Cyador’s Heirs (49 page)

“You don’t think he was just tired?”

“Both of them were strong. It seemed that way to me. Each one burned everything to the bare earth across a circle more than five yards across.”

“That’s only moderately strong. How far were you from the wizard?”

“I don’t know. We were more than four hundred yards from the nearest part of the main force. Where the wizard was I couldn’t say.”

“Most likely not near the front.” Altyrn smiles faintly. “Let’s say you turned fifty armsmen into casualties. We’ll only need forty-nine more attacks like that.”

“You’re saying we won’t get near that many.”

“Kusyl’s out there with fourth company. He has a different ambush strategy. Let’s see how he does. If we’re fortunate, between the two of you we might have removed the equivalent of a single company.”

“What about Juist?”

“He’ll be trying something else … later … if we get the chance.”

“Do you think they’ll attack today?”

“Knowing what I know, if I were the Meroweyan commander, I certainly would. Knowing something about them, I’d be very surprised if they attack even tomorrow. While I hope I’m right, we need to be prepared for whatever they might do.” He pauses and looks hard at Lerial. “You need something to eat and drink. Do that before you do anything else. That’s an order. After that, check your men and mounts again—you were getting them fed, I saw—and come back here.”

“Yes, ser.”

The majer looks down at the map—an effective dismissal—and Lerial steps back, then turns and heads for the cookfires. His stomach is growling, and his head still aches.

LV

Over the course of the late morning and early afternoon, Lerial tries to rest, and does manage to eat, although he’s anything but fond of acorn bread, but the cheese, which has a sort of blue mold through it, makes the bread palatable. Since Altyrn does not summon him, slightly after the third glass of the afternoon, he makes his way back to the awning. The majer is not there. Lerial wonders where he might be, but since he cannot see him, he walks back to rejoin his company.

“Have you heard anything, ser?” asks Bhurl, the second squad leader, a square-faced and stolid former ranker.

“Nothing new. Have you?”

“Word is that fourth company came back in. They lost near-on half a squad to those fireballs. Good thing we left when we did.”

Lerial smiles. “We made a tactical withdrawal, and you’re right. It was a good thing we did.”

“Ah … yes, ser.”

Lerial can see that Bhurl is having trouble concealing a grin.

Lerial talks in turn to Fhentaar, the Lancer ranker who is third squad leader, and is about to make his way to fourth squad when he sees Altyrn striding toward him. He turns and meets the majer. “I heard that fourth company returned, ser.”

“They did. Kusyl was a bit more adventurous than I would have preferred. They took out almost an entire company. It cost them almost a full squad, half dead, and the other half burned or wounded. The archers didn’t take any casualties.”

Although the majer’s tone is level, Lerial gets the impression that Altyrn is relieved that the archer squad has suffered no casualties … and he doesn’t think that it’s because the archer rankers are women. “You have more plans for the archers?”

“Outnumbered six to one, shouldn’t we?” The majer’s words are sardonically biting.

Lerial feels stupid for asking the question, rhetorical as it was. “I should have asked what they are, ser. It’s obvious we need to reduce their numbers while risking our own forces as little as possible.”

Altyrn actually grins. “I knew what you meant. Neither your father nor Majer Phortyn would have stopped to think about what you meant, rather than what you said. Most senior officers don’t want to guess at meanings in battle. Some can’t.”

Six to one?
That was more than twice what Lerial had estimated. “I couldn’t count them this morning, but there had to be more than twenty-five hundred.”

“It’s difficult to tell anywhere close to exact numbers,” Altyrn goes on, “but they’ve got close to eight battalions. That’s if the reports from the scouts are accurate.”

Battalions?
Lerial has to think for a moment. “Do they have four or five companies to a battalion?”

“Five, usually. That’s what I’m basing the number of battalions on. They’re settling in for a methodical assault on the Verd. We have to keep them off-balance.”

“Using the archers as much as you can from where they can’t easily retaliate?”

“That’s the idea. They also know that’s what we’ll have to do. That’s why they’ve set up camp on hilltops surrounded by relatively open ground. Can you conceal a squad for half a glass?”

Lerial considers. “Most likely.” Then he adds, “except I can’t conceal any dust raised and left behind if they’re riding.”

This time, Altyrn frowns. After a moment, he says, “You’re good in the dark. Are you good enough to locate wagons from a distance?”

“From a kay away, maybe farther.”

“That should do. Come and see me in a glass, but have your fourth squad prepare for an evolution after full dark tonight.”

“Yes, ser.”

With that, the majer turns and heads in the direction of the small awning.

Lerial looks to the south. The Meroweyans are completing positions some two kays to the southwest, opposite the Verdyn position along a ridge that is more like a long hill. Although the largely flat crest of the ridge is a good twenty to thirty yards lower than where Altyrn’s forces are marshaled, between the two forces is a shallow valley more than a kay wide. For either force to attack the other directly will require an uphill advance.

Somehow, Lerial doesn’t see that happening, not immediately.

But the way they outnumber us …
At the same time, after the majer’s explanations of how the larger three duchies distrust each other, Lerial can see why Casseon would prefer to lose as few armsmen as possible.
That means outflanking us until we’re forced to retreat behind the trees. Then they’ll burn their way through in so many places that we’ll be spread too thin to stop them … unless the majer has a better plan.

Lerial then continues toward fourth squad, slowing as he sees Moraris talking with another Mirror Lancer that Lerial only recognizes by sight and not by name. He stops and slips behind a cart, extending his order sense and trying to hear what the two are saying and what may be passing between the two.

“… any spare shafts?”

“… if I did, Moraris, wouldn’t be trading ’em to you, not after—”

“I made it up to you, didn’t I?”

“Not until … you know … What about the undercaptain? Green as he looks?”

“Green? Some ways. Stiff … like all young officers … scary, too. Part ordermage, and he’d take you and me apart with a blade.”

“… until he’s against someone out to kill him…”

The stocky Moraris shakes his head. “Talked to Juist. Undercaptain’s already killed a raider who charged him, even before he was a Lancer. This morning … fireballs falling all around us … kept his head, got us out…”

“An undercaptain you like … that’s something…”

“Don’t know about like … know it’s not good to cross him … not because of his da, either…”

“… keep that in mind…”

“About those shafts…”

“Not on your life or mine…” The other Lancer turns away.

Lerial waits a moment, then slips from behind the cart and continues toward the acting squad leader.

Moraris turns and starts, as if he hadn’t expected Lerial. “Ser?”

“I saw you talking to…?”

“Saetaln … he’s got second squad under Shaskyn, I mean, acting undercaptain Shaskyn.”

Although Lerial doesn’t recall anything about Saetaln, Shaskyn is a senior ranker who had been a squad leader, but demoted a season back for questioning a captain’s order. When Lerial had asked why Altyrn had selected him as an acting undercaptain of fifth company, the majer had just said that the offended captain was Akyael, an officer Lerial has never heard of, and said that Shaskyn was good in a fight, and that, one way or another, it wouldn’t matter.

Lerial nods and says, “Undercaptain Shaskyn is supposed to be good in a fight.”

“Angel-flamed good, ser.” Moraris starts to go on, but abruptly closes his mouth. “The past won’t matter if we all do well here,” Lerial replies. “I wanted to let you know that the majer has something special planned for you, me, and fourth squad after dark this evening. I don’t know the details yet, but I wanted you to know.”

“We don’t have that many shafts left, ser … six for each archer.”

“I’ll let him know that when I meet with him.”
If we have to we can take shafts from the first three squads.
“How are things going otherwise?”

“They rode well this morning. Good shots, too. Head archer is really good.” Moraris’s smile is a little too warm.

Lerial decides he will have to watch that and says, “The majer wants hands off any Verdyn women, archers or not.”

“Yes, ser. They are good archers.”

“Far better than I’d be with a bow.” Lerial smiles pleasantly. “I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lerial can sense Moraris’s eyes on his back as he turns. He still wonders what the squad leader was going to trade to get extra shafts for his squad. He can’t fault Moraris’s interest in keeping his squad fully armed, but …

At fourth glass Lerial makes his way to the awning. The majer is not there. So Lerial waits, glancing around, especially toward the southwest. A few moments later, Altyrn rides up, accompanied by one of the Verdyn rankers, dismounts, and hands the reins to the ranker, who rides away, leading the majer’s mount.

“I’ve been checking the Meroweyan positions and how they line up against us and against the woods.” Altyrn walks over under the awning, but does not sit down behind the table.

“What I need for you and your archers to do is to create a number of fires amid their supply wagons. Those wagons are still mostly on the west end of the ridge. That’s because it’s close to the road. They’re worried about rain … as if it’s going to rain any time soon. It’s not looking to be cloudy tonight, and that will make it easier for them to see you. But if we wait until it’s dark and cloudy, we’ll still be waiting when Casseon’s men charge over us. That’s why I asked about concealing one squad.” The majer pauses. “You can’t throw firebolts, can you?”

“No, ser.”

“I didn’t think so, but it never hurts to ask.” He looks at Lerial. “Do you know why?”

“Because sometimes you think something is so, based on what you believe, but it’s not, and you won’t find out if you don’t ask.”

“Exactly. Now … since you can’t throw firebolts, your archers will. You’ll need to get close enough to put fire arrows into the wagons and everything around them.”

“Ser … we’re already short on arrows—”

The majer holds up his hand. “You don’t need to waste good war arrows. Send some rankers to the third supply wagon. We’ve got fire arrows there. They’re easier and faster to make because we don’t need barbed iron heads. We’ve also got some oil bottles. The archers will have to share, and your squad leader will need to make sure they’re distributed so that every archer can get to one quickly…” Altyrn continues with his instructions, but when he finishes he asks, “Any questions?”

“How much do you want me to risk the archers?”

“As little as possible, but we need to have enough fire arrows hitting things to get them to burn. The faster they can release shafts the less likely any mages can stop you. I also don’t want to explain to your father how you ignored caution and became a dead hero.” Altyrn offers a grim smile. “Remember, one of the ways to be successful in war is to make your enemies make all the gallant but useless sacrifices…”

Gallant but useless sacrifices …
Lerial wants to keep that in mind.

“… should be as dark as it’s going to get by eighth glass…”

In the middle of the majer’s explanation, Lerial realizes something he should have picked up earlier. “Ser…?”

“Yes?” Altyrn’s voice carries mild exasperation.

“To get close enough, I think we’ll need to move under concealment. I can sense where I am, but no one else can. I need two long, long lengths of rope or really strong cord. That way—”

“I understand. How long? You think twenty yards?”

“At least twenty. Twenty-five might be better.”

“I’ll have it at the supply wagon later. Now…”

Once the majer has finished explaining, Lerial heads back to find Moraris.

The squad leader has an apprehensive expression as Lerial joins him. “Ser?”

“We’re going to make a night attack on the wagons marshaled near the west end of the Meroweyan position. With fire arrows. We won’t need any more war arrows. You’re to take the archers to the third supply wagon and draw special arrows and oil. Let me know if they don’t have enough iron and flints.” Lerial takes a deep breath. “They’re going to have to trust me again, because they won’t be able to see for a good part of the approach if I conceal us from their sentries and scouts. If I don’t, we won’t be able to get close enough to do what we need to do … not without taking a lot of casualties…”

“Ser … best we talk with the head archer. She’ll have to instruct the others.”

Of course.
Once more, Lerial feels stupid, and even stupider for not recalling the name of the head archer—which he ought to know.

“Begging your pardon, ser, but I told Alaynara to stand by. Figured we might need her thoughts.”

“We do.” Lerial decides to say as little as possible.

The squad leader motions, and a short and squarish woman walks away from the women of fourth squad. She has broad shoulders, reddish brown hair cut squarely a digit or so above the back of her uniform tunic, a lightly freckled face, and a nose slightly too small. Lerial suspects she is among the older rankers, possibly older even than Korlyn, but not as old as Bhurl.

“Ser?” Her voice is neither high nor low.

“We need to talk over the approach to the Meroweyan camp,” Lerial says. “I’d thought that you could loft arrows—they’ll be fire arrows—up the slope and down onto their supply wagons. You’ll have to be mounted. How close do we need to get?”