Time Flies

The horse.

If the dog was man's best friend, then the horse surely ranked a close second. The path to the top of the food chain was often walked with, or on, the equine animal, the beast serving as transport, labour, and perhaps most important, weapon of war. The horse had made the Huns and Mongols nearly invincible for their times. It aided the Europeans in dominating the Native Americans as much as disease did. The Light Brigade's immortal charge, as disastrous as it was, might have been a complete massacre with all hands lost if not for the horses they rode. Until the 20th century, cavalry and its use remained a vital part of any proper army. Battles could, and often did, turn on its proper use.

Some things never did go out of style. Against a thousand pound armored horse thundering across straight terrain, only two kinds of people ran directly AT it.

The stupid, and those who knew what they were doing.

She really didn't look like much on a battlefield, all things considered. She wore her armor well, and moved with general calmness, but when it came down to it, Christine Brynn was 5'8 and 138 pounds soaking wet. It was not surprising for her to go for a fight and find everyone she met being literally twice her size.

But, as the saying about man's best friend went, it wasn't the size of the dog in the fight.

Especially when you were uniquely blessed. Which was why Christine didn't just run directly at the charging cavalry man as it thundered down at her, but promptly used her glaive as a pogo stick and vaulted herself into the air.

One...

The horseman probably meant to say more in his alarm that his easy-target-a-second-ago was no longer on the ground available to be run over or cut down, but now in the air with the high ground and approaching fast, but he only got out one syllable as Christine flew at him. Still, with the weight disadvantage, not to mention the risks of such an unconventional move...

Two...

"FU-"

Any eyes turned to the woman would have seen her form cease to be solid, becoming an impossible blur of motion that couldn't be tracked, just located after the fact, Christine ramming herself into the soldier's mounted form. Slamming her forearm into the armored soldier's chest should have broken said  arm, dislocated her shoulder, or both, and even if she escaped injury, she should have been knocked to the ground in turn from the impact. Only trained eyes would have seen the shimmer of force that rippled up her limb and surged off her shoulder, Newton's Third Law given a selected path in its action, the soldier flying off his mount like he'd been struck by a cannonball.

And...three.

The rest of the world dropped away. Her world was what was below her hands again. Her hands and body, as everything slowed to a crawl. The horse was still going, but ever so slow. The man was still falling, but ever so slow. Christine had to turn, land, and grab, and she seemed ever so slow as the ember burned in her eyes and mind...

If she hadn't found the reins with one had, she probably would have fallen, the world snapping back to normal just before everything was read, Christine slamming down onto the horse's back and saddle, her breath exploding from her lungs as the impact and intense motion of the steed rattled through her body, her fingers coiling around the leather straps that directed the beast, Christine flailing to find a stirrup for two terrifying seconds before her foot finally slipped in. Once she had her balance back, everything else was simple, the surgeon and soldier pulling herself upright and grabbing onto the pommel with her left hand, leaning down and grabbing her glaive as she rode past it, spinning the weapon back around her before she pulled back on the reins.

They so often made staying on the back of a rearing horse look easy. Christine didn't really care that she had to yelp and brace herself with her weapon on the ground to keep from falling off.

"SOLDIERS!"

She didn't really have a carrying voice, and the men that Christine was trying to get the attention didn't hear her over the battlefield din. For a moment, the girl longed for the quiet of a hospital. Just for a moment though. For now, she needed noise.

Actions spoke louder, after all.

Christine pulled the horse into an about-face. The enemy cavalry hadn't mounted a completely successful charge, having been scattered by arrows and cannon fire, but they'd done as much damage as they could before scattering, and they hadn't taken enough to keep from regrouping.

Yet. Christine dug her heels into the mount's side and sent it galloping back into the fray it had just emerged from. To her surprise, the soldier she'd borrowed the horse from was getting up.

"Forjaga."

The armor on Christine's weapon arm lit up, Christine charging back towards the soldier, who looked up to meet a golf swing glaive strike, Christine using the flat of her blade but backing it up with her gift. The man flew again, the shockwave of force roiling up Christine's arm and being expelled past her head in a loud rattling buzz.


"SOLDIERS! COVER ME!" Christine yelled, putting as much brass into her voice as she could muster, as she sent the horse directly towards the regrouping cavalry. She actually didn't have much experience or training when it came to riding a horse, let along riding it while directing it with one hand and swinging around a bladed staff that was taller than her with the other, nor did she have any idea if she would get any actual cover. She did, however, have training in other matters.

One of which was making what she could do well work well. The first cavalryman she attacked found that out the hard way as she swung her glaive one handed like a baseball bat slash incomprehensible blur, the impact sending him flying backwards at a nearly perfect horizontal line for three seconds before he crashed to earth, the redirected backlash of such an intense blow yanked away from Christine's muscles', bones, and joints and instead redirected as pure force expelled behind her. Christine spun the weapon up with liquid ease, yanked her horse to the immediate right, and speared her next target in the shoulder, sending him tumbling off his horse in turn.

Now she had their attention, two heavily armored forms wheeling their horses around and drawing swords, moving to box her in from behind and cut her down. Christine didn't let slow her stride, as she rampaged through a pack of infantry, her swinging staff sending men and women flying and crashing to the ground, all knocked away so they didn't get stomped underfoot by Christine's own mount. A bad move, perhaps, as the two flanking shoulders closed in.

Christine promptly spun her staff back up, aimed it at the closer cavalryman, glanced to get the range...

Your fault for thinking having a gift means I can't use the Stream too.

The blast of concussive force erupted off Christine's weapon like a shotgun, the horseman's armor suddenly sprouting a dozen new dents even as he was knocked from his ride, Christine spinning her body and weapon around and giving her other pursuer the 'second barrel' before riding on. More cavalry were coming, but they seemed less eager after the most recent display. Which probably meant-

Crossbows.

It wasn't easy to bring a horse low, but a good way was to shoot it at a distance with sharpened metal rods.

A bad way to do that was to blatantly emerge from the fog of war for a clear shot, giving your target an equally clear view of you. The three crossbowmen probably didn't think so though. Christine was a hundred feet from them and they needed a mere second to aim and another to fire.

Their bad luck for picking a target who could make seconds her world. The bolts flew outward, almost reached the horse...and then slowed down to a crawl, Christine lashing out with her weapon and knocking them from the air before she galloped towards her shooters, the trio breaking and running. Christine followed them for two seconds before she yanked her horse to the side, charging directly at a clustered pack of cavalry who seemed uncertain what to do.

They elected to charge back.

Several seconds and ringing blows latter, riderless horses scattered as said riders crashed to the ground, Christine emerging from the shattered cluster with a few hairs out of place but little else, immediately spotting a new line of infantry that she charged through, breaking their unity in turn.

I don't think I'm getting backup, they must still be regrouping...who knows how long Ash...

Christine had a lot of talents, but eyes in the back of her head wasn't one of them. She couldn't stop what she couldn't see, and hence she was thrown from her horse as the crossbow bolts slammed into its side, its agonized shriek filling her ears...

It, I didn't even know its gender...

Christine didn't land as badly as Ash did, but it was far from a graceful, on-two-feet touchdown, Christine slamming down onto her knees, letting go of her weapon as her hands sank into the cold, rocky mud, her helmet flying off her head and her sweaty golden-blonde hair flying free. Unlike Ash, she didn't have a cloak to get tangled up with, and her rapier was firmly tied to her back, so at least there was that. Christine slowly exhaled, then flipped her hair back over her face and looked back at where she'd come from.

The horse had collapsed, making no noise as it lay there, two crossbow bolts buried in its side. That wasn't the problem: the problem was that in its sudden pain it had stepped wrong and suffered the worst possible injury for a horse: a broken leg. The kind thing for most people would be to kill it and put it out of its misery.

Christine was a girl of other options though, as she sprinted over to the horse's side.

"It's okay....okay...hold still..." Christine said, kneeling down and feeling the wound. Barbed length. She'd have to cut some muscles. Christine wiped her hands on her pants and side as best she could, withdrawing her scalpel. No time for caution.

The horse let out another small scream as Christine began to cut, but it was too weak and tired to thrash or move. One small favor, as Christine cut away where the weapons were buried and fixed her gaze on them. No bombs, no problem...

The lengths of metal slid out, the cuts and passageways of the war closing up behind it. Christine tossed them aside and scrambled over to the horse's leg. She was no vet, but in this case she didn't need to be. She knew there was a wound, and she wanted it gone.

In eight seconds, it was. A confused horse scrambled up before immediately running off.

"...yeah, probably better." Christine said, standing up. She'd better run herself, back to her lines before...

Christine turned around to hear the click of the crossbows aimed at her face. She hadn't been fast enough. More crossbowmen had snuck up on her, and they'd brought friends, more soldiers and horsemen starting to approach and gather around her.

Her glaive was still on the ground where she left it, twelve feet away. She was surrounded. For all she knew, no backup was coming.

"Bitch." One of the crossbowman said. Christine's eyes narrowed.

"Do you have to be rude?"

"Bitch."

"...I'll bet." Christine said. Hopefully Ash was doing better.

----

"....HHHHHH-!"

THUD.