Cyador’s Heirs

LVIII

For the remainder of threeday, Lerial rests, eats what he can, watches the Meroweyans, sees to the details of notifying the family of Arsenor, the Lancer who had died of his gut would, checks on the other wounded from second company, all of whom appear likely to recover … if not for a time. He rests some, when he can. He also wonders if Lephi has had any experiences like his own. How would you find out? He likely doesn’t even know you’ve left Cigoerne.

Fourday is not much different, except that no companies attempt attacks on the Meroweyans, who, from what Lerial can see and the scouts report, are occupied in readying for some action.

When Lerial asks Altyrn what he thinks, the majer smiles grimly. “They’ll attack tomorrow morning, but not before seventh glass or more likely eighth. We’ll arrange all the rankers on foot with bows ready. We’ll loose every shaft we can into the attackers, and then withdraw. The councils sent a wagonload of war arrows, thank the Rational Stars. The Meroweyans will have to hack or burn their way into the Verd. That will keep the entry points narrow and enable us to attack them in positions where they can’t overwhelm us with sheer numbers. At least for a while.”

“How will you know where they’ll attack?”

“You and the few Verdyn ordermages will tell me. So will the scouts posted in the barrier trees.”

“You never did plan to stand up to a massed attack, did you?”

The majer shakes his head. “I’m sure the Meroweyans know that as well, but if we hadn’t mustered out here, they could have begun attacking the Verd with no casualties at all … and at their leisure. Now they know that we can continue to bleed and harass them as long as they do not attack, and they know that they would lose many more armsmen that way. I wouldn’t be surprised if the commanding officer has doubts about the whole idea of attacking Verdheln. That doubt will cost. If he doesn’t have doubts, then they’ll lose even more armsmen.”

Lerial has to think that over before he nods.

“As for you, get some rest, and make sure your company does as well. I’ll send for you if I need anything.” With that, Altyrn returns to his papers and maps.

Lerial follows the majer’s instructions-or orders, and by seventh glass on fiveday morning second company is lined up on foot with bows in hand and quivers full of arrows a good two hundred yards forward of the tree line, almost exactly where the ground slopes away into the low valley that separates the two forces. All the tents have been struck, and all the wagons have departed into the Verd. So have all but a handful of mounts, including the gelding Lerial rides, and two squads from Altyrn’s own first company, although an older ranker acting as a company squad leader is actually giving the commands. First company is posted so that the road from Yakaat to the Verd lies at the point where the rankers of first and second companies adjoin each other. Lerial’s second company is to the east of first company, Juist’s third company to the west of first company, while Kusyl’s fourth company flanks second company on the east. Sixth company is the farthest east and fifth the farthest west.

After surveying the Meroweyan forces, now forming up, Lerial glances back at his own rankers-spread in a staggered double file facing south and waiting, if in somewhat relaxed positions, since Lerial knows it will likely be a glass, if not longer, before the attackers advance to the point where the archers can target them.

At around eighth glass, a series of horn calls echo across the low valley in the cool spring air, and Lerial can immediately see that the dark mass of Meroweyan forces begins to move, although there are gaps between companies. As he watches from the east end of second company, he can see that, at the center of the Meroweyan advance, is a line of shieldmen. Immediately behind them are pikemen, whose weapons extend beyond the shields, a distance even greater than the length of a Mirror Lance. Behind the pikemen, a good five yards back, are armsmen on foot, with small circular shields on one arm and, presumably, a blade in the other, at least when they plan to engage the Verdyn force. On each flank of the foot armsmen are mounted companies.

Lerial calculates that there are roughly two thousand armsmen on foot, in two formations, one group of roughly ten companies, followed by a second. All in all, the Meroweyan force attacking stretches a third of a kay from side to side, more than twice the width and ten times or more the depth of the thin line formed by the six Verdyn companies.

There is certain majesty, Lerial has to admit, to the ponderous and even advance of the Meroweyans down the far slope and across the flat bottom of the valley.

Even when the Meroweyans have almost reached the point where the ground rises toward the edge of the Verd, Lerial can sense no chaos wizards and no chaos. Have they shielded themselves … or are they saving their powers for later? He shrugs fatalistically. There is no way of telling, and he has no experience in a pitched battle upon which he might draw for even an educated guess.

He hears hooves and glances to the west, where he sees a ranker wearing the green and white sash of a messenger riding toward him. He waits, and the Lancer reins up beside him.

“The majer has orders, ser. Have your rankers ignore the front line and target the foot armsmen or the mounted riders behind them. Then withdraw when ordered, but not before the company to the east of you.”

“Inform the majer that second company understands and will obey.”

“Yes, ser.” The ranker nods, then urges his mount eastward toward fourth company.

Lerial turns to Korlyn. “You heard that. Have all rankers target the armsmen or cavalry behind the shields and pikes. Pass it on. Send a messenger to the other squad leaders.”

“Yes, ser.”

Another quarter glass passes before the Meroweyans near the thin line of defenders. Then a high shrill and shuddering pipe sound blares out-Altyrn’s command to fire at will.

“Fire at will!” Lerial orders, adding “Take your time!” Even though he has briefed the squad leaders on the battle plan, which requires first and second company to loose arrows for longer, which is why his men and women have more shafts than do those in fifth and sixth company, he still wants to reinforce that order.

All the rankers loose the first volley, and hundreds of arrows arc down toward the mass of attackers behind the shield line.

Lerial looks at the advancing Meroweyan line, still moving steadily upslope, but just over two hundred yards away. He can see armsmen begin to drop as the Verdyn shafts sheet down into the central mass of attackers. Still, the shieldmen and the pikemen plod uphill, and the number of armsmen who stagger or fall seems small indeed compared to the total Merowyan host. Lerial looks to the east, seeing that the rankers of Denieryn’s sixth company are loosing their shafts as fast as they can-as ordered.

In what feels like a matter of moments, although it is doubtless longer than that, Lerial thinks, a double blare of the battle pipes sounds. He glances eastward. The rankers of sixth company are moving quickly, not quite running, but moving at a trot behind fourth company and toward second company and the road into the Verd. Fifth company should be doing the same, but even mounted, Lerial cannot see if they are.

A series of horn commands comes from the rear of the Merowyan force, and the shieldmen and pikemen pick up their pace, but Lerial can see that they are not moving that much faster, but then they are going uphill while carrying heavy shields and pikes. Still the arrows fall into the armsmen, and he can actually see some few gaps in places.

A triple blare of the battle pipes shrills across the Verdyn lines, and Lerial hears Kusyl’s voice from the east.

“Fourth company! Withdraw! Deliberate speed!”

Lerial glances down and along the line of his rankers. Most still have perhaps five or six shafts in their quivers. Those won’t last long enough. “Slow your fire!”

“Slow your fire! Pass it on!” repeats Korlyn.

Lerial keeps watching, measuring the advance of the Meroweyans against the withdrawal of third and fourth companies, but as soon as Kusyl rides behind the westernmost ranker of second company, and turns up the road into the Verd, Lerial knows that it will not be long before second company will have to withdraw.

“Fire at will! Rapid release!”

Korlyn repeats the order, and the arrows from second company fly faster. By now, the Meroweyans are only a hundred yards away.

Obviously, Altyrn has been watching as well because, as the last available arrows fly, the battle pipes sound.

“Second company! Withdraw! Deliberate speed!”

In moments, first squad has begun to move up the road, paired with first company’s fourth squad. Lerial rides forward, just slightly, ready for any chaos-fire that might be thrown at the retreating rankers, but there are no firebolts, and he cannot sense any white wizards nearby.

By the time the pikes are close to fifty yards away, Lerial and Altyrn’s senior squad leader are alone on the road where the Verdyn battle line, such as it had been, and Lerial turns the gelding toward the narrow opening remaining in the road gate, a solid and massive structure almost three yards high, urging the gelding forward, if glancing over his shoulder every few yards of the hundred or so he has to cross before passing through the road gate. The acting first company undercaptain is right behind him. Once through the gate, he looks back, absently wondering how the road guards can even move the gate, even along the narrow and deep polished stone grooves that had been covered with fitted wooden covers. Lerial can only get a glimpse of the Meroweyans before the gate closes behind the other officer and additional barriers are moved into place.

For a moment. Lerial wonders why the attackers have not tried to rush the gate before it closed, but then realizes that after the attacks by the various companies, the Meroweyans expect more arrows if they advance closer.

A series of horn calls rise from beyond the Verd. Lerial can sense that the attackers have halted … and that the armsmen and the mounted riders are re-forming or dressing their lines. Then he rides back and rejoins second company, mustered a good hundred yards north of the second road gate. Immediately to the east, under the tall trees, are the company mounts, saddled and ready for use.

When Lerial reins up, Korlyn looks at him. “Ser … how many do you think we took down?”

As Korlyn speaks, Lerial order-senses that a smaller group of Meroweyans is nearing the main body of the attackers … and among the newcomers are several white wizards.

“Ser?”

“I’m sorry, Korlyn. How many? There were gaps in their ranks, but there were enough that I couldn’t count. But second company alone must have loosed close to a thousand shafts. If one in ten hit someone … “We might have wounded a company’s worth.” Leaving us with few if any war arrows … and not much chance of getting more soon.

“If the other companies did as well, ser…”

“They couldn’t, except for first company. We had more arrows. If we’re fortunate, we might have wounded three companies worth.” And that leaves something more than thirty-five companies. He smiles sardonically. “We only have to keep doing that day after day.”

“Yes, ser.”

It is almost a shock to Lerial when he realizes that Korlyn believes that is possible … but the last thing he wants to do is dash the young squad leader’s beliefs. What will surely come will do that all too soon. Lerial surveys the area. Because second company was one of the last to leave, Lerial and his squads are already where Altyrn has positioned them for the attack that will come, sooner or later.

Almost a glass later, Lerial and the others are still waiting. While he has dismounted, he has tied the gelding to the nearest tree. He can sense that the Meroweyans have divided their forces into three bodies. One body remains straddling the road into the Verd. The second is a good kay to the west, and the third a kay to the east. That makes all too much sense to Lerial. They will attack simultaneously at all three points. He can sense two white wizards behind the shield and pike line facing the road gate. There are also white wizards with each of the other two Meroweyan formations, but Lerial has the sense that they are not so strong as the strongest one closest to him.

He needs to do something, but what?

Could you divert one of those firebolts back to the wizard who is throwing it? He had attempted that on the last attack, but all he had succeeded in doing was dropping the chaos into the ground short of his own rankers. But you were much farther away from the wizard.

What if you formed a larger pattern, one that attracted the chaos-bolt back toward the wizard who created it? Creating a larger pattern will be difficult enough, but he has no idea how to create flows that will do that. He takes out the silk pouch that holds the lodestone and studies it closely with his order-chaos senses. While there is a pattern at both ends, there is something … He concentrates … finally sensing that, between the ends of the lodestone, there are flows of order and chaos-or something like order and chaos-and each is like a coil. Can he create a coil like that running from the mage to the chaos-bolt?

Lerial has no idea. Nor does he know if his idea will work, since he does know that he cannot create that large a coil of chaos, even if the pattern lines are extraordinarily fine. But don’t order and chaos have to balance somehow? They must … because, if they didn’t, wouldn’t they destroy each other? Again … he has no idea, but both Emerya and Saltaryn have made the point that the best of the Magi’i always use order to handle chaos. But you’re not the best of mages … if you’re one at all. Still …

Abruptly, he looks at the first squad leader, some ten yards to the east of him. “Korlyn … you’re in command for the moment. I’ll be back as soon as possible. I need to talk to the majer.”

With that Lerial unties the gelding and mounts, setting out to find Altyrn, not that he has to ride far, because he finds the majer standing beside the second road gate, the one some hundred yards behind the outer gate. The gate is not quite closed, with an opening about a yard and a half wide.

Altyrn looks up at Lerial, but does not speak.

“I don’t know if I can do anything about the wizards, but if I can I need to be close to them.” Lerial gestures southward toward the outer road gate. “Close to that.”

“Well then,” replies Altyrn, “go see what you can do … for a while. But don’t get yourself incinerated in the process. Oh … and don’t ride on the road itself, whatever you do. Take two rankers in case you get too involved in ordermagery. Who’s in command in your absence?”

“Korlyn, the first squad leader. Traps in the road?”

Altyrn nods. “We don’t intend to make it easy for them.”

Puzzling over Altyrn’s comparatively easy acquiescence, Lerial rides back to Korlyn and reins up. “I’ll need two rankers to accompany me, and you’re in command until I return.” Or until the majer appoints someone else. Lerial doesn’t voice that thought.

The puzzled expression on the squad leader’s face is but momentary as he turns and calls out, “Linstaar, Muaran, you’re detailed to the captain. Mount up.”

In little more than moments, the two rankers are following Lerial, who turns back and says, “We’re not to ride on the road itself once we go through the inner road gate.” Both men nod knowingly, almost as if trapping the entry roads is a usual practice.

It probably is. Lerial doubts that such a practice will account for more than a few men and mounts. But then, if we account for a few men and mounts time after time, it might add up. That, at least seems to be the hope of the elders and the majer.

Lerial is conscious of Altyrn’s eyes on his back as he leads the two rankers through the gate and then continues southward through the calf-high grass toward the outer road gate, behind which wait a half score of men in brown. He brings the gelding to a halt some ten yards short of the gate guards and surveys the gate. From what he recalls when he passed earlier, it is a good half yard thick, if not more. He cannot determine of what the gate is constructed although the back side consists of thick timbers over thick planks. The east end of the gate fits tightly into stone groves in the massive pillar, and from each end of the gate extend stone walls as far as he can see, not that he can make out much beyond ten yards, so entwined are the walls with the trunks of the massive trees on both sides.

Unless the Meroweyans have brought siege engines, and Lerial has seen no sign of such, they are unlikely to breach the road gate. Even with chaos-fire, it is likely to take a number of firebolts. Yet … what can Altyrn do?

A wry smile crosses Lerial’s face as he realizes that well might be the reason why the majer has allowed him to see what he can do.

He waits almost a quarter glass before he senses the line of shieldmen moving forward, then stopping a good fifty yards back from the road gate. He can also sense a chaos wizard behind the shield wall, flanked by armsmen and then by horsemen.

Chaos builds.

Lerial tries to create the circular spiral pattern he has visualized, but before he can complete it, a firebolt arches from behind the shield wall and slams into the road gate. The gate does not even shiver, although flames flash skyward, followed by puffs of gray-black smoke.

An involuntary “Oh!” escapes from one of the rankers behind Lerial.

You’ve got to be quicker. Lerial begins creating the pattern the moment he senses that chaos is building around the second white wizard.

The second firebolt arches not toward the road gate, but toward the thick woods to the west of the gate, and Lerial barely manages to throw his pattern into the path of the chaos-fire.

An unseen whip of order and chaos rocks him in the saddle, and a thin line of chaos-fire forms an arch between a point just short of the woods and another point short of the shield wall, where the chaos flares against an unseen barrier.

Shields! Lerial is well aware that some Magi’i have shields, but the appearance of shields among the Meroweyan white wizards startles him, so much so that he is slow to react to the next firebolt, partly because of the throbbing headache the backlash, if that is what it was, that struck him has created.

Belatedly, he realizes that the third firebolt is aimed directly at him, as if the white wizards know he is there. But why shouldn’t they? You know they’re there.

Frantically, Lerial throws together another order coil, stronger, he hopes, and more accurate because he doesn’t have to gauge or measure the incoming firebolt-it’s headed toward him.

Lerial snaps the order-coil pattern into place just as he feels the faintest heat from the approaching firebolt-and order and chaos flare in a searing pattern!

Lerial almost smiles as he can sense the chaos flashing back toward the white wizard, except blackness smashes him down before his lips can even curl.

* * *

He wakes with a start, and the blackness hammers him again, so much that his vision narrows to a point of grayness. He closes his eyes. He is lying on a blanket, but the blanket is clearly on the ground, because he can feel every lump and stick digging into his back.

“Don’t try to move, Captain.” The voice is a woman’s, and he doesn’t recognize her, but the accent suggests she is Verdyn. “You’re still very weak. You will recover quickly, though.” There is a slight laugh.

“It’s funny that I’m lying here unable to move?”

“No … but the reason is.”

Lerial opens his eyes slowly. The woman kneeling beside him on the blanket is silver haired. She is not old, but neither is she young.

“What might that be?” he asks cautiously. He can smell the acrid odor of burning wood and vegetation, but he can see no fire, nor any smoke.

“You almost died from having too much order in your body. It tends to make everything stop.”

Too much order? “How … did that happen?”

She shakes her head. “I’ve never seen that before. Your men rushed you here. You weren’t breathing, and if it hadn’t been for the order you would have died immediately. You would have if we hadn’t bled off some of the order and gotten you breathing. Your chest and back may be a little sore.” At his puzzled look, she adds, “That’s not from what caused you to stop breathing. It’s from what we had to do to get you breathing again. Don’t move your head, but wiggle your fingers.”

Lerial does so.

“Good. Do they hurt?”

“No.”

“Lift your arms and put them across your chest…” After a tenth of a glass of gentle exercises, the healer has him sit up … slowly. After watching him for a time, she nods. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t do what you did again.” She straightens, then turns and walks away.

Lerial glances around. While he had thought it might be twilight, that was because he had been lying in the deep shade and gloom of a space under giant trees of some sort, and it is clear it is still afternoon. Almost absently, he recalls what Emerya had said something like a year earlier, about the body needing to balance order and chaos.

“Ser?” Linstaar hurries toward Lerial.

Behind him, Muaran remains with the three mounts

“Are you all right?” asks Linstaar.

Lerial realizes his chest is sore, not much, but noticeably. “I’m sore. The healer says I’ll be fine. What happened? What did you see?”

“Ah … ser…”

“Did you see anything? Tell me, even if you think it was strange or that you might not have really seen it.”

“Ah … well, ser … There was a firebolt. It was headed right toward us. Then everything got bright, and it sort of split and part of it struck back toward the Meroweyans. That part was sort of golden red and brilliant white. The other part … well it was hazy and silver gray … maybe silver black. It hit you, ser. You were like a statue. Muaran said we had to get you to the healer, and we did. She did something, and some of the fuzzy blackness … well, it sort of flowed off you. Then she made us lift your arms while she pressed on your chest to get you breathing again.”

Lerial nods. “Thank you.” He decides to stand and does so slowly.

Linstaar recovers the blanket, shakes it out, and rolls it up.

“Is that your blanket?”

“Yes, ser.”

“Thank you. Where are we? Or, rather, where is second company?”

“The company’s maybe two hundred yards that way, ser, along that path.”

“What about the Meroweyans? What are they doing?”

“The ones outside on the road? The guards said that they moved back. The others I don’t know.”

Lerial is still trying to gather himself together when Altyrn appears.

“They said you were wounded.” The majer surveys Lerial.

“In a way.” Lerial doesn’t know what else to say. “Did it help?”

“You’ve gained us some time.”

“What happened?” Lerial’s voice is rough.

“You didn’t see?”

“The backlash was … rather quick.”

“The healer said you got covered in pure order. How did you do that?”

“I was trying to send the chaos-bolt back at him.”

“You did that all right. There’s a wide blackened space where those two white wizards used to be. All the Meroweyan forces have backed off. They’re likely rethinking their tactics.” Altyrn studies Lerial. “You don’t look that bad for nearly dying. Only like eightday-old sowshit.” He shakes his head. “Don’t do that again. I don’t want to explain that I let you try to kill yourself twice … and that you were successful the second time. You’re worth far more than one frigging white wizard. Or even two.”

“I won’t try that again.” Something else perhaps, but with greater care.

“Good. Go get something to eat and then lie down and get some sleep.”

“Now?”

“Now. They don’t look like they’ll attack soon, and you need the rest.”

Lerial decides against arguing.