The cavalry formation thundered through the infantry before them like a scythe through wheat. Garbed in matched sapphire uniforms, wielding swords of the same make, and riding horses of near-identical breeding; the horsemen were nearly indistinguishable. Each rider could only be identified from his neighbour by the occasional fan of blood that spread onto the flanks of their horse as they dispatched their foes, or splatters of gore that stained their uniforms. Several amongst them had arrows or broken spears lodged in their shields, but with lowered visors, there was no manner in which a rider might identify which of his brethren he rode alongside. However, there was no need for such identification. Each rider knew to rely on his comrades; each would trust any member of that formation with their lives, as they did now.
“Wheel left, reform at quarter angle.”
The tightly held formation responded instantaneously. Those riders to the right of the formation increased their speed, so that the solid wall of horsemen was unbroken as it turned to the east. Unprepared for the finesse with which the manoeuvre was completed, a company of enemy spearmen halted its southerly advance and turned to meet the horsemen. Rather than wheeling as a formation, the spearmen turned on the spot, jostling amongst themselves for position.
“And Charge!” Bellowed Larrel from the centre of the front rank of the horsemen. Unlike his men, the Darrodin wore finely wrought plate mail, and bore a shield inscribed with a glowering red serpent. Alone amongst the men, he was distinguishable by his defining racial characteristics and the quality of his equipment. The serpent shield bore the marks of the scrutiny elicited by that individuality; dents and scratches marred the excellently painted surface.
The formation increased its speed precisely. The nearer each rider was to Larrel, the faster the increase in speed, meaning that the formation of the riders became sharp, and Larrel the point. As the formation neared the spearmen, Larrel could see the desperate nature of his enemies’ reform, and gathered the undisciplined nature of their troops from it.
Larrel’s blooded sword wove delicately through the air as he focussed on the point where he would make his impact. Though scant seconds passed, he evaluated the danger posed by each weapon, by each nearby combatant. His sword moved almost of its own free will; training ingrained in Larrel’s mind moving it in intricate patterns and combinations. Each of his warriors did the same, so that to the spearmen bracing for the charge, it seemed a wall of shimmering blades approached.
Larrel had never encountered a force more jarring that the impact of such a charge. The spear he caught on his shield was torn from its owner’s grip, and the helmet worn by the man he struck parted smoothly beneath the kiss of steel. Again and again he rained down blows on the men below him, raising his visor when the blood flecking his face became too blinding. His opponents seemed so feral and savage, so animalistic, and yet their ferocity was no match for cold skill. He parried an overextending thrust before dispatching his attacked. He did not even register the exchange, barely even registered the kill. As the leader of his men, his thoughts remained on the safety of his unit. The other horseman moved with him, slowed by the presence of the soldiers they fought, and yet not stopped. In fact, it seemed to Larrel that the spearmen were no more effective than difficult terrain; slow to traverse and very occasionally deadly.
A rider to Larrel’s left was pulled from his horse by the infantry, but the constant press of the cavalry soon pushed away his would be killers. Larrel lashed out with his blade, catching the unprotected back of one of the men with his blade. Experience had dulled notions of an honourable kill, and the hollow feeling that arose within him whenever his blade snagged in the all too yielding flesh of man.
The spearmen fought with a loyalty that defied rationality. Butchered to a man, they had killed none of Larrel’s men, though several were injured and another three unhorsed. Even as those three regained their saddles, the blasting of trumpets echoed from the south. They marked a signal from the high command, that a company was endangered. Standing high in his stirrups, Larrel could make out the forms of Lord Kano’s vanguard, swamped on three sides by the enemy, and unable to break free as an enemy formation closed in on their southern flank.
“Reform due west,” he shouted to his men, who responded without hesitation.
good i deas for improvement keep it up man. you should watch the military channel sumtimes. some of it is on modern day stuff the other part is on historical. i remember a good show about how alexander the great was i a battle with darious. pretty uber how they won when out nimbered by like 5 to one. all because of a well placed calvary charge, and the phalanx.
Everybody: Hmm, I think I may have written this a little too quickly, which is partly why it is so fast paced. I think I could throw in some more description to even out the pace.
Onceuponatim3xo: About the identical thing: I wanted to make it clear that even though it would be impossible to tell which rider was which in terms of names and such, they could be told apart by damage and blood. I also wanted to show that they could rely on one another. I think you’re right and I need to make that clearer.
Butchered to a man = the enemy. Several injured or unhorsed= cavalry. I hate it when this happens! It’s sometimes so hard to differentiate and not make sentences too cumbersome.
When I cut down on direct speech, I did it because he’s shouting and these guys don’t have radios or whatever, so he only says what is absolutely necessary. Taken into consideration though.
Cheers for catching the repetition of blade.
Syd: I hope my writing isn’t forcing people to work too much to read it 
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Thanks for the compliment Syd, i loved the lines too. I hope scythe/wheat isn’t too cliché.
Hoffman: Hah I don’t watch the military channel, but I was brought up on historical fiction and documentaries by a history teaching mother 
. I hate it when you can go through an entire battle, or even war, and never find a mention of even a shield wall! Sprawling melees just don’t always happen!
Thanks, I’ll probably use the kind of detail you were talking about to slow the pace of the piece down a little. But i don’t want people to be lost in the detail.
Squallz: Thanks for the specific errors; you must have gone through this with a fine tooth comb!
At the time I thought precisely was what I was aiming for (because the soldiers work together and are trained so well) but sharply may be a better descriptive word of what actually takes place.
I meant skill of Larrel and such, but I see that (once again) I need to clarify.
Thanks for picking up repetition of nature, it’s one of the words I constantly repeat.
Thanks all,
Rubric
Hey there Rubric.
The cavalry formation thundered through the infantry before them like a scythe through wheat.
“And Charge!” Bellowed Larrel from the centre of the front rank of the horsemen
The formation increased its speed precisely.
As the formation neared the spearmen, Larrel could see the desperate nature of his enemies’ reform, and gathered the undisciplined nature of their troops from it.
His opponents seemed so feral and savage, so animalistic, and yet their ferocity was no match for cold skill.
Experience had dulled notions of an honourable kill, and the hollow feeling that arose within him whenever his blade snagged in the all too yielding flesh of man.
Pretty cool right here, im guessing that you watch the military channel like me. Finally some one understands the importance of strategy in a battle. though i greatly enjoyed this i have a few suggestions for improvement. I believe you could elaborate more on the type of unit they are. meaning stuff like what armor they wear, this identifies them as either heavy calvary or light calvary. What is the weather? this can affect the mobility and effectiveness of calvary greatly. is it snowing? Is the ground muddy, perhaps soaked with blood. Are the horses armored? though there is area for improvement i rank this as Uber.
That was... amazing. 
But, then again, I would expect no less from you. And I can honestly say that your stories are probably the first stories on here that I think I have to read super carefully. That's a compliment, mind you. If I want to get into your head and see what you see, or if I don't read every single word or maybe if I just don't read it just right, I miss something. Not many authors on here have shown that to me, so well done there.
The following two lines were lines that I loved:
The cavalry formation thundered through the infantry before them like a scythe through wheat.
Each rider could only be identified from his neighbour by the occasional fan of blood that spread onto the flanks of their horse as they dispatched their foes, or splatters of gore that stained their uniforms.
This was good, although very fast paced, you may want to even out a few parts.
Also I was a bit confused for these parts:
the horsemen were nearly indistinguishable. Each rider could only be identified from his neighbour by the occasional fan of blood that spread onto the flanks of their horse as they dispatched their foes, or splatters of gore that stained their uniforms.... there was no manner in which a rider might identify which of his brethren he rode alongside. However, there was no need for such identification. Each rider knew to rely on his comrades; each would trust any member of that formation with their lives, as they did now.
Butchered to a man, they had killed none of Larrel's men, though several were injured and another three unhorsed.
"Wheel left, reform at quarter angle."
Larrel lashed out with his blade, catching the unprotected back of one of the men with his blade.
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