Aware of the honor given him and the trust put in him, Reynard put aside the fear of death and, worse, his fear of demons dragging his soul down to hell, and concentrated on his duty. Reynard was quite certain that these were demons pursuing them, demons surrounding them, demons hurling the fire of hell at them. He gave his soul into God’s keeping and, though he did not quite give himself to Death, as Sir Troeven had ordered—for it is hard, at eighteen, to think that tomorrow’s bright and beautiful dawn might not come—he kept fear at bay by concentrating on his goal: the line of his own forces that he could see waiting for them.

Reynard prayed a simple prayer. “God, don’t let me fall off the horse!”

The demon warriors had no intention of letting them escape. Whereas before they had held their fire, “hoping to see us piss our pants,” one of Reynard’s companions had muttered, the demons launched an assault. They flowed alongside the galloping horses like a stream of sparkling water, their scaled armor glittering in the sunlight. Small and deadly darts whizzed among the knights like hideous hornets.

Some of the darts went astray or clattered harmlessly off the steel plate, for the knights were a moving target now. Others found their mark. A knight riding in the vanguard alongside Sir Troeven suddenly slumped forward over his horse’s neck, and then slipped off his saddle. No one stopped to see if he was dead or alive. The horses charging after him rode right over him. His own horse kept going, a wild and panicked look in its eyes. Immediately, another knight galloped up to take his place, plug the gap in the lines.

A cloud of fire erupted on Reynard’s right flank, frightening the horse of the knight riding closest to the demons and sending his horse plunging into the horse of the knight riding beside him. Both horses foundered and went down, taking their knights with them. Reynard, glancing back, saw the demons standing over the knights. He heard agonized screams, and a horrid taste fill the young knight’s mouth. He wrenched his head around and faced forward, back to his destination.

It seemed a long, long way off.

Another knight fell in the vanguard, and another moved up to take his place. A concussive blast behind Reynard nearly knocked him from his mount. A wave of heat rolled across him, and the death screams of horses and of men sounded almost in his ear. He couldn’t think about that, for he was engaged in a panicked struggle to keep hold of the prince and maintain his seat in his saddle and urge his horse forward. By some miracle, he managed all three, and then the body of the knight riding directly in front of him exploded.