the attack.

Once again Ash felt the tickling sense of alarm that had disturbed him earlier in the morning-hairs prickling upward at the nape of his neck. He looked to the west, suddenly fearful, and observed a serpentine shape, ghostly white, gliding below the clouds. Other mighty, winged creatures soared just beyond-another that was white, and several of rich blue. Broad wings stroked the air, and the deadly forms gained speed as they plunged downward from the overhanging pall of clouds.

With a pang of dread, Ashtaway knew what he was seeing: the dragons of evil had taken wing and were but moments from the fight.