Scion of Cyador

LXV

Although a cool breeze blows out of the north, the morning sun that foreshadows summer beats down onto Lorn’s back and neck, heating his whole body, and he continually blots his forehead and face as the Cyadoran force rides westward along the rutted river road toward the river town that the older maps had named as Berlitos. Since leaving the town of Disfek, they have swept through a handful of hamlets and smaller towns, but have found neither armsmen nor blades, and only a few score warriors, and they have been able to avoid using firelances, relying on torches and sabres.

Still, Lorn reflects, if they remove a few score warriors here and a few score there, before long, the Jeranyi will not be nearly so able or eager to invade Cyador.

The trees are far thicker now, particularly on the north side of the river where the Cyadoran force rides, and even farther north Lorn can see heavily wooded hills, with fields hewn from the forests. The fields do not show signs of sprouts, and even the roadside grasses are mostly brown, with few green shoots beneath. Because of all the trees and hedgerows even in the cleared fields, Lorn has sent out more scouts to assure they are not surprised, but the reports he receives have shown no signs of armed Jeranyi. The relative scarcity of people tends to confirm the idea that the Jeranyi do not attack Cyador from poverty or from having too many mouths and too little land, but for reasons unrelated to golds or food.

Ahead on the right shoulder is a kaystone-a large kaystone that Lorn can read from more than fifty cubits away: Berlitos, 10 k. From his maps, Berlitos is the only large town between his force and Jera-and it lies on the eastern triangle of land between the North and the South Branches of the River Jeryna.

“Must be a big town,” suggests Emsahl.

“The maps and the traders say almost fiftyscore,” Lorn says. “Some don’t live in the town, but nearby.”

“Could raise a force there-a large one.”

“We’ll have to see what the scouts discover and report,” Lorn replies.

At the second kaystone, one that says-Berlitos, 5 k.-Lorn gathers the officers. They all dismount and he unrolls one of his maps to brief them under the shade of a tree that resembles an oak, but is not, while he waits for the scouts to return.

“There is a long gradual slope ahead, a giant ridge that ends in line of hills ahead, and the town is on the flat below the hills. There is but one bridge, and that goes over the North Branch of the river almost as soon as you ride down into the town. Esfayl, I’d like you and Second Company to hold the bridge. We’ll all be there to take it, if necessary. Then we’ll take the main road right to the town square and then to the warehouse and trade district. We’re not going to try to slay anyone who doesn’t attack us. Berlitos is far enough from Cyador that there aren’t that many barbarians from it who ride against us. Here, we have a different task.” He pauses. “We’re going to destroy the three traders’ warehouses behind the river piers, and then burn them and the piers.” He looks at Esfayl. “We’ll have to leave the bridge because we’ll need that to get to Jera.”

“We’re going on?” asks Rhalyt.

Esfayl winces.

Lorn looks around. “I wasn’t sure we could make it, but if we can take Berlitos without heavy losses, we’re going to Jera. That’s where all the blades are being ported, and on the way back we can follow the West Branch of the River Jeryna to within thirty kays of Inividra.” Lorn pauses. “If we’re in good shape we can even take out a few more raiders from behind on our way back home.”

“Ser,” says Cheryk, “here come the scouts.”

Lorn turns and waits.

The lancer scout reins up before Lorn. “Ser…on the end of the long ridge, mayhap four kays west-that’s where the road starts to go down into the town-there be a good fivescore barbarians formed up.”

“Did you see any others?” Lorn looks up at the lancer.

“No, ser.”

“What sort of arms?”

“Mostly the big blades-some with the poleaxes that have the hooks on ’em. And they’re wearing gray uniforms.”

Lorn nods, even though he likes the idea of uniforms not at all. “Is it open ground there?”

“Fields in front of them, but lots of trees on both sides of the road east and toward the hills.”

“So we can’t circle them?”

“Be hard, ser. Have to go through the trees.”

Lorn glances at the map, then frowns. He looks at the scout. “Is there enough room for a squad to ride by at an angle-say fifty cubits out, and then turn back westward?”

The scout frowns, and his eyes glaze, as if he is trying to visualize what he has seen. After a moment, he clears his throat. “Might be, ser.”

Lorn motions for the scout to move his mount back. He turns to the officers. “What do we have left in the firelances?”

“Maybe…three, four charges in each,” suggests Gyraet. “Some without any, some pretty close to fully charged.”

“We’ll form up…say a third of a kay back from them…and if they don’t charge, we send the squads in one at a time…have them ride in at an angle and discharge their lances across the front…”

Emsahl smiles. “And if they break ranks, the squad comes back, and we take the barbarians on the front?”

“If they charge,” Lorn says. “I don’t think they will at first. They’ve picked the best spot to defend the approach to the town. The road narrows into a pass of sorts behind them. There are trees, and we can’t bring all our lancers into the fight there. We’d get picked off if we try to go through the woods. But if our lancers ride by, at around forty cubits, they can blast the front rank of their armsmen. If they have those polished shields, then have them aim lower, and take out the mounts. We’ll keep sending a squad at a time, until they attack, retreat, or until we destroy them.”

“You think they’ll just stand there?” Cheryk frowns.

“They won’t know what we’re trying at first. I’d guess they won’t charge for the first squad or two.” Lorn shrugs. “Then, who knows? If we can pick off a score or so, if they charge, we can cut them up in wider fields beyond the trees. If they hold or retreat, we’ll keep using the firelances of a squad at a time. At some point, if we’re careful, they’ll either charge blindly or break.” He stops and studies the faces of his officers. “Any questions?”

“What sort of formation?”

“We’ll ride there in columns of two, and form up that way, each company beside the next starting on the right with First Company. Leave enough space so that, when they charge, if they do, you can shift into four-abreast before we meet the charge.”

After another glance around, Lorn shrugs. “We might as well mount up and see what we face.” With a wry smile that he feels he is wearing too often, he walks to the gelding and swings up into the saddle.

The officers also mount, and, shortly, the Cyadoran force rides eastward.

It is slightly before midday when the Cyadoran forces reach the eastern end of the open spaces and look westward along the road that is flanked by near-solid forest. The road itself is blocked by almost fivescore Jeranyi wearing grayish blue tunics-uniforms of sorts-and some bear long Hamorian blades. Others bear the long-handed billhooked axes that Captain Akytol had mentioned years before when he had relieved Lorn at Jakaafra. They are mounted in a line running from about twenty cubits from the woods on the north side of the road, to twenty cubits from those on the south side, a line almost seventy cubits wide and two riders deep.

Lorn watches as the Cyadoran forces form up by company, the squads side by side, so that each company presents a four-abreast front. The Jeranyi still do not move, but wait.

“First Company, first squad, forward and discharge lances at will!” orders Lorn.

Lorn can almost sense the Jeranyi puzzlement as a single squad rides out from the Cyadoran forces, then angles toward the center of the Jeranyi line.

Hsst! Hsst!..Perhaps twoscore firebolts rake the front riders of the Jeranyi. Lorn watches carefully, and he sees no more than half a score of those bolts hit before the first squad from Rhalyt’s company rides back to its position on the right flank.

“First Company, second squad!”

Lorn watches closely as more firebolts slash the Jeranyi. This time, close to a score hit the defenders, and he can sense the movement among the barbarian riders. “Emsahl…Cheryk…Third and Fourth Companies-squads to four-abreast. Stand ready to charge.”

“Third Company…”

“Fourth Company…

Esfayl’s voice rises above those of the senior captains. “Second Company, first squad, forward!”

“Fifth and Sixth Companies! Four-abreast! Stand ready to charge!” Lorn orders.

Esfayl’s first squad has no more than begun to discharge firebolts when the entire Jeranyi line begins to move forward, slowly, then into a full gallop. After but a few steps, the Jeranyi have become a ragged line with no cohesion.

Even before the movement is readily apparent, the veteran Cyadoran captains are issuing their orders. “Forward! Discharge at will!”

“Concentrate the firelances on the riders with the axes!” Lorn orders. “Firelances on the axes!”

“Firelances on the axes!”

Dust lifts from the road and from the recently-tilled narrow fields flanking it, as the larger Cyadoran force knifes toward the outnumbered Jeranyi.

Lorn forces himself to hold back slightly, not to be in the absolute front of the line, but he still drops two Jeranyi with his firelances, and easily ducks under a clumsy blade to dispatch a third Jeranyi with his Brystan sabre. As he wheels the gelding, he realizes that the battle, if it could be called such, is almost over.

Half the Jeranyi have been wounded or downed before they reached the Cyadoran lancers, and half of those remaining are felled by the more experienced Mirror Lancers within moments. The others are so outnumbered that is not long before they, too, lie across the road and fields.

As he rides through the dust already settling in the early afternoon, toward his captains, Lorn frowns. Are the only barbarians who can fight, those who live on the edge of the Grass Hills?

“More like a slaughter.” Cheryk is shaking his head as he watches the sub-majer ride up.

“Send out the scouts. Let’s make sure it’s not a trap,” Lorn orders. “And set up two of the companies for attack in case another force arrives. Third and Fourth!”

“Yes, ser.”

“Sixth Company, guard the road behind us!”

“Quytyl! Have your men collect the blades and dispatch their wounded.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lorn remains mounted, studying the road and the areas beyond, but the only riders who finally near the Cyadorans are the scouts, riding along the road from the pass that leads down into Berlitos.

Lorn gestures for Emsahl, Cheryk, Esfayl, and Gyraet to join him, and the four captains ride over and rein up beside Lorn.

“Go ahead,” Lorn tells the lancer scout.

“There be a few folk on the bridge, ser, but it be like no one even knew we fought. We looked down, and the wagons are moving by the river, and a rider or two be on the roads, mayhap a carriage.”

Lorn shakes his head and looks over the captains. “Let’s take the town as we planned. Esfayl…the bridge. Third and Fifth Companies-the square, Fourth and Sixth-the wharf area. First Company on me.”

With a wry smile, Lorn realizes that Rhalyt and his men are assisting Quytyl. “I think we need to tell the undercaptains.” He turns the gelding and rides northward toward what had been the right flank of the Cyadoran formation.

“Ser?” asks Rhalyt.

“You lose anyone?”

“One man, ser. One of those axes.”

“What about their weapons?”

“There aren’t any sabres. A few axes, but most are the big iron blades.”

“All right. The scouts say the town is undefended. We’re going down, and First Company will follow me.”

“Yes, ser.”

“I’m going to tell Quytyl his orders, and then I’ll be back.”

Rhalyt nods as Lorn eases the gelding more northward until he reins up beside the other undercaptain who is watching as two lancers fasten blades to a captured mount.

“We didn’t lose anyone, ser,” Quytyl announces. “Two wounded, though.”

“Badly?”

“One won’t be fighting.”

“Can he ride and watch the pack animals? They both should.”

Quytyl nods.

“You’ll be working with Emsahl to take the square-same as the last big town, Disfek or whatever it was. So, as soon as you’re finished, form up your men in column behind Third Company.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lorn turns, then rides back toward Rhalyt and First Company. He blots his forehead and under his eyes. Each day seems hotter, as if they were nearing midsummer, even though it is but early spring.

“Ready to ride, ser,” announces Rhalyt as Lorn nears.

A lancer rides up almost simultaneously and announces, “Captain Gyraet says Sixth Company is ready to ride, ser.”

“We’ll be riding shortly,” Lorn temporizes, his eyes and chaos-senses still surveying the field and the trees beyond. While nothing feels exactly wrong, it does not feel right, either, and Lorn finds himself pursing his lips.

Once the Cyadorans have re-formed and ride along the road that winds between two forested hills, and then down the steeper grade toward Berlitos itself, Lorn continues to survey the hills, both with his eyes and chaos-senses, despite the double number of scouts before the main force. Neither he nor the scouts find any armsmen on the descent.

The first dwelling the Mirror Lancers reach on the outskirts of Berlitos, not quite before the road levels out, is set in a grove of sweetsap trees, and is long and narrow, with ancient and heavy crosstimbers framing and bracing the door. The shutters are equally heavy, and old, and fastened tight. What looks to be a small stable is barred equally firmly.

“Be hard to break in there,” observes Rhalyt.

Lorn does not comment, but wonders why a town with houses built so sturdily has armsmen so inept. Or are the houses sturdy for that reason? He suspects he will never know.

At the base of the hill, Esfayl takes Second Company northward to secure the bridge-a long and narrow stone-and-brick structure that angles from one island in the placid North Branch to another, and then to a stone pylon set in shallower water, before turning again and rising slightly to a low bluff on the northwest side.

The bridge is empty so far as Lorn can see.

The remaining five companies ride westward along the wide dirt road, leaving the empty bridge for Esfayl.

Unlike the dwellings they have seen elsewhere, those in Berlitos are all of wood, timbered dwellings painted bright colors and resting under more trees than Lorn has seen since he had been assigned to the Accursed Forest years before.

“Sturdy dwellings,” observes Rhalyt.

“We might be able to burn this town, but I don’t think we want to take it house by house,” Lorn says.

“If that’s the way they fight, do we need to burn it?” asks Rhalyt.

Lorn does not answer as he urges the gelding in the direction of the town square, past more of the barricaded dwellings and outbuildings. All the noise, all the dust, comes from the lancers. The dwellings are silent.

As the companies enter the town square, Lorn gestures to Cheryk. “Go on to the warehouses and the wharf! First Company and I will meet you there.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lorn reins up and surveys the town square. In the center of the square is a six-sided brick-faced platform roughly fifty cubits on a side. The sides are a cubit-and-a-half above the dirt and clay of the road that circles the platform. There is no railing, and no discernible purpose for the platform. The buildings around the square are all heavy, two-story timbered structures-like the rest of Berlitos, seemingly impregnable without the Mirror Lancers spending forever battering their way in.

“Have the company hold here,” Lorn tells Rhalyt before riding toward Emsahl. The sub-majer can see a chandlery, a cooper’s shop, a weaver’s, perhaps a fuller’s, before he reaches the senior captain. Lorn reins up and glances at Emsahl.

Emsahl shrugs.

“The wood here is old,” Lorn ventures.

“It will burn.”

“Burn it. Use torches,” Lorn commands. “As much of the square as you can, then ride your companies to the bridge.” Part of Lorn’s command is out of pique, and part is out of a feeling that the Jeranyi must not be allowed to think they can hide behind heavy walls and mock Cyador.

“Yes, ser. Probably the best way to handle this place.”

“I’m taking First Company to the wharfs. We’ll meet you at the bridge.”

“Torches!” Emsahl orders as Lorn turns back to Rhalyt and First Company.

“Ser?” asks the undercaptain.

“We’ll ride to the wharfs-it’s only a half a kay south.”

“First Company!” Rhalyt orders. “Forward…”

Lorn looks at the buildings beyond the square. They, too, are massive timber structures-massive and old.

Unlike the buildings in the town square, the doors to the three warehouses that stand behind the river wharfs are all open, and lancers are carting out some provisions-and blades.

Gyraet rides to meet Lorn. “The warehouses here are mostly empty, ser. Doors were open. Not a soul here. Some wool, some hides, some barrels of oils, a halfscore of barrels of salted meat.”

“And no traders?”

Gyraet shakes his head. “They left some blades-almost tenscore, but there are no records, and it doesn’t look like there were any.”

“Any more cupridium sabres?”

“A score, perhaps.”

“We’ll keep those, and I want you and the captains to sign a paper saying that we found and dumped into the river the other ninescore blades. Actually, we’d better list all the blades we’ve dumped, from the first town onward.” Lorn’s lips twist. “Then…have a half-squad ride over to the bridge-Esfayl should have it in hand-and one of the lancers should use a weighted rope to find the deepest point off the bridge.”

“Yes, ser.”

This time there were blades, but no records.

“Emsahl is firing the square, and the buildings around it will catch fire soon. Can you finish here quickly?” asks Lorn. “Use torches to fire the warehouses.”

Gyraet laughs. “We’re near finished already. Not that much here.”

“Good. Let me know when your company and Cheryk’s are ready to ride.”

Lorn turns his mount, back toward the town square. As he looks northward, in the direction of thin lines of black smoke and the fires that will rage before long, and toward the bridge he cannot see, the bridge that will lead to Jera, Lorn is not even sure they have taken Berlitos so much as killed some inept armsmen, ridden through the place, looted and burned a few warehouses and the center of the town and ridden on. He wonders whether he is making an enormous mistake in pushing on toward Jera.

Yet the weapons have to come from somewhere, and go to someone who can use them, and he has to stop the easy flow of blades. If he can.

He shakes his head.