Treachery's Tools (65 page)

In moments, several rebel troopers began to fire at the imagers.

“Seliora! A screen concealment in front of us.”

Abruptly, the rebel force vanished as well, but the scout remained in sight less than thirty yards away, now spurring his mount toward the imagers.

“More red pepper, and hot iron needles to the gaps on each side of the road!” Alastar turned in the saddle. “Squad leader! Have your men fire mounted-rider-high into those gaps in the hedgerow. Rapid fire!”

“Yes, sir.” Squad Leader Helmnyn raised his voice. “On my command! Rider high. Into the gaps! Fire!”

Alastar rocked in the saddle as several bullets ripped into his shields, then imaged hundreds of wooden darts into the gaps in the hedgerow, followed by hundreds more, knowing that using wood would take far less effort than iron, even as he heard the thunder of hoofs pounding toward his small force, and as the fleeing scout rode past Seliora.

“Squad leader! Fire down the road!”

Alastar had to guess, but imaged a shield across the road a yard high, anchoring it to the stone beneath the surface, roughly fifteen yards in front of himself, holding it as he waited.

The wait seemed interminable, but was likely only a tiny fraction of a quint before the first rebel riders appeared, brandishing sabers and outriding the screen that had concealed them—before their mounts plowed into the low shield, going down and spewing the first and second ranks of riders onto the road. Then the concealment vanished totally, and all Alastar could see was the lane before him filled with riders jamming up behind those thrown by the road shield or killed by bullets or darts.

“Arion! Seliora! Use wooden darts! Wooden darts! Take down as many as you can!”

More rebel troopers, many unable to move, slumped in their saddles. The carnage grew, until a trumpet sounded from the west, and the riders in the rear of the rebel force began to turn and ride back west, a ride that began to resemble a rout.

As soon as Alastar could see that the rebels had passed the gaps in the hedgerow, without flowing out into the surrounding fields, he dropped the road shield and ordered, “Turn and withdraw! Back to the crossroads.”

He'd already visually studied the retreating rebels and scanned the fallen, but he hadn't seen any figure in gray, although there definitely had been an imager with the rebels.

As for what else he and the imagers could do, there wasn't anything else but to withdraw. They were outnumbered by the two or more companies that looked to comprise the rebel force, which made pursuit a less than optimal option, especially given the heap of dead and wounded men and mounts resulting from the combination of the road shield, iron needles, wooden darts, and rifle fire, a heap that effectively blocked the narrow road from hedgerow to hedgerow. Alastar could also see other fallen troopers and riderless mounts in the gaps between the hedgerows, most likely casualties from the first attack by Alastar's small force.

As Helmnyn's troopers, the imagers, and Alastar rode back toward Luerryn and the bulk of the two companies, Alastar stood in the saddle to survey the squad. From what he could make out, there were two bodies draped over saddles, and another trooper binding his arm.

His squad-sized force had taken out half a company, possibly more, but he had the feeling that doing the same thing again would be even harder.
Which means you'll have to come up with something else.

The only problem was that by the time he and his force had rejoined Luerryn's main force and Alastar had quickly explained to the major what had happened, including the fact that there had definitely been an imager with the rebel forces, he still had no idea of what else he might try, and it was hard to think about that with Luerryn's continuing questions.

“They had rifles. Why didn't they use them?”

“They did, at first. They killed at least two of Helmnyn's men and wounded another, possibly more, but when they started to fire, Seliora raised a concealment, and Helmnyn's men fired into the gaps where the rebel troopers were waiting even though they were under a concealment. They were crowded together, and we did some imaging to make it hard for them to use their rifles—”

“How did you manage that?”

“It's hard to hit people when you're breathing red pepper, your eyes are watering, and you can't even see anyone to fire at,” said Alastar dryly. “I'm certain that the plan was to let us pass, trap us in the hedgerow, and then wipe us out.”

“There has to be a larger force on this road. What do you have in mind? Or should we withdraw?”

Alastar didn't feel that withdrawal was a good idea, not when the rebels—or some of them—had been upset and disorganized. “We should press on for the moment. If there is a larger force, it will be somewhere that an imager doesn't have to maintain a concealment for a long time. The road ahead doesn't have any orchards or woodlots immediately ahead of us, not until close to the hamlet. We can always withdraw if it's clear there's a massive force. Besides, our job is to whittle down their forces before we get into a full battle with both armies.” Alastar didn't say anything about the dangers of being the whittler. He turned in the saddle. “Akoryt, pass the word. If we need lots of darts—you and the imagers can do them out of wood. Just push them harder.”

“Yes, sir.”

Luerryn cleared his throat. “Column! Forward!”

The three scouts, already two hundred yards ahead of Weidyn and the lead squad, resumed their even pace, as did Weidyn and the vanguard, riding past a narrow dirt path leading to a weathered cot some thirty yards back on the west side of the road. On the north side of the cot was a shed, and beside it a woodpile, on top of which sat a large white and black cat, looking intently at the riders. A scattering of fruit trees rose behind the cot. The door to the cot was closed, and likely barred, Alastar suspected.

As the troopers and imagers rode south along the packed clay road, still damp enough that the riders raised no dust, they passed more cots, mostly located on the west side of the road. Alastar still could not make out where the hamlet was, except it had to be beyond the scattered trees at least another two milles south. He studied the ground ahead. To the left stretched rows of what looked to be bean plants. The large field was almost level, although the southeastern corner looked to be slightly higher. To the right was pastureland, stretching back slightly over a hundred yards. Beyond the pasture was a large orchard, but Alastar had trouble making out what was between the trees, although the split-rail fence on the north side of the orchard was clear and distinct.

A blurring shield!

He immediately glanced back to the left, but farther south, a good three hundred yards, to an unmortared wall of stacked stone, beyond which the land rose slightly. His eyes went immediately to the three scouts on the road ahead, who were nearing the point opposite where the wall ended.

“Order a quiet ‘ready arms,' and then a loud halt,” Alastar said. “There are troopers in that orchard over there.”

“How many?”

“I have no idea, except it's probably a lot. I also wouldn't be surprised if there's another company or two behind that low hill several hundred yards ahead on the left. Can you give orders for the troopers to fire once we're opposite the orchard? That will allow most of them to fire, won't it?”

“We can stagger files so that they all can … but what about the rebel troopers ahead of us?”

“What would you suggest?”

“Not riding any closer to them yet,” replied Luerryn, before raising his voice slightly. “Ready arms. Pass it back.” After several moments, he called out, “Column halt! Stagger files! Rifles right!”

Alastar studied the orchard ahead once again. “I think we ought to attack before the troopers on the far side of that rise decide to make us defend or get routed.”

“Do you think it's wise?”

Alastar laughed softly. “No, but everything else I can think of seems even more foolish.”
All because you didn't believe that they'd split the two imagers that they have … or risk them so early.

“I have to agree.” Luerryn gave a wintry smile, then ordered, “Column! Forward!”

“Imagers. Prepare to image pepper into the first five yards of the orchard ahead on the left.”

Alastar checked his shields, convinced that shots would ring out any moment as the vanguard drew even with the edge of the orchard some hundred yards back from the road. There were no shots, but Alastar could definitely make out that a blurring shield was in place.

“We're getting close to the best firing position,” murmured Luerryn.

Alastar cleared his throat, then swallowed. “Khaelis, Dylert, Taurek. Fill the first five yards of that orchard with red pepper. Make it thick and hot. Now!”

A swathe of red fog filled the front of the orchard.

“Column halt! Open fire!” ordered the major. “Fire at will!”

Alastar immediately noticed that a five-yard swathe of the orchard showed no red mist at all. “Major! The area where there's no red mist. Have as many men as you can target that area now.”

At first, only a few scattered shots came from the orchard, but the numbers increased. Alastar felt several impacts on his shields. More shots from Luerryn's troopers ripped into the unpeppered area.

“Dylert! Pepper that area in the orchard that isn't red. Taurek! Spray it with white-hot needles!”

As more of the red pepper fog appeared, the unpeppered area shrank to a space little more than a yard wide.

“Akoryt! Iron darts to the unpeppered spot! Imagers! Hold your shields firm.”

Alastar added several iron darts of his own to those of Akoryt.

Abruptly, the blurring shield vanished, revealing spread across the less-than-hundred-yard front of the orchard at least a company of rebel troopers with their crimson and black armbands, although there were definitely gaps in their ranks, significant holes, if not so many as Alastar would have wished.

Three quick blasts on a horn followed, and the rebel troops spurred their way from the cover of the orchard toward the troopers on the road, who continued to fire into the oncoming rebels, most of whom had holstered their rifles and brandished sabers.

“Imagers! Wooden darts into the front ranks of the attackers!”

Between the heavy rifles of the troopers and the efforts of the imagers, the ranks of the rebel attackers thinned, but more kept coming from the orchard.

“More pepper into the attackers!” Alastar imaged out his own pepper spray. He was gratified to see that several riders veered into other riders, and more went down, whether to imager darts or trooper bullets, he couldn't tell.

Another horn signal echoed from the south.

“Left file!” ordered Luerryn. “Wheel out into the beans! Double up! Staggered formation! Right file! Double up! Staggered formation! Keep firing!”

Alastar kept imaging wooden dart after wooden dart, opting for projecting them with power, rather than trying to reach for iron. Occasionally, he could feel the impact of bullets or something on his shields, but not so much as he'd feared.

Then a wedge of riders charged toward him. Alastar linked his shields to the ground. For a moment, everything around him shook, before he discovered that horses and men were piled against the shields. Methodically, he imaged wooden darts into every moving figure, then expanded his aim to those farther away.

“Keep imaging the darts! Make every one count!” Alastar had no idea if any of the imagers were listening, or could even hear him.

In the end, he had no real idea how long the skirmish or battle lasted, only that at some point there was another horn signal, and the attackers withdrew. Alastar could barely see. His head felt like it was being hammered with a wooden mallet, and he felt very unsteady as he fumbled a water bottle out of his saddlebags. He had to use his teeth to extract the cork because his hands were shaking so much.

Some of the shaking subsided after several swallows, and he looked around. He was surrounded by the imagers. None of them seemed to be injured, but Akoryt was drenched in sweat, as were Khaelis and Dylert. Alastar was also, he realized. Arion merely looked disheveled and exhausted. Seliora and Taurek were both pale and shaking.

“You two were partly shielding me, weren't you?”

The burly Taurek managed a shaky grin. “Couldn't lose a Maitre, could we?” He was swaying in the saddle.

“Drink some of that lager in your water bottle before you fall out of the saddle. You, too, Seliora.”

“Yes, sir … if I can find it.…”

Taurek looked so unsteady that Alastar reached out and handed his own water bottle to the junior maitre. The movement made him realize that he wasn't all that steady himself, but he managed to straighten in the saddle. “Share it with Seliora.”

“Yes, sir.”

Alastar managed to get out the second water bottle and uncork it without using his teeth. After another swallow, he turned southward, and scanned the area from west to east. Bodies were everywhere. So were a number of riderless horses. The air was absolutely still.

“Maitre…” Luerryn's voice roused Alastar from his bemused and stunned survey of the carnage.

“Yes?”

“You think we've done enough?” asked Luerryn, with a gesture that encompassed the carnage.

“More than enough. I don't think most of the imagers could image even a feather dart or stop a moth.” That was an overstatement, Alastar knew, but not that much of one. “We need to move out back to camp and report to the marshal.”

“I'd agree. The rebels might just be regrouping.” Luerryn raised his voice. “Get the wounded on mounts! Those that aren't already. Collect all the rifles and sabers! Now! We're moving out in half a quint!”

“How many did we lose?” asked Alastar.

“More than a score are dead. Another score wounded.”