Cyador’s Heirs (48 page)

Lerial continues to listen, wondering how he has ended up where he’s likely to be in the middle of a war, while his brother just rides patrols and deals with raiders.

LIV

In the dim light before actual sunrise, Lerial glances forward at the scouts, and then back at the Second Verdheln Lancers—second company, “his” company—three squads half-trained in sabres, and a squad of women as mounted archers, although all the men carry bows as well. At least he has four Mirror Lancers as squad leaders, although all are really just rankers acting in that capacity. And while undercaptains do lead companies, Lerial doubts there have been few, if any, as young or inexperienced as he is.

For that reason, Lerial suspects, Altyrn had been quite adamant. “You are
not
to engage any enemy armsmen personally. You are to inflict casualties and withdraw. Do so quickly, and do not linger in any attempt to kill or wound just one more Meroweyan.”

Lerial understands that all too well. He also understands the value of his taking a company against Casseon’s forces from the beginning … and that Altyrn understands that as well, and likes it not at all.

The two scouts ride a good third of a kay ahead of Lerial, riding beside Korlyn, the first squad leader, a cheerful and round-faced former ranker perhaps seven to eight years older than Lerial. They have not taken the road, for obvious reasons, and are already a good kay south and west of where the long dirt road from Yakaat enters the Verd. Lerial wants to be in position, within a glass of full sunrise, behind the hills he and Altyrn have picked for his attack on the vanguard of the advancing Meroweyan forces. Lerial can only hope that the reports he has from the scouts are accurate enough for what he and the majer have planned. There are alternatives, of course, but they are not likely to be as successful.

There are no clouds overhead, and the wind is out of the south, slightly warmer than it has been over the past few eightdays, but scarcely springlike. The ground is dry, and that is another reason for proceeding at a fast walk. A faster pace would not only tire the horses unnecessarily, but would likely raise enough dust to be seen from a distance, even before sunrise.

Another two kays ahead, the hills are higher on the east side of the road, and there is a slight dry wash between the road and the hills. Lerial’s mission is to place the company on the back side of the hill, just close enough so that when they move forward to the crest, they will have a good shot at the Meroweyan column—
if
they can hold that position without being seen by any Meroweyan scouts … one way or another.

As they ride southwest through the winter-browned grass and the scattered bushes still showing only their winter-grayed first-year leaves, Lerial keeps glancing to the outriders serving as scouts, but the two offer no signals indicating any sign of the Meroweyan forces. When second company reaches the back side of the hills from which it will attack, the sun has not risen, but Lerial knows that will happen in less than a third of a glass.

Before deciding on exactly where to position the company he waits for the scouts to return and report, which they do in less than a tenth of a glass.

“The Meroweyan outriders are less than two kays away, ser,” reports Gherst. “They have road scouts less than a kay from us.”

“What about scouts away from the road?” asks Lerial.

“We haven’t seen any, but there’s more brush on the east side of the hills south of here, and the wash is deeper.”

Lerial nods. “Take a position south and east of here, but stay under cover. Don’t report to me unless you see a body of armsmen moving against us from any position away from the road. We’ll deal with scouts, but I don’t want to be hit with a surprise attack.”

“Yes, ser.”

As Gherst and Vominem ride off, Lerial decides against moving the company too high on the eastern side of the hill, not until the Meroweyan force is closer, although he cannot say why he feels that is a good idea, only that it feels right. He also worries that the sun will be too high by the time the enemy reaches the section of the road beneath the hill, since the plan had been for the Meroweyans to be looking into a low morning sun at the time of the attack.

Still … given the height of the hill … the sun might still be in their eyes.

Before long, he can sense the Meroweyan vanguard, almost a kay away, but not the end of the column, suggesting that the force extends more than two kays.
Definitely more than two thousand armsmen.
Possibly twice that. He reminds himself that his task is merely to reduce those numbers without unduly risking his company.

Then … he also senses a scout, not on the road, but one riding along the backside of the low hills to the east of the road, most likely set out to warn the Meroweyans of any attack like the one Lerial is supposed to carry out. He cannot see the rider, but the scout is definitely moving northward.
If you can’t see him, he most likely can’t see you.
Lerial turns to Korlyn. “Tell the rankers they’ll be in total darkness. I want total silence. Not a word. Not a whisper. Pass it on.”

“Yes, ser,” acknowledges the squad leader.

Lerial uses his senses to locate more closely the scout’s probable path. From what he can tell, the man will pass a good hundred yards above them on the gradual slope, but he will have to see. He waits until the word has reached all squads, then raises a concealment over the company.

Despite his command, there are more than a few whispers and murmurs, and several short commands of “Silence!”

Lerial is impressed, but thankful.
Maybe they’ve seen more magecraft than you know.

Slowly, oh so slowly, or so it seems, the scout rides through the matted tan and brown grass northward, if higher on the slope, toward the hillside where second company waits. The swish and crackle of grass is but a faint murmur, and grows, seemingly so loud that the scout sounds as if he is riding right in front of Lerial, even though he can sense that the man is some seventy yards away.

By the time the scout is far enough north of the company that Lerial drops the concealment, hoping that the Meroweyan is out of sight, Lerial himself is shaking in the saddle, feeling wrung out.
Because you’ve never held that large a concealment for that long?

He can still see the scout, but the rider does not look back, at least not until he is out of sight. Lerial manages a drink of watered greenberry, wincing as he swallows, but the liquid seems to help, and he extends his order-senses west and south. The Meroweyan force is less than half a kay away from the section of road over the crest of the hill from second company.

“Forward, at a walk,” Lerial orders.

He halts the company far enough below the crest that he cannot see over, then turns to Korlyn. “All squads to attack formation.”

“To attack formation. Ready bows!”

All four squads shift into a ten-ranker front … and wait.

Lerial concentrates on the oncoming vanguard and the companies immediately behind. He cannot sense any other forces flanking those on the road. He continues to focus on the first ranks of the vanguard until they are almost even with second company—again by design, so that if the Meroweyans decide to charge second company once they catch sight of the Lancers, they will have to turn their mounts. “Forward. Fast walk.” Lerial and Altyrn have discussed the approach and decided that a quick walk into possible sight of the Meroweyans is better than a faster entry because it will be slower to be noticed and will also allow greater precision for the barely trained rankers.

Lerial leads the way, giving another order. “At my signal. Three volleys! Three! At my signal! Then we withdraw.”
Quickly.

Once they reach the top of the hill, Lerial glances back. From what he can tell, anyone on the road is still looking directly into the sun, because the shadow of the hill stops just short of the road itself.

“Company! Halt.”

If the hill had cast no shadow at all, Lerial would have moved the company farther downhill to avoid being silhouetted against the sky. The road is less than two hundred yards away, possibly closer to a hundred and fifty yards, but there is a dry streambed, as the scouts have reported, between the western base of the hill and the road. Perhaps half the vanguard is already past them.

“Nock shafts.” Even as Lerial gives the command, he can see gestures from below indicating that they have been sighted.

“First volley!

“Second volley!

“Third volley!”

Lerial is surprised to see armsmen below going down … and more than a few, as many as a third of those in the first company, if not more. Still … others are turning their mounts toward the hillside.

With a quick shake of his head, he snaps, “To the rear, quick-time! Ride!”

This time the Verdheln Lancers and their mounts move quickly.

“Lancers! Left turn! Left turn!”

From what Lerial can see, only two riders try to turn the wrong direction. But, on the other side of the hill, he can sense chaos building.
A firebolt?

As the chaos-fire screams down toward the archers, Lerial forces himself to concentrate, as he creates a fifteen-line pattern to angle the chaos to the south. The pattern seems to vanish, but the firebolt angles well to the south, a good fifty yards from the nearest Lancer. As it strikes the ground, a wave of fire washes outward a good five yards in every direction. In instants, there is nothing within that circle except fine drifting ash and blackened earth.

If that hit trees …
Altyrn’s concerns about using the trees as a first line of defense suddenly become much more real. So do his concerns about the Meroweyans as he senses at least one company charging up the hill.

“Company! Quick-time! Forward!

“Quick-time! Forward!” echo the squad leaders.

Lerial, now at the rear of the company, senses yet another chaos-bolt arching down toward second squad and immediately creates a diversion pattern.

The chaos-fire seems to skid above second squad, close enough that Lerial can feel the heat, before almost bouncing farther to the east and landing amid a cluster of bushes. Flame flares skyward.

Lerial is ready to order a full gallop, but he senses that the Meroweyan armsmen have slowed as they near the top of the hill. Nonetheless, he keeps glancing back as the fourth squad leader, Moraris, now at the front of the two-file column, keeps the company moving quickly northward and away from the ambush site.

From the east, Gherst and Vominem come racing forward to join up with Lerial, although they do not reach him until he has traveled almost half a kay.

“They’ve slowed, ser,” reports Gherst, “but they’re still following.”

Lerial finds himself shivering and shuddering as he tries to reach out to the west to determine the progress of the main Meroweyan force. He takes a deep breath.

“Are you all right, ser?” asks Korlyn.

“A … little … tired…”

Even without trying, Lerial can sense the squad leader’s concern. “I’ll be fine … in a bit.”

A flash of dizziness washes over Lerial, and he has to concentrate so much to remain in the saddle that he only catches fragments of the words exchanged by Gherst and Korlyn..

“… wrong with the captain?”

“… has to be using order … knows where they were…”

“… maybe … something … see how the firebolts swerved…”

Almost a quarter of a glass passes before Lerial can really do much but stay in the saddle. Finally, he is able to ride forward to the front of first squad. “Sorry … Korlyn. Are they still following us?”

“Doesn’t look like it. Did you keep those fireballs from hitting us, ser?”

“Yes. It took more strength than I thought … appreciate it if you’d keep what it did to me between us…”

“I can do that, ser.”

Gherst and Vominem also strongly suspect that, but, for the moment, Lerial would prefer that the remaining rankers not know just how close many of them came to being obliterated.

Slowly, he works out the bottle containing the greenberry juice and begins to drink, carefully, hoping that it will help with the remaining dizziness. After several swallows, he glances back, but can see no sign of the Meroweyans.

“Begging your pardon, ser … but you’ve not given an order as to where we’re headed, except for away from the Meroweyans.”

“Back to the marshaling point, and you’re right. I’ll ride forward and have Moraris pass the order back.” Lerial offers a ragged grin. “I appreciate the reminder.”

Korlyn nods in return, and Lerial urges the gelding forward.

Lerial’s dizziness has almost subsided completely when second company reaches Altyrn’s main force, marshaled less than five hundred yards south of where the road reaches the woods. After seeing that his company is fed, and their mounts watered and also given some fodder, Lerial seeks out Altyrn, who is seated behind a small table under a small awning just forward of the low stone wall that contains the green fronting the seemingly endless line of ancient and massive trees that protect Verdheln. The majer looks up from his camp table and the map spread on it, but waits for Lerial to speak.

“We attacked and hit them with three volleys. The Verdyn archers are good. I’d guess that the shafts struck a third to a half of the vanguard. They reacted quickly, the way you said they would. Some of them were starting up the slope when we withdrew. I followed your advice, ser. We didn’t stay for a fourth volley.”

Altyrn nods. “Did you suffer any casualties?”

“No, ser.”

“How close were you?”

“About a hundred and fifty yards.”

“You should have hit many from that range. How did you get that close? Didn’t they have scouts out to the side?”

“They did…” Lerial goes on to explain.

The majer frowns. “I’m surprised some of the rankers didn’t give you away.”

“I told them they’d be in darkness. They kept quiet.”

“What about chaos-fire?”

“They do have at least one white wizard. He threw two firebolts at us—that I saw, anyway. We were already moving, and they missed. One came pretty close. I could feel the heat. I’d guess that by the time the magus or white wizard could throw another we were too far away.”