" There’s no use in talking about the plan, because of course nothing went the way it was supposed to. Even the passage of time was horribly distorted. At first the ride to the hill seemed endless, with me sneaking looks at my brother, who was increasingly unsteady in his saddle.
The Marquis insisted on riding in front of us the last little distance, where we saw a row of four horse riders waiting--the outer two bearing banners, dripping from the rain, but the flags’ green and gold still brilliant, and the inner two riders brawny and cruel faced and very much at ease, wearing the plumed helms of command.
“I just wanted to see if you traitors would dare to face me,” Galdran said, his caustic voice making me feel sick inside. Sick--and angry.
The Marquis bowed low over his horse’s withers, every line of his body indicative of irony.
Galdran’s face flushed dark purple.
“I confess,” Shevraeth drawled, “we had a small wager on whether you would have the courage to face us.”
“Kill them!” Galdran roared.
And that’s the moment when time changed and everything happened at once. At the edge of my vision I saw arrows fly, but none reached us. A weird humming vibrated through my skull; at first I thought it was just me, then I realized all the war horses, despite their training, were in a panic. For a few short, desperate breaths, all my attention was spent calming my own mount.
Galdran’s reared, and he shouted orders at his equerries as he fought to keep his seat. The two banner-bearing warriors flipped up the ends of their poles, flicked away some kind of binding, and aimed sharp steel points at the Marquis as they charged. All around me was chaos--the hiss and clang of steel weapons being drawn, the nickering of horses, grunts and shouts and yells.
“To me! To me!” That was Bran’s cry.
Four Renselaeus warriors came to his aid. I kneed my mount forward and brandished my weapon, trying to edge up on Bran’s weak side. Horseback fighting was something we’d drilled in rarely, for this was not mountain-type warfare. I met the blade of one of Bran’s attackers, and shock rang up my arm. Thoughts chased through my brain; except for those few days with Nessaren’s riding, I hadn’t practiced for weeks, and now I was going to feel it. "

― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)