Cyador’s Heirs (55 page)

After that, while he and second company wait for the carts with the arrows, Lerial studies the map that Altyrn has given him. At the same time, in the back of his mind, the same thoughts with which he had awakened keep coming back.
How can you change the patterns so that the order doesn’t come back to you personally?

Abruptly, he realizes a simple fact—he’d never really directed the coil away from himself. He’d been so focused on capturing the chaos-bolt with the coil that he’d never considered what might happen. He shudders.
It could have been so much worse.

Then he takes a deep breath and eases out the silk pouch that holds the lodestone, concentrating on it, and trying to see if he can not only replicate that coil pattern, on the smallest scale, but also find a way to split the order on the return. Except …
Why split it? You never been able to raise enough order to do things like shields. Why can’t you divert it into a shield of some sort, so that when the next firebolt comes …

For the next half glass or so, until Lerial hears the creaking of carts approaching, he is very busy trying out various tiny order patterns with the lodestone. He
thinks
he might have something … but that will have to wait while he makes sure that all his rankers are as armed as they can be.

Right after all the arrows are distributed and Lerial gets the reports from his squad leaders, Altyrn rides up, accompanied by a white-haired older man in the near-uniform brown garb that most men of the Verd seem to wear.

He always seems to know just when to be where.
“Second company stands ready, ser.”
Second company may be ready, but its captain isn’t. Not yet.

“Excellent. This is Wayguide Smathyl. Smathyl, this is Captain Lerial.”

“Pleased to meet you, ser.” The older man inclines his head politely.

“And I, you.”

“Smathyl will be guiding second company to a point where you can leave the Verd some distance east of the main body of the eastern Meroweyan force that appears to be readying itself for an attack through the burned area about half a kay east of here. I’ll leave you in his hands, Captain.”

“Yes, ser.”

“You and your men can ride double file for now, but when we get to the hidden way, there will only be space for one horse at a time.”

“Whatever is necessary, Wayguide.”

“If you’d follow me, then.”

“By squad! Double file!” Lerial orders. “Forward!”

After less than two hundred yards following the main road north, the wayguide turns onto a path barely wide enough for two mounts abreast. From the dust raised on the path, Lerial suspects that other companies have ridden the same way earlier. That thought is confirmed when after almost half a kay, they pass an opening to a small clearing. There, Lerial sees several companies standing down and waiting. He thinks he sees Kusyl, but he is not certain. After that, there is little dust raised by second company on the path, although they only ride another three hundred yards or so, where the wayguide reins up and dismounts beside a thornbush thicket.

“If you would hold the reins, Captain.”

Lerial leans forward and takes the reins, then watches as the guide walks to one side. He cannot see exactly what the guide does, but part of the bush rolls aside, revealing a narrow path.

Then Smathyl walks back to Lerial. “Ride and lead my mount until you hear that everyone is on the way. Then stop and wait for me.”

Lerial looks at the narrow path and then at the wayguide.

“It’s wide enough for a mount and a man, but not two mounts.”

Lerial laughs softly. “I’ll take your word for it.”

It is almost a quarter glass later when Smathyl rejoins Lerial, somehow eases his mount past Lerial, then remounts. Second company begins to follow him along the narrow path that twists and turns through the thickest woods, or so it seems to Lerial. After some time, he finally makes that observation to Smathyl, riding ahead of him.

“That it does, ser, and for a reason. Should anyone find the path, they would be hard-pressed to find their way any place with any speed.” The wayguide turns in the saddle and grins. “Not that it’s difficult to make such a path. All one has to do is follow ground at the same level through the woods.”

At the same level …
There is something to those words, something that almost but not quite reminds Lerial of … But he cannot grasp that elusive thought, and he goes back to practicing creating coil patterns.

Almost a glass later, Smathyl reins up in a small clearing where the path appears to end, with only enough space for a mount and rider to turn. Lerial immediately extends his senses and realizes that open ground lies beyond the clearing, perhaps less than ten yards away, yet he can see no sign of what he senses.

The wayguide whistles an odd tune, and two men in brown appear as if from nowhere to stand in front of the thick thornbush. Smathyl rides forward, and the three converse. Lerial can only make out phrases, even using his order sensing.

“… almost a kay…”

“… make sure … move quick…”

“… little ones…”

After a few more moments, Smathyl rides back to Lerial. “It’s clear to the south, but the evil ones have split. The larger body is a kay or so to the west. They won’t be able to see you because the trees extend farther south just west of here. We’d appreciate it if you’d turn all your riders west quickly so that it looks like you’ve been shadowing the tree line. The smaller group is almost two kays east, and they’ve got a wizard who’s throwing firebolts at the trees. Not big ones, but making a mess. So far he hasn’t started any fires.”

“Thank you. We’ll be as quick as we can. How steep is the stone wall beyond the grass?”

“Little more than half a cubit. You’ll have to walk your mounts down over that.” Smathyl pauses, then says, “You’re one of the hidden black ones, aren’t you, ser? Not that it’d be any of my business…”

“I can do a few things … some healing, and I can sense the clouds and the weather a little.” Lerial smiles wryly. “Just enough to get myself in trouble.”

“Anyone who tries to do what’s right usually does. That’s why so few of power remain good.”

Lerial is still thinking about that when the “thornbush” rolls aside and a section of the massive trunk of the tree beyond it swings back, revealing a space just big enough and tall enough for one Lancer to ride through, if by ducking his head.

“Go ahead, Captain.” Smathyl gestures.

Lerial cannot sense anyone out on the open grassland, nor can he see anyone through that opening. So he urges the gelding forward and lowers his head. As he rides through, he sees that there are two smaller trees, if substantial in themselves, around which a false trunk has been constructed, so that they appear to be two forks out of the base trunk.

The stone wall is more like a cubit high, and Lerial guides the gelding over it slowly, then calls back. “Watch the drop at the end of the green grass! Pass it back!”

Before long, second company is formed back into squads with a four-file formation riding westward but keeping close to the trees, with a single scout some fifty yards ahead. Lerial keeps checking the map against what he sees and what he order-senses. The breeze out of the north is warmer than it has been, but it is spring, Lerial reminds himself, and there could be a shift and another cold south wind at any time.

Half a glass later, close to midday, the ranker scout rides around a large bulge in the forest, then halts, signals, and heads back toward second company … in a great hurry at a canter, if not a gallop.

Lerial frowns. He has not sensed anyone, except a mist like chaos.
A mist like chaos? A chaos concealment!
He bites back what he almost exclaims.

The scout reins up. “They’re coming this way, ser, two companies, maybe three, and it’s like they knew we were coming.”

“How far?”

“Two hundred yards, ser! Maybe less.”

Withdraw … or fight?
If second company immediately flees … that suggests that the company is alone … and invites further pursuit. “All squads!” orders Lerial. “Line out on first squad! Five front! Ready bows!”

The other three squads have barely formed a line when the Meroweyan riders emerge from around the trees to the west. There are a good three companies, and the lead squads carry spears, not quite so long as the mirror lances that Lerial’s company does not have, but long enough.

Lerial waits … watching as the Meroweyan horse thunders toward his single company, waiting, judging. At just over a hundred yards, he commands, “Fire at will!”

With the shorter distance, the archers and Lancers only lift their shafts slightly, so that any that might pass between the oncoming riders can possibly hit riders behind. All the shafts are concentrated on the leading squads, and at first, only a mount or two goes down. Then one rider swerves, and two others collide with him … and more shafts fly.

Lerial is about to order an instant withdrawal when he senses the concealment mist vanish. Almost simultaneously, a modest chaos-bolt arches over the oncoming riders, now less than fifty yards from Lerial, directly toward first squad.

Lerial immediately tries the best order pattern he has, hoping that this time, the order returning will go where he wants it—and well away from him. As he clamps the order-pattern around the chaos-bolt, a feeling of ugliness, almost like filth or sowshit, grasps him.

WHUMPPPHYT! The chaos-bolt explodes—or starts to—midway between the two forces—and then a brilliant line of golden red sears back behind the attackers. Chaos-fire flares in their rear, far more than the chaos-bolt could have contained. But, with the explosion and the dissolution of the order pattern, the ugliness is gone.

Then … a barrier of hazy silver black, like a low wall no more than two yards high, appears just in front of the first line of Meroweyan spearmen. The entire first line hits the barrier and piles up for a moment … before the hazy silver black vanishes, as if it had never been, leaving a tangle of men and mounts, and then a huge gust of hot air smashes into first squad, and most probably, the rest of second company.

Lerial is almost torn from his saddle, but manages to keep his seat. He glances around, seeing that two or three rankers are barely hanging on to their mounts.

“Second company! Withdraw! To the rear! Now!” Lerial can sense that, while the attack has been blunted, the armsmen in the Meroweyan rear, at last on both flanks, can easily swing around the mess his very temporary shields have created, and they far outnumber his company, not to mention that they are better armed for riding down his semitrained rankers, already likely short on arrows.

As second company reverses direction and Lerial urges the gelding back toward the rear of first squad, now the front, he keeps pressing his order-senses. What he notices immediately is that there is no sense of chaos amid the Meroweyan force. Either he has disabled or killed the white wizard … or he has shielded himself, and there is no way to tell. After several moments more, it is also clear to Lerial that the confusion created by Lerial and second company is apparently enough to stop any immediate pursuit.

Even so, Lerial does not slow the company to a slow walk until they have put a good kay between themselves and the Meroweyans. Unfortunately, after riding another half kay, Lerial can sense yet another difficulty. Not that far ahead—perhaps a kay and a half—is the other Meroweyan group that Smathyl has mentioned … and the last thing Lerial wants to do is get trapped between both forces—especially since the force they are approaching has a strong white wizard and since Lerial still feels somewhat shaky after his last encounter with a wizard.

He turns to Korlyn. “We’re going to have to head farther southeast. There’s another large Meroweyan force ahead.” He pauses. “How many shafts do most of the men have? Get me a rough count, if you would … and from the other squad leaders.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lerial keeps surveying the shaded spots under the trees at the edge of the Verd as well as the open grasslands with their scattered clumps of bushes, but he can sense only the two groups of Meroweyans and some scouts for both.

Before long Korlyn returns. “No more than four shafts each, ser. Some only have three.”

“Then we’re going to have to take a longer ride than we planned.”

“Yes, ser.”

“On me!” Lerial commands as he turns the gelding more to the southeast.

Once they are farther away from the Verd and the effect of the tall trees, Lerial feels that the wind has also begun to pick up. When he looks more intently to the northwest, he can see dark clouds, and the clouds appear to be moving swiftly across the far reaches of the woods toward them, with the haze beneath suggesting rain. While the rain, if it continues, will hamper the wizard in his efforts to burn through the tree-walls of the Verd, Lerial really doesn’t want to be caught in the open in the middle of a rainstorm … not that he will have much choice, it appears, given the need to avoid the Meroweyans.

The Meroweyans also apparently see the oncoming rain, and while it is possible that the white wizard may sense second company, the three companies or so of horsemen ride more quickly back westward. Even so, by the time Lerial and his company circle around the Meroweyans and finally locate the wayguides and the second narrow entrance to the Verd, the rain has been falling steadily for almost a glass, and Lerial and all the rankers are soaked through and through.

By then, the rain has also penetrated the forest canopy and falls from the leaves on all the riders as they make their slow way along yet another narrow, turning, twisting, and seemingly endless passage through the Verd, back toward their encampment.

It is well after sunset, or would have been, had the clouds not covered any trace of sun, by the time Lerial settles second company—and after discovering that one of the rankers in first company had broken his arm when the backlash gust of wind had unhorsed him. Lerial has finished a cold and oily meal whose contents he could not have described and is standing just inside a damp tent he understands he will be sharing with Altyrn, although he has not yet seen the majer.