Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...

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"Hold your troops in reserve. I'm going to try and stop them cold. Pile in if we do."
The Hyeme pulled her swordblade through a rag held in her left hand. "Pile in, yes."
"Even stalled, those lobster-shells have too much of an advantage," Shkai'ra muttered too low for the
Hyeme to hear. She twisted in the saddle. "Sova, remember, donot break ranks. You, Sneeze-name,"
she continued to the Yeoli boy, shifting into an execrable pidgin of that language.
"Stay by her, behind me. Savvy?" He acknowledged with a stab of his hand, palm up, and a crisp "Tai,
kras!"
The trampled bush along the edge of the woods shook as the big Arkan horses shouldered their way
through, placing their feet with the nervous care horses took on uncertain ground. Their heads wore steel
chamfrons, their chests, steel pectorals blazoned with the sun-clasping Eagle. Sunlight hammered back
from scarlet and gold enamel, from the three razor-honed edges of each pyramidal lance-head, from a
jewelled sword-hilt or silver-plated bridle.
"Five shafts,shoot !" Shkai'ra barked.
The bow slid up, pressing against her hand as she drew; the pressure of the string on her thumb-ring
dropped off as the wheels flipped and levered against the weight of the stave. A flat snap, and the arrow
twinkled, turned down at midpoint, and she could hear the head punch into the neck-armor of the Arkan
she'd aimed for, wearing a fancy plumed helmet. Others fell; horses ran plunging as they were hit. But the
steady movement out of the woods continued, the Imperial cavalry deploying in a two-deep formation.
"Trumpeter, soundcharge ," Shkai'ra called, dropping her bow back into the case. The note rang out
high and brassy-sweet, and the Alliance horse sprang forward with a single war-howl.
She tightened her grip on Hotblood, bracing her feet; the Ri squealed, wind whipping his silver mane,
and even then horses on either side shied slightly. The consciousness of woman and Ri merged, a single
mind with two nodes. The shield slid off her back and her left arm reached through the grips, the lance
lifted out of the scabbard; out of the corners of her eyes she could see the others' long shafts slanting
down. Under the continuous trumpet note, hooves fell like muffled thunder on the root-laced dirt.
Halfway there, and the Arkans were deployed.Too late, you should've sent out a half-troop to
screen while you got into line, shitheads , Shkai'ra thought tightly, bringing her lance around to point
over Hotblood's head at the man she had chosen. Their trumpet sang, and there was a ripple of
movement down the Imperial line as the cavalrymen snapped down their visors, blank ovals of scarlet
steel with a slit for the eyes and a pattern of holes over the mouth, emblazoned with a rayed sun in gold.
Another call, and they lowered their lances and clapped heels to their mounts with a shout. The big
horses jumped off their haunches, slowly building toward what would be an earth-shaking gallop.
Horse noses came up on either side of Shkai'ra; Sova and her Yeoli. "Keep back, second rank, you
don't fucking have lances!" she snouted. Target. Red-lacquered armor, chain and plate. Two-meter
lance, oval shield. Close enough now to see details, a hammered-out dint in a shield's face, the dapple of
a white's neck. A helmet plumed with eagle feathers dyed red bending toward her; a hint of blue eyes.
We're at full gallop, they re not much more than standing … Floating gallop, Hotblood's pace
smoother and more ground-hugging than a horse's. She laughed, braced her feet and swung the point
down.