Mage-Guard of Hamor (45 page)

Since Third Company was on the left flank, and since the lancers moving toward Rahl and Drakeyt had begun farther to the southeast, the main lancer assault had almost reached the main body, while the secondary attack still had a good quarter kay to go before engaging Third Company. The front rows of the Second Army troopers began to move forward to avoid being sitting swans, and, just as the tips of the lances of those lancers leading the main assault on Second Army were within a few cubits of the Imperial forces, for little more than an instant, a massive shield flared across the middle of the Second Army. That instant was enough to flatten the entire first two ranks of lancers and to ensnare those immediately behind in the confusion of fallen men and mounts.

Rahl froze in the saddle for a moment, stunned at that burst of order-force. That had to have been Taryl. Could he do something similar—throw a wide shield for just an instant?

“I'm going to try to pile up the ones headed toward us, the way the overcommander did,” Rahl told Drakeyt, “but that will only tangle the first ranks.”

“Then we'll have the end squads pull and attack from the side.” Drakeyt cleared his throat. “Third Company! Stand by for flank encirclement! End squads lead! Flank encirclement on my command! On my command!”

Rahl could hear the squad leaders repeating Drakeyt's commands, and he began to gather as much order as he could, trying to pull it from the air itself, forcing himself to wait as the rebel lancers thundered toward the outnumbered Third Company.

In the center of the rebel attack, three lancers angled their mounts closer together, and they and their shimmering lances aimed directly at Rahl. Following Taryl's example, Rahl forced himself to wait, trying to judge just when the right moment would be.

Just as he felt that he would be spitted within moments, Rahl extended his order shield. It lasted long enough to pile up three lines of lancers, and Rahl reeled in the saddle as his effort collapsed even before he could release it.

“Break to encircle! Break to encircle!”

Rahl's entire body felt flushed, and he was light-headed, but he managed to unsheathe his truncheon and follow Drakeyt, who had taken the lead in guiding second squad. He managed to deflect the lance of one of the lancers entangled in the mass of mounts and men as he urged his mount after the captain.

The rebel troopers following the lancers were trying to swing wide when Drakeyt and the first two squads of Third Company slammed into them from the side.

Rahl found himself using the truncheon more to defend himself from wild attacks from the rebels than in attacking in any way. He'd hoped to use his personal order shields, but he'd expended so much order-effort already that even trying to hold them for more than a few moments sent flashes of pain through his skull. As Taryl had pointed out might happen, all he really had was the truncheon, at least until he recovered, but he did feel that he broke bones, now and again. That wasn't his desire; he just kept trying to keep from getting slashed up as he did his best in pushing the attackers back.

From somewhere came another series of trumpet calls, and within moments, Rahl found himself and the gelding almost alone amid scattered groups of Imperial troopers.

“Third Company! Re-form!” Drakeyt's voice cut through the clamor. “On me!”

Rahl straightened in the saddle, then, seeing there were no rebels nearby, sheathed the truncheon, silently thanking Khelra as he did. He studied the grasslands to the south, hoping to see the rebels withdrawing.

They were not, but rather re-forming into a different series of formations.

Rahl urged the gelding back toward Third Company, where he reined up beside Drakeyt, who was waiting for fourth squad to finish repositioning. While he waited, he extended his order-senses toward the swamp, trying not to wince at the pain-filled flashes of light through his eyes and skull.

Even so, he could sense another force approaching—down the old road through the middle of the bogland. Had the flanking lancer attack been a distraction to keep Third Company from noticing the troopers coming up through the ancient causeway in the middle of the swamp?

“We need to move to that old road,” Rahl called to Drakeyt. “There are troopers moving up it quickly, and there are enough that if they get past the swamp, they could flank us on both sides.”

“Can you pull that blocking magery again?”

“No. But I've already done something else that will push them into the swamp. They'll be struggling through and coming out in small numbers.”
If at all.
“But there are so many that we can't let them get through and regroup.”

“What did do you?”

“The road is ooze-trapped, so that once they get on the narrow part, they can't get out except by drowning in the ooze at each end of the road or struggling through the swamp.”

“Good.” Drakeyt stood in the stirrups. “Third Company! Left turn on fifth squad! Forward!”

Third Company arrived and reined up in formation opposite the center of the unseen old road, the squads beside each other in a line, with a five-man front on each squad.

“How long?” asked Drakeyt, glancing back westward.

“Not long. Any moment, now.” Rahl closed his eyes, hoping that would ease the throbbing in his skull.

Rahl watched as the first troopers caught sight of Third Company and the grasslands and urged their mounts forward. He held his breath for a moment. Then the first mounts pitched forward into the ooze beneath the thin crust of the grass-covered upper part of the ancient road. Others followed, and in moments, a churning mass of a score of mounts and riders was struggling and sinking.

Behind them, the advance slowed.

“They'll go to the sides and through the swamp,” Drakeyt predicted.

After several moments, individual riders, then squads began to leave the old concealed causeway and make their way through the marsh and pooled stagnant water.

Rahl swallowed as the ugly snout of a small stun-lizard appeared. The nearest rider and mount toppled sideways. Rahl could sense other creatures as well, although he could not see them, all moving through the waters toward the troopers trapped on the road, as well as those trying to continue the attack.

One rebel squad had figured that swimming their mounts through the clearer water might be safer, and that group was already within a few hundred cubits of solid ground. “Over there!” Rahl pointed to Drakeyt.

“First squad! Take the rebels swimming their mounts on the south side!”

“First squad! Forward!” ordered Roryt.

The troopers took station less than fifty cubits from the edge of the swampy area, waiting for the rebels to break free of the water and treacherous ground. Roryt obviously didn't want to lose men to the swamp, a decision Rahl thought most wise, especially after seeing the stun-lizards.

The first group of three rebels saw the waiting Imperials and tried to angle their way southwest—back toward the rebel forces. None of them made it.

Another pair tried to swim their mounts farther away from first squad, but one rider and his mount vanished, and the survivor and his mount lurched out and were picked off by one of Roryt's troopers.

Even so, Rahl could see scores of riders in the water, far more than the creatures and muck of the swamp would be able to stop.

“We've got heavy infantry breaking our way from the main rebel force,” Drakeyt said. “You take first and fifth squads and hold the ones coming out of the swamp. We'll cover your back.”

Rahl glanced at the swamp, then toward the rebel forces riding northward from the main body of the insurgents. “You'd better take everyone except first squad.”

“I'll accept that recommendation.” Drakeyt's voice was dry. “Second, third, fourth, and fifth squads. Wheel to the south! On me!”

Rahl turned the gelding toward the section of the swamp to the north of where the ancient road emerged. Before he had ridden fifty cubits, eight troopers from first squad had joined him.

“We'll get 'em, ser!”

They had their sabres out, and, belatedly, Rahl drew the truncheon. In some fashion, for a moment, it caught and twisted the light, and it almost seemed as though a spear of darkness flashed from it toward the rebel trooper struggling to get his mount clear of the swamp.

The trooper spurred his mount forward, trying to escape Rahl, but a clump of thornvine blocked the rebel's way, and he wheeled his mount back toward Rahl, swinging his sabre wildly. Rahl disarmed him with a single blow, then dropped him out of the saddle with a second stroke.

After that, Rahl just found himself trying to disarm or incapacitate any rebel around. He knew there were other troopers from fifth squad around him, somewhere, but none even seemed to get close enough for him to verify that, and it was all he could do, it seemed, just to hold his own against the seemingly endless number of rebels riding out of the swamp.

Sometime around late midmorning—that was what Rahl thought—another set of trumpet calls echoed from somewhere, and there were even more rebels, coming from everywhere.

Rahl managed to call up a last bit of order and give some infusion to the truncheon as he thrust, parried, cut, and just plain slashed.

Then came yet another trumpet call, this one sounding almost panicky, and in moments, or so it seemed, Rahl was sagging in the saddle, alone. He looked around and found himself less than fifty cubits from the edge of the swamp, but somewhat farther southwest along its edge than where he had attacked the first rebel.

Everywhere there were bodies of troopers—mostly rebel troopers—and some were alive, moaning.

Rahl just sat there in the saddle, his sight blurred with sparks and longer flashes of pain searing through his eyes, and most of his muscles aching and so exhausted he felt like he had a hard time breathing.

“Majer…ser?”

He turned in the saddle. The trooper who had reined up wore the sash of a courier. “Yes?”

“The overcommander requests your presence, ser. If you'd follow me…”

Rahl could sense almost nothing in terms of order or chaos, but there was a reserve in the trooper's voice. “Oh…of course.”

He urged the gelding forward beside the courier's mount and rode slowly westward toward where the center of the battle must have been. There was no sign of any rebels, except those lying on the ground, mostly dead or dying, around which the gelding picked his way. The light breeze carried the iron-copper odor of blood everywhere. Even swallowing the last drops from his water bottle did not remove the taste from his mouth.

What had happened? He glanced at the courier, who did not quite meet his eyes. “We were isolated. All of a sudden, the rebels were scrambling to get away.”

“You didn't see, ser?”

“No. Third Company was fighting off a bunch of rebel attacks. I didn't have time to look anywhere.”

“The captain said…” The courier did not finish his statement.

“Is he all right? I didn't see him. Captain Drakeyt, I mean.”

“He had a few gashes, ser. He said he'd be fine.”

“What happened?”

“It was all planned. When all the rebels were pushing us back toward the town, Marshal Bynra and First Army hit them from behind. He came around on that old back road. We had the rebels trapped on all sides. Not all that many escaped.”

Rahl glanced across the grassland battlefield, seeing as if for the first time all the downed men and mounts, and knowing, as order-depleted as he was, that he was sensing but a fraction of the devastation. Yet it threatened to overwhelm him. He closed his eyes for a moment, but that didn't help.

As he followed the courier, another question crossed Rahl's mind. Why had he seen no chaos-bolts, and no evidence of chaos use by the rebels? The only magery he had seen or sensed had been that used by Taryl and himself.

“There's the overcommander, ser,” offered the courier. “If you'd excuse me…there are some dispatches.”

“You're excused…and thank you.”

The courier nodded and eased his mount away, as if in relief.

What had Rahl done? Had he failed that badly? Did everyone know it? He looked up.

Taryl was still a good fifty cubits from Rahl, but he said something to the senior officers beside him, then rode away from them, slowly making his way toward Rahl, finally reining up.

Rahl did so as well. “You requested my presence, ser?”

“I'm glad to see that you came through this.” A faintly ironic smile touched Taryl's lips.

Rahl could see the blackness under the older mage's eyes, eyes that were so bloodshot that they looked pink. “So am I, ser. Things were…somewhat in doubt where we were for some time.”

“That was true for all of Second Army. You and Third Company did remarkably well. We'll discuss things tomorrow, after you've had some rest. Convey my appreciation to Captain Drakeyt. You have mine as well.” Each of Taryl's words was slow and almost deliberate.

“Yes, ser. I will. Thank you.” Rahl realized that Taryl was as exhausted as he was, if not more so.

“Get some rest, Rahl.”

“Yes, ser. Perhaps…you should too, ser, as you can.”

Taryl nodded, then turned his mount back toward the senior officers.

Rahl began to ride back toward Third Company, Taryl's words still going slowly through his mind. Remarkably well? They'd bottled up an entire battalion and destroyed most of it, and all Taryl had to say was that they'd done remarkably well? Hard as it was for him even to keep his eyes open, Rahl had the feeling that, again, he had not acted as he should have—or perhaps that he had acted as Taryl expected, and that had disappointed the older mage.

Rahl turned and rode back to where he thought Third Company had been, looking one way and another before he finally made out Drakeyt, watching as troopers from Third Company recovered weapons and gear and checked for wounded amid the fallen and the dead.