He felt a panic rise within him and urged Windrider forward unthinking even as he realized his army was falling back in front of him. Chaos tinged the air, screams and cries of battle mingled in his ears. The dark elven horde was surging, the Army of Sanctuary was wavering; the failure of the charge of the cavalry ahead was at least obvious to most of their number from the slightly higher ground which they occupied. Every step of the horse brought Cyrus stinging pain. He drew his blade and urged Windrider forward. There was a whicker that almost sounded like a denial, but the horse continued steadily on, up to the disintegrating front lines. Dark elves saw him and started for him when he was but a hundred feet from the beginnings of the ever-expanding battle. The Sanctuary formations made a ripple of their own, warriors and rangers bowing out to precede him, to fight the seeping precursors to keep them away from their General and Guildmaster.
