He'd thought that Sleeping Tiger would try again with that wicked naginata he favored so much. It seemed perfect for fights on horseback, with its extended reach and superior control. Eragos wished he'd focused more on how to use a lance. Then again, the flambard was better than a lance, if one remembered to take it from a virulent camp before that virulent camp was gone. Instead, Sleeping Tiger flung himself out of his saddle and swept the Grey Rider from his. Eragos turned at the sound of the last Grey Rider, the one who had not charged. This fellow had a flambard in his hands. This fellow was preparing to cast dragon magic, in the way that only a knight of the scale could. Eragos could feel that tight hum in the air - stretching across his skin, making his eyes ache, setting his teeth to chatter despite the nearness of the warming fire.
"Get ready!"
Eragos' off-hand yanked one of the knives free of its prison at his side. The wide, light blades were balanced for throwing. And if they were hurled with enough force, these weapons could punch through armor. Eragos knew how to throw them as well as anyone, he thought. This was what he did, hilt first, hurling the blade at the chest of the unhorsed Grey Rider. Eragos stormed past the scene on Rand, the throw was short, and the injured Grey Rider was now helplessly frothing blood bubbles and clawing at the blade stuck in his neck. Eragos did not let up - his heels dug in a second time, charging forward. He had to intercept the leader before-
Rand pulled up short, forelegs kicking wildly at air. Eragos was thrown from the saddle quite suddenly, still carrying the momentum of his charge, and only the armor prevented him from dislocating his shoulder. A useful piece of equipment, that. In his wild charge Eragos had not noticed the rumbling of the earth beneath them. He was rolling to his hip, and then to a knee, saber held in his hand by the barest of grips. From the earth of a lance of stone erupted upward - it pierced Rand's shoulder, spearing the horse with a mortal wound. A warhorse screaming its death was a battlecry, and it was enough to make Eragos' spine freeze. The second lance of stone struck, through the chest, and the horse was killed on the spot.
It fell to the ground as the earth's hateful talons withdrew.
Damn.
There was blood on his face. Hot against his skin. A great deal of it. Eragos' saber spun over his head. He flourished the blade out of habit, three times, and on the third his shoulder and wrist thrust the blade down and forward - almost as though it were a strike of a dragon's tail. Lightning streaked from the blade, wild and frenzied, but it struck empty earth. Dirt and pebbles were flung into the air at the impact. A flash had come before, and carried long after, stinging Eragos' eyes. Where in the hell had the Grey Rider gone? He'd disappeared, he and his horse both.
"Everyone on their feet!" Eragos roared. "We have to get out of here!"