From the north, it seemed, a burst of crimson emptiness flashed over Alucius, along with a momentary, but intense, chill. He forced himself to infuse the shells in his rifles with darkness, even as he had the first rifle out of the holder, his eyes scanning the skies and the land beyond the road. He forced himself to ignore what happened to the north—at least for the moment.
A wild pteridon appeared some seventy yards to the southwest, almost a hundred yards into the sky. Alucius could tell that it was about to dive directly at him, even before it half folded its wings.
He concentrated on the pteridon, squeezing off one shot, then a second.
A ball of blue flame exploded from where the Talent-creature had been and plummeted into a thornbush, which exploded in flame.
Alucius turned, catching sight of something else, a single horned sandox lumbering toward the eastern flank of Jultyr’s lancers.
It took Alucius a single shot, but the creature had appeared so close to the last of the lancers that the bluish flames surged over the outermost lancer, enveloping him in flames. His screams were brief, but Alucius shuddered. He continued to search for more of the Talent-creatures even as he heard Deotyr’s command.
“Twenty-eighth Company! Fire at will!”
The cracks of shots from north and south echoed around Alucius as he searched for another Talent-creature, and he almost missed the pteridon coming in from the north.
“Look out!” someone yelled.
He twisted in the saddle and used the last two shots in the first rifle to hit the pteridon, but once more the bluish firebolt resulting from his successful shot flared downward, barreling into the chest of a lancer’s mount. The man, quick of thought, jumped clear, but the horse’s scream was agonizing.
His second rifle out, Alucius scanned land and sky, but the crimson emptiness, that legacy of the Duarches, was gone.
The rebel company from the north continued to ride southward, lancers falling to the fire of Deotyr’s men, until the rebels were less than thirty yards from Twenty-eighth Company. Abruptly, at that moment, a single long trumpet blast came from somewhere. The single note wavered but held. As one, the rebel lancers who had attacked from the north threw down their rifles, turned their mounts, and galloped back along the eternastone road, back to the north.
“After them!” ordered Deotyr.
Alucius wheeled the gray as Twenty-eighth Company rode in pursuit of the fleeing rebels. Should he countermand the order? How?
From the slight ridge on the side of the road, Alucius looked northward, watching as Twenty-eighth Company closed on the rebels, feeling that something was not right.
Why were they fleeing, when they had never done so before?
The rebels neared the road cut made by the ancient road through the low rolling hill. There, Alucius saw a low line of what appeared to be packed clay that ran from one side of the road to the other, and the road behind the clay appeared to be shiny. Something splashed from the hoofs of the mounts of the retreating rebel riders.
At that instant, he knew. He forced himself to ignore the bullets from the south, and concentrated on extending a thin golden green line of fire northward, toward the liquid in the road cut. His thinnest of lines of Talent-fire touched the liquid held behind the miniature dikes at the same moment that the leading riders of Twenty-eighth Company crossed the first one.
Whhhssst! A flare of flame erupted from the eternastones, bathing at least half the rebels in flames, turning them and their mounts into living torches. The first three or four ranks of Twenty-eighth Company’s first squad also flared into flame.
Alucius’s guts twisted. But there was little more he could do, not after Deotyr had ordered the charge.
He twisted in the saddle, looking south, but with the fiery gout to the north, the remaining rebels turned their mounts and fled, pell-mell, south.
“Fifth Company! Thirty-fifth Company! Re-form! Forward!” Alucius urged the gray forward and onto the road, riding northward quickly.
Deotyr had re-formed Twenty-eighth Company, well back from the wall of flame.
The few remaining rebel lancers rode eastward along the ridge. They were already a vingt away when Alucius neared Twenty-eighth Company. His Talent sensed no one nearby besides his own force—no one living. Both a single glance and his senses told him that there was enough of the oil or whatever it was to turn the dead mounts and men into little more than ashes, and the fire might well continue for at least a glass.
He could feel his entire body beginning to shake, and his eyesight blurring. He forced himself to steady his hands as he fumbled out the water bottle and drank, then unwrapped some travel bread for a quick bite. What else could he have done? He didn’t know any way to have stopped the conflagration, and if he’d simply waited, he might have lost all of Twenty-eighth Company. Why hadn’t he seen what was coming more clearly?
He shook his head. He’d known something was wrong. He never would have ordered the charge, but, as Feran had said, he couldn’t be everywhere. No one else could have dealt with the pteridons.
His hands were still shaking as he took another bite of travel bread. Was his shakiness his reaction to the flame trap? Or was it overuse of Talent? Had he used that much Talent? He decided that it had taken more effort than he had realized to extend his Talent to fire the oil or whatever had been used to create the deadly flames. But his decision to use Talent still troubled him, much as he could see no other alternative.
By the time he finally reached Twenty-eighth Company, the blurred vision and the shaking had subsided. Alucius kept his face impassive as he reined up close to Deotyr.
The captain’s countenance was ashen.
“Captain?”
“Yes, sir…”
“Casualties?”
“Twelve men dead, sir, three others burned, two wounded.”
Before Deotyr could say any more, Alucius spoke. “I don’t recall ordering a charge. But what is done is done. We’ll talk about it later.” Alucius dared not say more, not with the rage seething inside him at Deotyr’s stupidity.
“Yes, sir.”
“Finish forming up. We’ll have to circle the road cut on the west. We’ll probably have trouble with the wagons. Pick a detail to help with them.” Alucius glanced at the low flames still flickering from the road cut ahead. He could feel the heat. As he turned to head back to check with Jultyr and Feran, he just wished he could turn away from the stench of burned flesh.
Alucius rode back southward, both to meet with Jultyr and to avoid saying anything he would later regret.
As Alucius neared the older captain, Jultyr studied Alucius’s face before speaking. For a moment, Jultyr did not speak. Then he said, “One man dead, sir. One man wounded, sir. Looks to recover.”
“Thank you. You handled your company well, Captain.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Majer!” called another voice—that of Feran.
Alucius turned his mount and waited for Feran to join them.
“Just two men wounded. One took a shot to the shoulder,” Feran reported. “The other took a bullet in the calf.”
“Fifth Company did well,” Alucius said. “As always.” He could feel some of the anger subsiding. “Twenty-eighth Company lost twelve men, had five wounded.” His words came out flat.
“Lucky that the rebels set that fire too early,” observed Jultyr.
“They probably didn’t plan it that way.” Feran looked hard at Alucius.
Alucius knew Feran understood, and he merely replied, “I wish they’d been even earlier. Twenty-eighth’s first squad didn’t deserve that.”
“Captain Deotyr?” asked Feran.
“He may have gotten singed, but he was just far enough back.”
“What was that stuff? Do you know, sir?” asked Jultyr.
“Some kind of oil, maybe the kind that you can find in pitch ponds. It was dark and shiny, but not too thick. Their mounts splashed some of it before it caught fire.” Alucius
gestured to the road ahead and the low rise. “We’ll have to ride around. I told Captain Deotyr to form a detail to help with the wagons.”
“Ah…the men…?”
“It’s still burning. There won’t be anything left but ashes. There’s not much we can do.”
Jultyr shook his head. “What a horrible…way to go.”
Alucius agreed, but he wasn’t sure that any way to die was good, notwithstanding all the legends of glorious heroism. Dead was dead.
60
In the dim light of early evening, Alucius and Deotyr stood at the edge of the camp, little more than rows of lancers and bedrolls on a low rise twenty-some vingts north of Hyalt and less than half a vingt to the west of the high road. All the campsite had to recommend itself was a creek with cold and clear water that ran along the bottom of the swale to the north of the rise, and the slight elevation of the low hill—and the fact that men and mounts needed the rest and that there had been nothing better in vingts.
In the eastern sky, halfway to the zenith, was the small green disc of Asterta. That the moon of misery shone down on Deotyr and Alucius was entirely appropriate, although the dark-haired young captain was obviously unaware of that coincidence as he shifted his weight from one boot to the other.
“I said that we would discuss the events of the afternoon later. I did not say that we would dismiss them.” Alucius kept his voice mild. “Why did you order the charge?”
“They had thrown down their rifles, and they were retreating in disorder, sir. It seemed like the best tactic.”
“Did I tell you to engage them?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you hear me relay orders to Overcaptain Feran granting him the leeway to engage the rebels?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did I give you similar orders?”
“Ah…no, sir.”
“But I didn’t forbid you to order a charge, either,” Alucius pointed out. “That’s the first lesson, Captain. Discretion always rests with the company commander, but so does responsibility for the use of that discretion. If you choose to ignore orders, and there may be a very few times that you should, or if you decide to take an initiative, you should have a very good reason for doing so. You should have a definite plan for what you intend to do, and you should understand the situation in which you find yourself.” Alucius paused only briefly. “Explain to me why you thought charging this particular fleeing enemy was a good tactic.”
There was a long silence.
“Come, Captain…if you did not have a good reason when you ordered the charge, and if you cannot come up with a good reason after having thought about it all afternoon…why exactly did you give that order?”
“I just…well, sir, it felt like the thing to do. I can’t explain why.”
Alucius nodded slowly. “I’ve done that myself. But there’s a problem with that. If you can’t explain why you did what you did, even afterward, then you didn’t have a good reason. Now…consider this. We’ve fought the rebels a number of times. Before this afternoon, have they ever retreated?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you ask yourself why they were retreating? They didn’t just turn and break. They turned just before reaching the company, and they were ordered to retreat by the sound of a horn. That signal alone should have told you that the action was planned.”
“Did you see that, sir?”
“As soon as I heard that horn signal, I knew that whatever they were doing was planned, but I was too far away to countermand your orders, Captain. I thought that trying to do so from a distance could have created even greater confusion and left the company scattered and even more vulnerable.” Alucius let the silence drag out for a time. “You were extremely fortunate to have lost only twelve men. Had they set that oil on fire a few moments later, most of Twenty-eighth Company would have died.” Alucius did not hammer home the point that Deotyr would have been among the dead. Nor did he voice his own regrets that his own options had been constricted by his own limitations. “You need to know what your own company can do. You also have to be aware of what your enemy has done, what he can do, and what he might do.”
“Yes, sir.” Deotyr’s look at Alucius was almost accusing, as if Alucius were responsible.
Alucius was responsible. He hadn’t given Deotyr clear enough orders, or orders that could not have been misunderstood. Yet, in one respect, he shouldn’t have had to give such orders. In another, he should have known that Deotyr was too inexperienced. But it was better not to say that. And, in the end, for whatever happened Alucius would be the one held responsible.
“Captain. I could have given you orders to stand fast no matter what happened. And what would have happened if another company of rebels had appeared? Or if one of those pteridons had crashed into the ammunition wagon and set it on fire? Every order is a balance. If I make the order too firm, that can be as deadly as making it too general.”
“Pteridons?”
“The Fifth and Thirty-fifth Companies were attacked by them, along with the rebels. That’s why I moved southward. When they’re fatally wounded, they explode in nasty bluish flames. You might ask Jultyr about them. Fifth and Thirty-fifth Companies had as many casualties from them as from the rebel lancers.”
Alucius still had no idea why the pteridons had appeared when they did, or why there had been so few that afternoon, compared to the larger numbers on the previous occasions. He wished he knew if other forces or herders had been attacked, but he had an uneasy feeling that there had been few, if any, such attacks where he—or perhaps Wendra—had not been present. But he had a hard time believing that someone would send such beasts after someone as insignificant as he was.
Deotyr frowned.
Alucius wrenched his thoughts away from the Talent-creatures and spoke slowly. “We all have to learn, and we all learn different lessons, and sometimes the only way to learn is painful.” That he knew all too well. “You’ll remember this. It might be difficult to forget it. Just get into the habit of asking yourself why the enemy is doing something. Or why I do things the way I do. And you can ask me afterward why I did it. You learn from this, and you’ll be a better officer. Every good lancer force rests on the quality of its officers, and quality comes from training and learning and improving.” Alucius offered a smile, one he hoped was both encouraging and slightly sad. “Neither one of us can undo what’s been done. We can only learn from it and go on.”
Against the whispers and murmurs of the conversations of the camp, almost like a harvest wind, Deotyr was silent for a time before speaking. “Sir…is all…I mean…the rebels…”
Alucius laughed gently. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Most other forces I’ve fought against have much more able lancers, but you could stop them. These rebels will keep riding until they’re dead in the saddle. It’s the first time we’ve gotten low on ammunition with so few casualties, but that’s why we’re moving back to resupply. Without more ammunition, we can’t mount an attack on their bases.”
After the afternoon’s attack, Alucius was even more convinced of the necessity of that resupply—and it wouldn’t hurt for him to rethink things once more. He almost laughed out loud at his caution. Did command do that to once-impetuous young officers?
61
Tempre, Lanachrona
The gray morning light did little to brighten the Lord-Protector’s study or the faces of the three men seated within it.
Marshal Alyniat sat at one corner of the dark oak table desk, the fingers of his left hand quietly drumming on the wood, while Frynkel sat at the other corner. A single dispatch lay on the polished desktop where the Lord-Protector had set it.
“Majer Alucius has been in the Hyalt area perhaps a week,” the Lord-Protector said slowly. “He has destroyed four companies of rebel lancers with minimal losses, except ammunition, and that is to be expected.”
“That is what he reports,” acknowledged Alyniat. “He has sent two dispatches.”
“If that is what he reports,” replied the Lord-Protector coolly, “then that is what has happened. Unlike some officers’ reports, his I can trust. That presents another question.”
The two marshals waited.
“Exactly how did this prophet Adarat manage to create two military camps and arm and uniform more than four companies without the Southern Guard even noticing it until the local garrison was overcome and killed?”
“If we knew the answer to that, Lord-Protector,” replied Alyniat deferentially, “it would not have happened.”
“However it happened, I have lost. The question is only how much. If the majer can destroy this prophet and his followers, I lose only my respect, the gratitude of many subjects, and I will gain a reputation not as a just ruler, but one to be feared. I do not think I need to spell out what I will lose if he fails.”
Neither marshal spoke for a moment.
After the silence had drawn out for a time, Frynkel finally replied, “In these times, it is not entirely without benefit to be a ruler to be feared.”
“That is true,” Talryn stated. “But is it to the credit of the Southern Guard that it takes a herder majer from the north to accomplish even that?”
Another silence filled the room.
“Get him the ammunition, and send it on the way by noon, even if you have to strip every arsenal and company in Tempre.” The Lord-Protector paused before asking, “How fares the defense of Southgate?”
“The latest reports say that the defenses are firm, and that Marshal Wyerl has pushed the Matrites back north of Zalt. There have been no changes in the positions of forces between Fola and Southgate. That is acceptable, under the circumstances.” Alyniat glanced at Frynkel.
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