Mage-Guard of Hamor (40 page)

The squad leader swallowed. “Yes, ser.”

“You'd better get moving now. Don't cross the flat or the shoulder beside it.”

“Yes, ser.”

Rah turned to Fedeor. “Fourth squad will be with me on the left, slightly uphill and off the road and behind where the lancers will pile up. You'll need to tell your men to be quiet.”

The fourth squad leader nodded.

“We'll form up the first three squads downhill of fifth squad, then,” Drakeyt said, “and once the lancers are in sight and close enough, we'll begin the withdrawal. We'd better get into position.” He turned his mount.

Rahl looked to Fedeor. “This way.”

By the time Rahl had fourth squad stationed where he wanted the troopers, Drakeyt had the remainder of Third Company set up in good order on the rise above the flat—which still looked dusty and solid…and was not. Rahl was beginning to worry that he might have overdone his delinking, because the ooze beneath the crusty surface was at least four or five cubits deep and a good fifteen to twenty wide, and still deepening. Rock seemed to stop it, because he could sense rocks sinking through the mess untouched, but that might not be enough.

He shook his head. Now was not the time to worry about that.

Rahl waited, peering through a slit in the bushy lower foliage. While he could sense the approach of the mirror lancers, he could not yet see them. He had decided on using a shield that merely blocked order-or chaos-sensing, something like what the stun-lizards did, because that took less energy, and the trees and underbrush would hide him and fourth squad from sight.

The sound and vibration of hoofs grew ever louder, and finally Rahl could make out the oncoming riders. He had never seen a Hamorian lancer before, but with the shimmering breastplates, helmets, arm gauntlets, and vambraces, they looked imposing, especially when the sunlight glinted on their weapons and armor. Supposedly, they were equipped similarly to the ancient Cyadorans. Was that why some of the histories referred to them as mirror lancers?

Once the rebel lancers caught sight of Third Company on the road, they began to pick up their pace, moving at a solid canter, lances lowered, and five abreast, so that they filled the road from shoulder to shoulder, their boots almost touching as they neared the flat.

As instructed, Fysett had fifth squad turn and contract into a solid wall, sabres ready. Drakeyt had the first three squads moving clear of the road, but Quelsyn was leading them, and Drakeyt remained at the end of third squad.

The last riders of third squad—and the captain—vanished into the brush and trees just as the first rebel lancers pounded down the slight grade and onto the flat area that separated them from fifth squad.

“Charge!”

Rahl thought the command unnecessary, but the lancers put on more speed at the last moment before the leading riders hit the ooze-weakened road. The first two lines of riders were well onto the order-and-chaos-trapped flat, and the forequarters of the mounts of the third line had crossed the unseen edge of the trap when the crust gave way. Almost instantly, the flat became a morass of flailing mounts, men, and lances. The fourth line of lancers tried to pull up, but the churning of those already trapped undercut the edge more, and they went down. The remainder of the entire company was jammed together.

Rahl glanced uphill. There was another lancer company that had reined up, and there was no way that they'd get caught in the trap.

“Fourth Company! With me! Through the lancers and across the road.” Rahl urged the gelding forward, aiming toward the rear of the lancer company. The last thing he wanted was to get ensnared by the mess that he had created.

The lancers were so disorganized that for a time, most of them did not even realize that they were under attack. Rahl felt that he broke some bones, and more than a few lancers perished under the sabres of fourth squad before they began to drop their lances and reach for their own shorter blades.

Uphill, the other mirror lancers waited. Why, Rahl didn't know, but he was grateful that they did.

“Fourth squad! To me! Fourth squad!”

Somehow, the troopers—most of them, Rahl felt—fought and rode to him. Truncheon in hand, he pushed on to the edge of the undergrowth, just above the more gradually sloping ground uphill of his small dam, where he reined up, using the truncheon to urge his men toward him. At that moment, Rahl almost gagged, so strong were the feelings of suffocating lancers sinking over their heads into the seemingly bottomless ooze that he had created. But what else could he have done? The rebels hadn't been about to let Third Company retreat.

He swallowed the bile and snapped, “Fedeor, take the squad on to join the rest of the company. I need to get to fifth squad.”

“Yes, ser!” The squad leader turned. “Fourth squad!”

Rahl edged the gelding over the narrow stream, then downhill past the chaos. He could see the rebel riders beginning to trot up toward fifth squad.

“Fysett! This way! Straight across to me.”

The last of fifth squad made it into the trees before the rebels charging up the road were within thirty cubits of where the squad had been drawn up.

Rahl turned the gelding and began to try to slip past the last of fifth squad's riders to reach Fysett, although the squad leader was headed in the right direction to catch up with the rest of Third Company. He tried to sense more of what surrounded them, especially since the trees and brush were thick enough that it was hard to see that far ahead.

Behind them, he could feel more deaths, and he didn't understand that. Certainly, the rebels should have figured out that all they had to do was stay out of the mess. Then, off to his left, Rahl could sense a masked concentration of chaos. Did he dare try to deal with it?

He eased the gelding forward, pressing even more, and managed to make his way around trees and through brush to catch up with Fysett. Despite the lushness of the vegetation and the moistness of the rugged grounds, twigs and small branches crackled under the horses' hoofs.

He had only covered fifty-some cubits before he reached the squad leader.

“Ser?”

“We need to make a slight detour here. There's a small force up to no good off to the right. I'll lead the way.”

“Yes, ser.” Fysett's professional tone did not mask the resignation beneath, not to Rahl.

Once more, Rahl managed to create a vague shield that blocked his own order-sensing, but only his own. From what he had sensed, the mage-guard had only a few troopers around him, and that suggested that the mage was powerful—or considered himself so. Going after a chaos-mage of that strength was risky, but, if Rahl could eliminate the traitor mage, that would weaken the rebels far more than the loss of a company would—perhaps more than the loss of even a battalion.

After another quarter kay—Rahl thought it was about that far, although it was hard to tell amid the trees and undergrowth—he caught sight of a more open space to his right, as well as the glamour…or attraction…that veiled the trail. He could feel how it led from the main road—the way someone had planned for Third Company to go to avoid the ambush.

“Ser…?” whispered Fysett. “Over there…the way looks easier.”

“It's not,” returned Rahl in a low voice. “Their chaos-mage created an illusion. I can't see where it goes, but following an illusion usually leads to trouble.”
More trouble than an honest but hard way.

“Oh…”

“That's why we need to deal with him.” Rahl paused, then added, “I'm dealing with him. You may have to deal with the troopers around him.” He winced as a branch pushed aside by the gelding flipped up, and the tip slashed at the side of his face. He still wasn't as good in the saddle as he should have been. “Afterwards, we'll head back and rejoin Third Company.” He hoped it would work out that way.

How long they paralleled the false trail Rahl wasn't certain, but the chaos feeling continued to grow.

Then, ahead was what appeared to be a clearing. It was not. Or rather, the first part of it was, but behind the illusion, after some ten cubits, the flat land ended in a broad sinkhole, concealed by wizardry. The illusory trail led right into the sinkhole. On the left side of the sinkhole, concealed behind a thin screen of trees and on a low redstone outcropping, were the chaos-mage and a full squad of archers.

Rahl tried to gather a better impression of the mage-guard, not pressing his order-senses, but just trying to receive.

His mouth almost dropped open. He wasn't facing a mage-guard at all, but a white wizard from Fairhaven. Although he had never met one, that sense of whiteness was unlike anything he had ever felt. It had to be a white wizard. It just had to be, and Taryl had been right. The High Wizard of Fairhaven had sent chaos-mages to help the rebels.

“They're here! To the right of the trail! Loose shafts!”

“Frig!” muttered Rahl. He'd been too stunned to think.

Whhstt!
An angular firebolt flared from the white mage standing on the redstone outcropping behind the trees and overlooking the gorge. At the impact a small bush to Rahl's right flamed, then collapsed into a pile of ashes.

“Keep the troopers behind the bigger trees,” Rahl ordered, sliding out of the saddle and thrusting the gelding's reins at the nearest rider.

Then he turned and moved toward the wizard and the archers, using the tree trunks as rough cover, his long truncheon in one hand.

More firebolts blazed toward fifth squad, but Rahl didn't sense any deaths, only some pain. So far, he realized, the white wizard hadn't even sensed him—just the troopers and their mounts. If he could just get closer…

Holding his full shields behind his vague screen, he continued to hurry forward, moving quickly from tree to tree. He was less than fifteen cubits from the small clearing behind the outcropping and behind a too-slender tree trunk, wondering exactly how to deal with the mage-guard without exposing himself to the archers who were still lofting shafts toward fifth squad. He had his doubts about how well his shields would hold against both a chaos-mage and a full squad of archers firing at short range.

Abruptly, the white wizard turned, and without speaking, flung a wall of chaos-fire at Rahl.

Rahl stepped away from the suddenly flaming tree trunk, dropped the dissembling screen and strengthened his shields. Light and heat flared around him, but his shields held.

Archers turned in his direction, and more chaos-bolts flared toward him. He was never going to get close enough to use the truncheon. How else could he handle the white wizard? He didn't have chaos to throw. He was an ordermage.

Could he throw order?

As he kept moving forward, Rahl formed what he could only think of as a bolt of concentrated order, and recalling what Taryl had said about concentrated order seeking chaos or being sought by it, launched it toward the white wizard. At the same time, he sprinted forward and then hurled the truncheon at the chaos-mage.

Rahl watched, as if everything had slowed, as the truncheon turned end over end, arcing down toward the other mage…as the white wizard flared chaos toward the truncheon.

At that moment, Rahl extended his shields, slamming them against those of the white wizard, and then pressing what order he had left like a knife through the other's shields.

WHHSSSTT!…Crumptt!

A white wall appeared from nowhere, smashing into Rahl and slamming him into the ground. Flames soared from everywhere.

It wasn't supposed to happen this way…

Then…he felt incredible agony, as if every point on his body had been pierced by a needle, as if thousands had struck him all at once…and then…nothing.

Rahl could feel the hot and dark fog lifting. Overhead, he could see stars. He turned his head, and star-points of light flashed so brightly that he could see nothing. His eyes watered from the pain. He just lay there for a time, trying to ignore the soreness across his back and shoulders and the back of his legs.

In time, he moved his head, just slightly. The star pain-points returned, but not so badly, and he could see through the jabbing needles.

“He's awake, Captain.”

Rahl could barely sense Drakeyt, even when he squatted down beside Rahl. “How do you feel, Majer?”

“I've felt better,” Rahl admitted. “What happened?”

“I was going to ask you that.”

“There was a white wizard from Fairhaven and a squad of archers. They were loosing shafts, and he was throwing firebolts. I managed to stop him, but everything exploded. That was the way it felt, anyway.” For a moment, Rahl closed his eyes.

“The explosion killed two of the troopers and left a big patch of charred ground. There wasn't any trace of the wizard or the archers. There were two of their mounts left, and Fysett brought them back. Fysett said that no one close to you was touched.”

“Where are we?”

“About four kays below the fight, just off the road on some higher ground, not that I'd really want to fight anyone right now.”

“What did the rebels do? Where are they?”

“They all pulled out, every last one, and scurried around that bubbling mess you created, and retreated, probably to Lahenta, if not farther.”

Bubbling mess? Rahl had a very deep sinking feeling. Slowly, he rolled onto one side, ignoring the rock that dug into his hip, and struggled into a sitting position.

Drakeyt extended a water bottle. Rahl took it, gratefully, slowly swallowing and easing the dryness in his throat.

“There's one thing that doesn't make any sense,” Drakeyt said, after Rahl finished drinking.

“There are more than a few things I don't understand,” Rahl replied.

“They had more than three companies waiting, and they had to know that a recon company would precede the main force. Why did they have so many troopers and a chaos-mage just to deal with one unsupported company? Seems like a waste of men, especially if they're worried about force strength.”

“I can only guess. But…why have we only seen traps and oldsters until now? They're trying to delay us.” According to what Rahl had seen and read, delays usually favored the side with more resources. That suggested to him that the rebels were stalling for time. Did they think Fairhaven or someone else would intervene on an even greater scale? Or were the rebel mages developing some technique or tool? He shook his head. There wasn't much he could do about such matters, not as a mage-guard with a recon company. “I'd judge that the idea was to kill or capture the entire company so that no information got back to the marshal. Given the marshal's reputation for caution, a missing company would certainly cause some delay. Also, if they have fewer trained troopers—”

“They'd want to use them in situations that favored their experience,” Drakeyt went on. “They'll use the newer troopers and conscripts, if they have any, where they need masses of bodies, and delay as long as possible in deploying them so that they can get as much training into them as they can.”

“The white wizard also fits. We weren't facing a mage-guard turned traitor. He was a young white wizard from Fairhaven.” Young compared to most wizards and mage-guards, but still older than Rahl. “The rebels were more willing to risk him than one of their own.”

“But you bested him.”

“I almost didn't,” Rahl said tiredly, rubbing his forehead.

“Most mage-guards wouldn't have, would they?”

“The overcommander wouldn't have had the trouble I did,” Rahl said.

“He isn't like most mage-guards, either.” Drakeyt's voice was dry. After a moment, he went on. “We can't keep doing this, not without reinforcements, not the way we have been,” Drakeyt said. “Without you, there wouldn't even be any of Third Company left. As it is, we're at half strength. I've been writing up a dispatch to the overcommander reporting our status. I'm taking the liberty of suggesting that, if he wants us to continue, he supply some reinforcements.”

“I'd better add some comments to your report, especially about the white wizard and what I did.”

“In the shape you're in, it might be better to wait until morning. Even in the darkness you look like a white demon.”

Rahl knew that Drakeyt was right, but the thought still galled him. “First thing, so that we can get off a messenger as soon as possible.”

“Which will leave us with even fewer troopers.”

Rahl had the feeling that whatever they did resulted in fewer troopers. At least, whatever he did seemed to, no matter how hard he tried not to put the men in harm's way.

“You could be in command, you know.” There was the slightest hint of an edge in Drakeyt's voice.

“First, that wouldn't be right,” replied Rahl, almost without thinking. “Second, I still don't know enough. Third, the troopers wouldn't feel right about it….”

“Do you think the overcommander felt that way before he took over?”

Drakeyt's question underscored Rahl's tiredness and lack of perception. He should have sensed where the captain was headed. He would have, had he felt better. At least, he thought he would have. “Yes…and no. I think he felt Dettyr should never have been appointed and was wrong for the post. The man was incompetent, and everything he did endangered troopers. That makes a difference. The overcommander told me personally that he discussed everything with Commander Muyr…”

“The commander's a solid officer,” confirmed Drakeyt. “He should have made overcommander years ago.”

“He likely will now,” offered Rahl.

“It's only taken a rebellion, gross incompetence by his superiors, and one of the most senior mage-guards in Hamor for him to be considered.”

“What else is new?” Rahl managed a chuckle. At the end, he had to stifle a yawn. Demons, he was tired.

Drakeyt laughed, if bitterly. “Your bedroll is right there.” He gestured. “We could both use some sleep.”