When the charge comes, it is textbook, or would be if they had tactical textbooks in Kislev. With a shout of "Do Tor!", they smash through the Centigor lines and send most of them crashing to the ground, then round back on them to hit the stragglers from the other side. This also works. However,

The group far on the right of the charge - furthest east, further ahead - looks further east and north... and doesn't like what they see.

"Infantry incoming!", shouts Teo, for once something he saw with his ordinary eyes. "We're outnumbered, badly! Pull back to the pulk!"

As they carry the word back down through the patrol, lancers and archers break off, half the archers lagging behind to be sure the centigors retreat rather than follow. They estimate they killed about a hundred for losses of less than a dozen, but the most important thing is to get the full army aware of where the brayherd is shifting.

There is another council of war, this one much less straightforward. Moving the army between Ursun's Teeth and the river is a mistake beastmen usually wouldn't make, so it's possible they're splitting forces and hoping to flank, which is also unlikely to work against a cavalry force.

Someone suggests they may have some of the big, rare monsters and hope to make the pulk face the army of beastmen and be flanked by Ghorgons, Cygors, or beast-spirits from the deep wilds. Nearly everyone present makes the sign of the claw, and the rest make other superstitious gestures. After heated debate, they conclude that the best thing to do in that case is to crush the army, who are smarter, and especially the shamans and wargors who could possibly control the monsters. The royal army can handle them, and they probably can't pollute Urszebya themselves.

Still, they're going to keep the northern patrols going as long as they can risk to be sure there isn't a pincer, and put a lot of riders on the left wing so they can rotate scouts to watch the eastern approach on the day of the battle.

Which is how, when the battle starts, Teodor and his rota are off on the flank rather than in the thick of it, which means there's some grumbling from the younger lancers and shushing from the older, the eternal tradeoff between death and glory being debated as it always is. They skirmish with centigors, but these ones are better-controlled, pulling away back toward the kossar line rather than get thinned out by arrows and opened up to charges.

But after a few hours, there is a sudden burst of activity - a huge flock of birds swirling in the middle of the line, and a monstrous beast looming over the battlefield.

The order comes quickly - screw patrols, they need every lance and bow to keep the defense from collapsing.

Teo can see that this was all magical - that ugly black-brown color that comes when bray-shamans grab the wind of the wild and corrupt it with Za. That doesn't help much in responding, but when they get closer, it does mean he can pick out the shamans clearly.

The fighting is rough. Beastmen are big, and even when their line is shaky, charging can be difficult because the lancers get split up, some charging through and others having to turn back. Fortunately, individual rotas don't get split up as easily and every dozen men has an officer, so this is usually recoverable.

The spells get aimed their way once or twice, and Teo's able to tell the horsemen to split up and avoid the spell as it forms - perpetuating the 'lucky' story, though by the second time he suspects his vague excuses for random orders are getting more transparent.

It gets worse. More dark beast-magic, and the shamans suddenly start moving much more quickly, like they got onto chariots. Then they're coming his way, and what looks like every remaining centigor with them, headed straight east and determinedly smashing everything in their way. Some of the lancers are about to sound a counter-charge when more of the enormous beast-spirits materialize, and on the opposite side of the Kislevites from the shamans.

To make matters worse, a rider from where the infantry's horses are gathered, in between the Teeth, gallops up and shouts that another, probably smaller, brayherd is approaching from the north.

Oh, shit. And if these shamans get out... the rest of the army isn't doing fantastic. They might be able to pollute the holy site before the pulk can drive them off or the royal army arrives.

What's the chances they can break the chariots and drive the shamans into the river before the spirit-monsters get on top of them? Not good, and he'll die of it, but such is duty.

"Charge! Push them into the river! Let the monsters try and catch us! Do Tor!"

Never bad last words.

The beastmen are expecting this, unfortunately, and wheel to face them and meet the charge. The rota comes off better than the beasts, but not well enough to dislodge the shamans or push them against the riverbank.

But hey, what's that across the river? That cloud is moving mighty fast.

He pulls a length back and stands in the saddle to get a better view, and 'view', and gets his first view of Ice Magic. Lightning and ice crackling around three figures and their mounts, galloping gray horses with their hooves wrapped in wind.

And the cloud, of fog and magic, is getting bigger and more dense, and headed right for him. He glances back, and energy is streaming over his head from Ursun's Teeth to the oncoming witches.

That's not going to stop when it runs out of beasts. His whole flank force is going to be crushed.

No time for excuses. "Incoming! Wheel right! Wheel right! At the gallop, Ursun damn us!"

"What?! Leave them to run!?"

"Now! Trust me, or my luck runs out here!"

His rota breaks off and follows with him, and their galloping retreat causes a wave of others to imitate them, whether because they trust them to be doing something sensible or because it looks like it's turning into a rout and it's hard to be one of the holdouts who's going to be stuck alone.

The main body of the brayherd isn't looking good. Most of the pulk is streaming away to the north to face the other brayherd, but what remained has been trapped against the river, dying to arrows if they retreat off the banks and being split and smashed by lances if they try to leave any other way.

Teo orders his rota to a walk, veering off toward the riverbank as more horses stream behind them.

"Boss, why'd you pull us away? Won't the shamans get away and get their victory?"

"They would," he replies with a tired smile, "If not for that." He gestures to the large cloud, just about to reach the south bank of the river.

Which is when three gray horses burst into view past the fog and rear up, standing on the surface of the river with frost-rimed hooves. The storm suddenly surges to roll over them at a gallop, and as it crosses the river it begins to loose lightning over and over, striking everything in its path, beast or man.

"Do Tor!"

There's a clatter of shields and spears as the rota and all the others realize what's happening.

"Do Tor!"