Mounted combat was a favorite of the knights of old. His temple had been littered in its day with images of knights atop their warhorses, true battle beasts, facing down gorgons or chimeras or other nightmares now known to be as false as any other fantasy. Eragos had been raised on such tales. When the old knights gathered, their collective experience too much for Valos to openly rebuke, they would tell him such stories. It was part of the reason he'd learned how to fight from horseback in the first place. And now, even if it was only for an instant, he imagined himself as a hero from one of the stories he read.
Only for an instant.
Sweat rolled down his face beneath the mask. Smoke rolled across the street as wind picked it up, carried it farther, and embers along with. Eragos knew before they reached one another that the rider he faced was going to try a trick of magic. Perhaps not much. Enough to give a horse a start, or knock Eragos from his saddle. True as life, that thought, for the Grey Rider flourished his naked steel to create a gust of wind. Eragos held low in the saddle, behind Rand's head, and the warhorse never let up in his charge. Instead Eragos' saber hacked through the hide buckler of his enemy and bit into the fellow's shoulder.
The Grey Rider was unhorsed, and Eragos dug his knees in sharply. Rand could turn as quickly as almost any horse, and this the great beast did, teeth bare and eyes rolling terribly as he searched for the enemy. Eragos did not even kneed to give the one-heel command. One of Rand's hooves was flung like a mace into the teeth of the wounded rider. A shower of blood and ivory as his teeth were exploded from his face, and his skull crumpled. One solid kick was all it took, when the shoes of the horse were made for war.
Rand's turn was a full-circle, until they were facing the remaining two riders. The White Rider, armed with a knife, was drawing the civilians away slowly but surely. One of the two remaining Grey Riders whistled, and his comrade charged forward. The fellow had armor on his horse - enough to stop Sleeping Tiger's trick from working a second time, or so they thought - and a flail in either hand. If the naginata was anything like his flambard, armor would not matter.
He was not going to be as easy to bring down, in any case. Eragos' heels dug in, and Rand sprang forward with a monstrous cry.