“Squad leader! Fire down the road!”
Alastar had to guess, but imaged a shield across the road a yard high, anchoring it to the stone beneath the surface, roughly fifteen yards in front of himself, holding it as he waited.
The wait seemed interminable, but was likely only a tiny fraction of a quint before the first rebel riders appeared, brandishing sabers and outriding the screen that had concealed them—before their mounts plowed into the low shield, going down and spewing the first and second ranks of riders onto the road. Then the concealment vanished totally, and all Alastar could see was the lane before him filled with riders jamming up behind those thrown by the road shield or killed by bullets or darts.
“Arion! Seliora! Use wooden darts! Wooden darts! Take down as many as you can!”
More rebel troopers, many unable to move, slumped in their saddles. The carnage grew, until a trumpet sounded from the west, and the riders in the rear of the rebel force began to turn and ride back west, a ride that began to resemble a rout.
As soon as Alastar could see that the rebels had passed the gaps in the hedgerow, without flowing out into the surrounding fields, he dropped the road shield and ordered, “Turn and withdraw! Back to the crossroads.”
He’d already visually studied the retreating rebels and scanned the fallen, but he hadn’t seen any figure in gray, although there definitely had been an imager with the rebels.
As for what else he and the imagers could do, there wasn’t anything else but to withdraw. They were outnumbered by the two or more companies that looked to comprise the rebel force, which made pursuit a less than optimal option, especially given the heap of dead and wounded men and mounts resulting from the combination of the road shield, iron needles, wooden darts, and rifle fire, a heap that effectively blocked the narrow road from hedgerow to hedgerow. Alastar could also see other fallen troopers and riderless mounts in the gaps between the hedgerows, most likely casualties from the first attack by Alastar’s small force.
As Helmnyn’s troopers, the imagers, and Alastar rode back toward Luerryn and the bulk of the two companies, Alastar stood in the saddle to survey the squad. From what he could make out, there were two bodies draped over saddles, and another trooper binding his arm.
His squad-sized force had taken out half a company, possibly more, but he had the feeling that doing the same thing again would be even harder. Which means you’ll have to come up with something else.
The only problem was that by the time he and his force had rejoined Luerryn’s main force and Alastar had quickly explained to the major what had happened, including the fact that there had definitely been an imager with the rebel forces, he still had no idea of what else he might try, and it was hard to think about that with Luerryn’s continuing questions.
“They had rifles. Why didn’t they use them?”
“They did, at first. They killed at least two of Helmnyn’s men and wounded another, possibly more, but when they started to fire, Seliora raised a concealment, and Helmnyn’s men fired into the gaps where the rebel troopers were waiting even though they were under a concealment. They were crowded together, and we did some imaging to make it hard for them to use their rifles—”
“How did you manage that?”
“It’s hard to hit people when you’re breathing red pepper, your eyes are watering, and you can’t even see anyone to fire at,” said Alastar dryly. “I’m certain that the plan was to let us pass, trap us in the hedgerow, and then wipe us out.”
“There has to be a larger force on this road. What do you have in mind? Or should we withdraw?”
Alastar didn’t feel that withdrawal was a good idea, not when the rebels—or some of them—had been upset and disorganized. “We should press on for the moment. If there is a larger force, it will be somewhere that an imager doesn’t have to maintain a concealment for a long time. The road ahead doesn’t have any orchards or woodlots immediately ahead of us, not until close to the hamlet. We can always withdraw if it’s clear there’s a massive force. Besides, our job is to whittle down their forces before we get into a full battle with both armies.” Alastar didn’t say anything about the dangers of being the whittler. He turned in the saddle. “Akoryt, pass the word. If we need lots of darts—you and the imagers can do them out of wood. Just push them harder.”
“Yes, sir.”
Luerryn cleared his throat. “Column! Forward!”
The three scouts, already two hundred yards ahead of Weidyn and the lead squad, resumed their even pace, as did Weidyn and the vanguard, riding past a narrow dirt path leading to a weathered cot some thirty yards back on the west side of the road. On the north side of the cot was a shed, and beside it a woodpile, on top of which sat a large white and black cat, looking intently at the riders. A scattering of fruit trees rose behind the cot. The door to the cot was closed, and likely barred, Alastar suspected.
As the troopers and imagers rode south along the packed clay road, still damp enough that the riders raised no dust, they passed more cots, mostly located on the west side of the road. Alastar still could not make out where the hamlet was, except it had to be beyond the scattered trees at least another two milles south. He studied the ground ahead. To the left stretched rows of what looked to be bean plants. The large field was almost level, although the southeastern corner looked to be slightly higher. To the right was pastureland, stretching back slightly over a hundred yards. Beyond the pasture was a large orchard, but Alastar had trouble making out what was between the trees, although the split-rail fence on the north side of the orchard was clear and distinct.
A blurring shield!
He immediately glanced back to the left, but farther south, a good three hundred yards, to an unmortared wall of stacked stone, beyond which the land rose slightly. His eyes went immediately to the three scouts on the road ahead, who were nearing the point opposite where the wall ended.
“Order a quiet ‘ready arms,’ and then a loud halt,” Alastar said. “There are troopers in that orchard over there.”
“How many?”
“I have no idea, except it’s probably a lot. I also wouldn’t be surprised if there’s another company or two behind that low hill several hundred yards ahead on the left. Can you give orders for the troopers to fire once we’re opposite the orchard? That will allow most of them to fire, won’t it?”
“We can stagger files so that they all can … but what about the rebel troopers ahead of us?”
“What would you suggest?”
“Not riding any closer to them yet,” replied Luerryn, before raising his voice slightly. “Ready arms. Pass it back.” After several moments, he called out, “Column halt! Stagger files! Rifles right!”
Alastar studied the orchard ahead once again. “I think we ought to attack before the troopers on the far side of that rise decide to make us defend or get routed.”
“Do you think it’s wise?”
Alastar laughed softly. “No, but everything else I can think of seems even more foolish.” All because you didn’t believe that they’d split the two imagers that they have … or risk them so early.
“I have to agree.” Luerryn gave a wintry smile, then ordered, “Column! Forward!”
“Imagers. Prepare to image pepper into the first five yards of the orchard ahead on the left.”
Alastar checked his shields, convinced that shots would ring out any moment as the vanguard drew even with the edge of the orchard some hundred yards back from the road. There were no shots, but Alastar could definitely make out that a blurring shield was in place.
“We’re getting close to the best firing position,” murmured Luerryn.
Alastar cleared his throat, then swallowed. “Khaelis, Dylert, Taurek. Fill the first five yards of that orchard with red pepper. Make it thick and hot. Now!”
A swathe of red fog filled the front of the orchard.
“Column halt! Open fire!” ordered the major. “Fire at will!”
Alastar immediately notic
ed that a five-yard swathe of the orchard showed no red mist at all. “Major! The area where there’s no red mist. Have as many men as you can target that area now.”
At first, only a few scattered shots came from the orchard, but the numbers increased. Alastar felt several impacts on his shields. More shots from Luerryn’s troopers ripped into the unpeppered area.
“Dylert! Pepper that area in the orchard that isn’t red. Taurek! Spray it with white-hot needles!”
As more of the red pepper fog appeared, the unpeppered area shrank to a space little more than a yard wide.
“Akoryt! Iron darts to the unpeppered spot! Imagers! Hold your shields firm.”
Alastar added several iron darts of his own to those of Akoryt.
Abruptly, the blurring shield vanished, revealing spread across the less-than-hundred-yard front of the orchard at least a company of rebel troopers with their crimson and black armbands, although there were definitely gaps in their ranks, significant holes, if not so many as Alastar would have wished.
Three quick blasts on a horn followed, and the rebel troops spurred their way from the cover of the orchard toward the troopers on the road, who continued to fire into the oncoming rebels, most of whom had holstered their rifles and brandished sabers.
“Imagers! Wooden darts into the front ranks of the attackers!”
Between the heavy rifles of the troopers and the efforts of the imagers, the ranks of the rebel attackers thinned, but more kept coming from the orchard.
“More pepper into the attackers!” Alastar imaged out his own pepper spray. He was gratified to see that several riders veered into other riders, and more went down, whether to imager darts or trooper bullets, he couldn’t tell.
Another horn signal echoed from the south.
“Left file!” ordered Luerryn. “Wheel out into the beans! Double up! Staggered formation! Right file! Double up! Staggered formation! Keep firing!”
Alastar kept imaging wooden dart after wooden dart, opting for projecting them with power, rather than trying to reach for iron. Occasionally, he could feel the impact of bullets or something on his shields, but not so much as he’d feared.
Then a wedge of riders charged toward him. Alastar linked his shields to the ground. For a moment, everything around him shook, before he discovered that horses and men were piled against the shields. Methodically, he imaged wooden darts into every moving figure, then expanded his aim to those farther away.
“Keep imaging the darts! Make every one count!” Alastar had no idea if any of the imagers were listening, or could even hear him.
In the end, he had no real idea how long the skirmish or battle lasted, only that at some point there was another horn signal, and the attackers withdrew. Alastar could barely see. His head felt like it was being hammered with a wooden mallet, and he felt very unsteady as he fumbled a water bottle out of his saddlebags. He had to use his teeth to extract the cork because his hands were shaking so much.
Some of the shaking subsided after several swallows, and he looked around. He was surrounded by the imagers. None of them seemed to be injured, but Akoryt was drenched in sweat, as were Khaelis and Dylert. Alastar was also, he realized. Arion merely looked disheveled and exhausted. Seliora and Taurek were both pale and shaking.
“You two were partly shielding me, weren’t you?”
The burly Taurek managed a shaky grin. “Couldn’t lose a Maitre, could we?” He was swaying in the saddle.
“Drink some of that lager in your water bottle before you fall out of the saddle. You, too, Seliora.”
“Yes, sir … if I can find it.…”
Taurek looked so unsteady that Alastar reached out and handed his own water bottle to the junior maitre. The movement made him realize that he wasn’t all that steady himself, but he managed to straighten in the saddle. “Share it with Seliora.”
“Yes, sir.”
Alastar managed to get out the second water bottle and uncork it without using his teeth. After another swallow, he turned southward, and scanned the area from west to east. Bodies were everywhere. So were a number of riderless horses. The air was absolutely still.
“Maitre…” Luerryn’s voice roused Alastar from his bemused and stunned survey of the carnage.
“Yes?”
“You think we’ve done enough?” asked Luerryn, with a gesture that encompassed the carnage.
“More than enough. I don’t think most of the imagers could image even a feather dart or stop a moth.” That was an overstatement, Alastar knew, but not that much of one. “We need to move out back to camp and report to the marshal.”
“I’d agree. The rebels might just be regrouping.” Luerryn raised his voice. “Get the wounded on mounts! Those that aren’t already. Collect all the rifles and sabers! Now! We’re moving out in half a quint!”
“How many did we lose?” asked Alastar.
“More than a score are dead. Another score wounded.”
Alastar winced.
“That’s not bad, Maitre. Between those two companies you faced in the hedgerow and what they threw at us here, they had at least a mounted battalion.”
“We must have killed … what…? Two companies?”
“More than three. Maybe four.”
Alastar had strong doubts that would happen again.
Luerryn turned his mount and eased away.
“Maitre? Thank you.” Seliora returned Alastar’s first water bottle to him.
“You’re welcome. Are you feeling better?”
“Yes, sir. A little sore.”
Alastar turned his mount toward the orchard. Taurek and Khaelis immediately moved up beside him.
“Sir?” asked Khaelis.
“We need to see if we got the imager … if we can even determine that.”
The three imagers had to take a winding path through the bodies, and through the troopers scavenging for weapons and valuables. Alastar strengthened his shields as he neared the edge of the orchard, hoping no one armed was there, since he doubted what he had left of shields would resist more than a single shot or blow.
He could also smell smoke, most likely from the impact of bullets on wood or perhaps the white-hot needles that Taurek had imaged, but he didn’t see any flames or black or gray smoke itself.
Although there was a good score of bodies in the area where the imager had been, all wore the green trooper uniforms with the crimson and black armbands, and Alastar didn’t see a single face that remotely resembled either Bettaur or Ashkyr. He and the other two quickly checked the other bodies in the orchard and immediately in front of it, but saw no trace of one that could be identified as an imager before they finally rode back to the road.
Once there, he addressed all of his group. “We need to move to the front—what will be the front.” Then he turned the gray and started northward along the side of the road, noticing that some of the troopers were still hurriedly scavenging.
Akoryt held back and brought up the rear.
You can’t do this very often … and not that soon again. That thought went through Alastar’s head more than once after the imagers re-formed behind the rearguard that had become the vanguard.
Before all that long, Luerryn was calling out the order, “Column! To the rear! Ride!” Then he eased his mount in beside Alastar, who said nothing, deciding to let the major do the talking.
Alastar took another swallow of lager from his remaining water bottle.
“Why wooden darts?” the major finally asked.
“Imaging wood takes much less effort than imaging iron. There were so many of the rebels. We needed more darts, and I wasn’t certain we could keep imaging long enough if we did iron darts.”
“Did you get those imagers?”
“I have no idea. I never saw anyone wearing gray, but they could have been wearing regular trooper uniforms so that we couldn’t pick them out.” In that, they were likely smarter than you were.
“Do you really think you can ambush them? Their ambush di
dn’t work all that well on us?”
“I’ll have to think about that.” That … and a lot of other things.
Alastar took another long swallow of lager. He hoped he’d feel better before too long.
At the top of the rise in the road, he looked back toward the hamlet. Thick smoke was rising from the orchard, and he could just barely make out flames.
Frig!
But there wasn’t a thing he could do now.…
He took another swallow of lager.
42
Alastar’s head had largely stopped throbbing by the time he and the imagers arrived back at camp just before third glass. After he unsaddled and groomed the gray, he made his way to Wilkorn’s command tent, where he found Major Luerryn and Commander Maurek, but not the marshal. Maurek looked less than satisfied.
“Is there a problem?” asked Alastar.
“If I understand what Major Luerryn has reported, you routed a battalion of rebels, inflicted severe casualties, and then failed to pursue and eliminate them. Is that correct?”
“It is,” replied Alastar, deciding not to say more … not yet.
“They were routed, and you didn’t pursue?” Maurek looked to Luerryn.
“It didn’t seem advisable, sir.”
“When they were on the run? It didn’t seem advisable?”
Alastar cleared his throat, loudly.
Maurek looked both surprised and annoyed. “Yes, Maitre?”
“The imagers accounted for a significant number of the rebel casualties and also provided a certain amount of protection to Major Luerryn’s forces. By the time the rebels withdrew, not a single imager was capable of additional effort, and most could no longer provide even minimal protection for themselves.” That might have been stretching the truth slightly, Alastar felt, but only slightly.
Maurek’s expression was puzzled.
Alastar refrained from sighing, and went on. “You wouldn’t send a company to chase the rebels when they had no ammunition in their rifles and their sabers were broken. That was the situation the imagers were in, and Major Luerryn was wise enough to recognize that.”
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