Cyador’s Heirs

by Jr. L. E. Modesitt

  In the meantime, the shieldwall closes behind the Meroweyan armsmen who have carried the logs and survived, but does not withdraw. Behind it, Lerial can see and sense two more groups of armsmen coming forward. He looks at the single long trunk spanning the stream and wonders why Altyrn has not sent anyone to dislodge it, before realizing that if it took more than ten men to carry and raise the trunk, the majer isn’t about to risk the number of rankers it would take to move the trunk—if it even could be moved, buried as it is the soft earth of the riverbank.

  Although another shieldman falls to a javelin, and two Meroweyan armsmen go down, the third group of armsmen manages to raise the end of the third tree trunk into the air, but it tilts and comes down—hard—on the bridge abutment in front of the trenches of first company, bounces, the end splintering somewhat before it half rolls, half slides, off the abutment and into the stream, where it lies wedged at an angle between the western bank and the stone abutment, where the splintered end is several handspans underwater.

  “Captain!” comes a call.

  Lerial turns. Altyrn is practically beside him in the trench.

  “Pull out second company. Mount up and head north along the east bank. There are at least five companies coming from the north. They must have crossed more than five kays upstream.”

  That means he had scouts out that far. “You want second company to move north and stop them?”

  “You most likely can’t stop them. Do your best to slow them and make them take casualties. The elders are here. They may be able to help with the storm.”

  Help with the storm? Lerial nods, recalling the rains that had slowed the efforts of the Meroweyan wizards in burning through the edge of the Verd.

  “Try not to lose to lose too many rankers. Oh … and stay a good two yard from the water.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  Altyrn gives a brisk nod and heads up the trench in the direction of fifth company. Lerial turns to Korlyn. “You heard the majer. Pull your squad back to the horses and mount up. Send a ranker to pass the order to the other three squads.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  As Korlyn turns to pass the orders, Lerial looks back to the stream and is dismayed to see that the Meroweyans have managed to position another trunk across the river, but, thankfully, it is a good yard away from the first one. Still … if they keep doing it, they’ll eventually have a bridge of sorts. He looks up to see that in the narrow clear space directly above him and the river, the clouds have thickened so that he can see almost no patches of clear green blue. Yet he has no sense of additional order or chaos moving in the clouds, only that the patterns of order and chaos that are always within rainstorms are, somehow, more deliberate. Trying to figure that out or learn how they do that will have to wait.

  Once he is sure that all his squads are complying with the orders and some of fifth company is moving down into the trench area held by second company, Lerial hurries back to where the gelding is tied and mounts up. Then he leads the company through the woods to the north, not coming out onto the clearer area just above the bank until they are a third of a kay north of fifth company. There is no sense in letting the Meroweyans know that the defenses have been weakened. This way, they may just believe that Altyrn has shifted his troopers. Although Lerial can sense the main body of the attackers is still facing Altyrn, that body definitely feels smaller to Lerial’s senses, considerably smaller, than it did days earlier, suggesting that the Meroweyans are not only attacking from the north, but also from the south. Lerial just hopes that a great number of those in the south are having difficulty with the ford trap set by Altyrn.

  At the rumble of thunder, Lerial glances up, then tries to sense what may be different about the clouds, but can only feel what he might call smoothness in places. Technique—technique so good that it goes almost unnoticed.

  While he can sense the Meroweyans ahead, he does not call a halt for another half glass, until the attackers are less than a kay ahead. “Second company! Halt!”

  “Squad, halt!”

  “Squad leaders! Forward!”

  Once the four are gathered around him on their mounts, he explains, “Our orders are to slow the Meroweyans. They’ll be here shortly. Here’s what we’ll do. First squad will be forward, on foot with bows. The formation will be two lines, staggered, so that each ranker will have a view of the enemy. Behind them will be second squad. Fourth squad will be third, and third squad last. All squads will be on foot when they’re in the front rank. To begin with, first squad and second squad will be on foot.” Lerial has learned that being on foot allows greater range and accuracy for an archer, and he wants the greatest accuracy possible. “Fourth squad will hold first squad’s mounts, and third squad will hold second squad’s mounts.” Lerial again looks to Korlyn. “When I give the order, you’re to shoot for the men behind the leading armsmen. Shoot deliberately, but quickly. Korlyn, let me know when your men are down to one shaft. Have them each save one shaft. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “Then you’ll withdraw to the rear and mount up, and then each man will take one or two, as necessary, of fourth squad’s mounts and take a position behind third squad. Second squad will shoot down to one arrow per man, and then withdraw and hold third squad’s mounts.…” When Lerial finishes, he asks. “Are there any questions?”

  “Ser … ah … what do we do after third squad withdraws?”

  “We withdraw back downstream and take up a position on the flank of fifth company. That’s unless the majer has other orders for us by then. Any other questions?”

  “No, ser.”

  “Then go form up.”

  Lerial watches as they do, hoping this plan will work better than the last one he designed by himself. Then he rides up and stations himself just at the edge of the trees, even with the front line of first squad.

  After a short time, Korlyn calls out to Lerial, “Ser … the ground’s too soft on the lower slope closer.”

  “What about a five-man front near the top of the bank?”

  “I’d say that would be better, ser.”

  “Go to a five-man front … and pass it back to second squad.”

  “Yes, ser!”

  It seems like more than a glass has passed before the Meroweyans come into view, but it is likely only about a third of a glass. While the sky continues to darken, there is no sign of rain. Lerial estimates that there are probably five companies in all, as Altyrn has said, and they extend back close to a hundred yards. Once again, they advance with foot-bearing shields, but these armsmen carry smaller round shields on their left arms and blades that look somewhat longer than sabres.

  Shields and blades make sense with the softer and uneven ground. It also may be that they only have so many troopers with heavy shields. In addition, he can sense the faint chaos mist.

  Lerial continues to watch as the Meroweyan foot move forward at a measured pace. He is trying to judge at what distance he should have first squad open fire and wonders when the white wizard will loose a fireball. From what he can tell, there is likely only one with the approaching force, but he has been wrong before in judging what he has faced.

  At a hundred and fifty yards, Lerial orders, “First squad! Ready bows! Stand by to fire.”

  “First squad, standing by,” replies Korlyn.

  With just under a hundred yards between the forces, the Meroweyans break into a trot or lope toward the outnumbered first squad.

  “First squad! Fire! Fire at will!”

  In moments, several of the attackers are staggering or down under the continuing assault of war arrows. At least one has tripped on a sawed-off stump or the like, and the attack is slowing, if only slightly.

  “First squad, ready to withdraw.”

  Meaning that they’re out of shafts. “First squad, withdraw! On the double!”

  Lerial turns the gelding and rides back toward second squad. “Second squad! Fire at will!” He reins up, looking beyond the first lines to the
rear of the oncoming force. He can sense the chaos mist, but there is still no sign of a firebolt.

  The Meroweyans keep coming, and the gap between the forces is more like sixty yards, although Lerial can see and sense that the war arrows, fired at such comparatively close range are taking a toll, despite the attackers’ shields, which are deflecting many of the Verdyn shafts.

  All too soon, Lerial orders, “Second squad! Withdraw! Double time!”

  He barely waits until the last second squad ranker has slipped past the fourth squad archers before ordering, “Fourth squad! Fire at will!”

  The greater number of archers in fourth squad, and the speed with which they release their shafts, slows the Meroweyans, but the attackers are far too close, and Lerial wishes he had ordered first squad to begin shooting far earlier.

  Again, he wonders why the Meroweyan wizard has not thrown a single firebolt. Because he’s been told to let the troopers do what they can? Because they’ve lost too many wizards? Still, he’s definitely glad that he hasn’t had to deflect any firebolts.

  Overhead, thunder rumbles through the dark clouds, but there is not a hint of rain.

  Lerial glances from the Meroweyan foot troopers, still advancing, if more slowly, now only forty yards away and holding their shields in a fashion to guard their chest and guts, and then back to fourth squad, where Alaynara stands in middle of the front rank of the archers, releasing shaft after shaft.

  At that moment, he senses a strong buildup of chaos, just before a firebolt arches toward fourth squad from behind the still-advancing Meroweyan shields and foot.

  Lerial concentrates, coldly, accurately, and like a crossbow quarrel, the firebolt sears straight back to the chaos wizard who created it—except that the wizard does something, and the firebolt, brighter than ever, and far stronger, slows, then reverses its course, arching higher and angling straight toward Lerial.

  Lerial smiles grimly and sets out three fine-linked ten-line patterns, then clamps them around the firebolt. There! See how you like this!

  WHHHUMPHT!!

  Lerial gapes, openmouthed, as the firebolt splits into three unequal lines of flame—the largest one slamming back at the Meroweyan wizard, one fanning down on the lead ranks of the Meroweyan foot, and one narrower beam slashing into the middle of the fourth squad—where Alaynara and three other archers had stood loosing shafts a moment before.

  Unseen silver-gray mists, but mists that Lerial can sense all too well, fill the entire area from the front of fourth squad to the rear of the Meroweyan force.

  For several moments, Lerial sits frozen in the saddle. How did that happen?

  With all that chaos in one firebolt … why hadn’t he considered where some of it might go when it could not return to him and some was blocked by the Meroweyan wizard’s shields? Why hadn’t he…?

  Anticipation! Why didn’t you anticipate something like that?

  His eyes keep looking for Alaynara and the other two archers.

  “Ser!” calls Moraris. “Fourth squad is ready to withdraw!”

  Lerial brings himself up short. “Fourth squad! Withdraw! Withdraw! Withdraw and mount!” He looks to the Meroweyan front, but the shielded foot have halted. For the moment.

  He tries to see if he can tell anything about the casualties that he and second company have inflicted, but amid the lingering smoke and a misty haze rising from the damp ground that had once held at least a score of Meroweyan foot, he cannot tell.

  “Third squad, withdraw now! Third squad! Withdraw now!” While Lerial would like to have Fhentaar’s squad use their shafts, the Meroweyans are beginning to regroup, and they are far, far too close.

  “Third squad, withdrawing!”

  Lerial keeps looking from his rankers to the Meroweyans and back again.

  His eyes go back to second company. The archers have reached their horses and mounted, and third squad is beginning to mount. But the Meroweyans, at least some of them, are beginning to run toward second company. Realizing, almost belatedly, that he is the closest one to the attackers, he turns his mount and urges the gelding forward.

  By the time he reaches third squad, at the rear of second company, all the Lancers are mounted, and he orders, “Second company! Withdraw! Withdraw on the double!”

  Lerial remains near the rear of the company, glancing back and using his order-senses, but before long, the running Meroweyans slow … and then stop, and second company is widening the gap between forces on its way south … and Lerial cannot help but worry about how Altyrn’s remaining three companies are faring against thousands of attackers.

  Another roll of thunder echoes across the sky, and he glances up. There is no lightning he can see, and no rain falls.

  Once he is certain that the Meroweyans are not pursuing, or not with any speed, and that second company will not be attacked from the rear so long as they keep moving, Lerial eases the gelding forward to the front of the company and slows the pace to a fast walk. Then, he begins to use his order-senses to try to determine what lies ahead of them, except he has more and more trouble discerning anything to the south, other than the fact that there appear to be a chaos wizard and far more men than could be possible for just the three companies that had held the eastern bank of the stream.

  “We’re going to have to work our way through the trees to join up with the others,” Lerial tells Korlyn. “The Meroweyans have crossed the stream and hold the eastern side.” From what little you can tell … and if you can find Altyrn. As he speaks, droplets begin to fall, and before they have ridden another hundred yards, the rain is coming down steadily, and the drops are cold enough to give Lerial a chill feeling when they hit the back of his neck.

  Lerial has a thought and tries to order sense to the north, finding that his ability to find the Meroweyans is far better there. So the rain affects you as well. Are you using chaos as well as order, then? He doesn’t know, not for certain, and now is not the time to be trying to find out. Instead he attempts to locate the Verdyn Lancers.

  After riding another hundred yards, he thinks he has located them, if more than two kays away and almost due east of where he is. Next, he tries to find a way through both the trees and rain.

  “Second company! On me!”

  As Lerial struggles to lead the company through rain and trees, and around occasional large patches of thornbushes, his thoughts keep returning to the short battle on the banks of the stream—if indeed it even qualified as a skirmish, let alone a battle.

  It was not quite a rout, but his withdrawal has been hasty indeed. Still … is it a rout when they lost scores, and a white wizard, and you only lost three? He shakes his head, knowing he could have accounted for more Meroweyans, had he judged the pace of their attack better. And perhaps Alaynara and those other two archers wouldn’t have died.

  LXXI

  Some three glasses later, well after fifth glass, Lerial and second company struggle into Bherkhan, the small hamlet where Altyrn has billeted the other three companies. Just off the main road to Escadya and, eventually, to Verdell, Bherkhan lies some eight kays east of the site of the stream battle. Everyone in second company is drenched through, and Lerial is shivering by the time he finally stands in front of a fire in the small dwelling serving as officers’ quarters.

  “You took a while getting here,” observes Altyrn.

  “It took a glass or so to get into position and then they slowed down … and then they attacked in a hurry, and we did what we could and barely managed to withdraw before we were overrun. They did have five companies, as you informed me.”

  “The elders sensed a large chaos blast,” says Altyrn. “The rain began to fall so soon afterwards that they couldn’t tell any more.” He pauses. “We were worried.”

  “You were right to be worried.” Lerial can’t help but glance around, although he knows that neither Shaskyn nor Kusyl are in the dwelling, most likely dispatched so that they will not overhear what Lerial has to report.

  “You didn’t loo
k to have lost many, if any.” Altyrn’s voice is cautious.

  “Three. All archers, including the head archer. That’s a loss.”

  Altyrn winces, almost in spite of himself, then says, “She is … was … Elder Klerryt’s daughter. How did that happen? He’ll want to know.”

  The elder’s daughter? For a moment, Lerial is silent. “That firebolt … the one the elders felt. I managed to stop it, but … it exploded above the Meroweyans. I managed to channel most of it back at the white wizard, and some of it at the front companies of the Meroweyans, but one small bit flared back and hit the middle of the front line of fourth squad.”

  “Frig…,” murmurs the majer.

  Lerial knows exactly what he is thinking. With only three casualties, why did one have to be Alaynara? That might be because he had the same thought, almost continuously, for most of the ride back to Bherkhan … and he hadn’t even known that Alaynara was Klerryt’s daughter. He’d only known that she was intelligent and perceptive—especially perceptive.

  “How did you set up your company?” Altyrn finally asks when Lerial does not volunteer more.

  Lerial informs him and waits for the majer’s reply.

  “For that position, that’s not a bad plan. How did you do as far as reducing the number of Meroweyans facing us?”

  “We couldn’t stay to see. I miscalculated a little,” Lerial admits. “I waited too long to have first squad open fire, and we had to withdraw before third squad could loose their shafts. Still, the diverted chaos did take out the white wizard and most of a company. The arrows wounded or killed at least another squad, maybe two … but that’s a guess.”

  Altyrn nods slowly. “There’s always the problem of timing. It’s something you’ll learn with experience.”

  “What happened at the stream?”

  “We had to withdraw when we ran out of javelins and arrows, but we didn’t face any chaos-fire.”