Heritage of Cyador

XI

An insistent rapping on his door, well before dawn, awakes Lerial on twoday morning, the last twoday of winter, not that winter is that cold as far north as Lubana is, and he struggles out of bed. “Yes?”

“The arms-commander wants all senior officers in the salon in the next third of a glass, ser.”

“Thank you. I’ll be there.” The Heldyans must be attacking. Why else would he want us all there so far before dawn? Lerial’s ability to use his order-senses means he doesn’t have to light the lamp in order to dress, although he needs light to read something or locate a very small object. He does light the lamp, using a touch of chaos rather than fumbling for a striker, when it comes to washing and quickly shaving. He is ready fairly quickly and makes his way from his quarters toward the staircase.

There, he pauses to wait for Ascaar, who appears more discomfited and rumpled than usual in the morning, then says, “A Heldyan attack, you think?”

“If it’s anything worse, I don’t want to know,” growls the Afritan battalion commander as they descend to the main level of the so-called country home.

In the dimness of the main hall, its cavernous expanse lit but by two lamps, Lerial sees Drusyn waiting by the salon door.

The graying subcommander smiles cheerfully.

“Don’t say a word,” says Ascaar gruffly. “Too early for cheer.”

Drusyn just shakes his head and accompanies the two into the salon, where Majer Prenyl stands by the dark widow that overlooks the front plaza. Subcommander Klassyn waits by one of the settees, as does Valatyr. Before any can exchange greetings, the majer says, “Arms-Commander, ser!”

Lerial and the others remain standing as Sammyl and Rhamuel stride into the salon and past them. Sammyl stops beside Valatyr.

Rhamuel moves to the end of the chamber. “You all can sit down. Not that you’ll be here that long.” He waits for a moment, as Lerial and the officers who had been standing seat themselves, then continues. “The lookouts to the south have reported lamps and torches on the Vyada piers. It would appear that the Heldyans are loading many, if not all, of the flatboats. We can’t tell where they intend to go. For all we know, they could be headed all the way to Estheld or Swartheld … or they could land south of Lubana. My best judgment is that they will attempt to land the flatboats in a number of places near Luba in order to prevent us from massing our forces in any single spot. I could be wrong, but we will proceed on that assumption.” The dark-haired arms-commander pauses and his eyes sweep across the officers present. “Subcommander Drusyn, you will be responsible for stopping any incursion immediately south of Lubana. Subcommander Ascaar, you will deal with any landing north of Lubana. Overcaptain Lerial, for the moment, you will remain ready to reinforce either of the other forces … or to deal with a third possible point of attack, if there is such, once we can determine that. I will keep you informed as we know more. Because it will likely be a glass before the first flatboat leaves the piers, I’ve ordered the immediate dispatch of field rations to all companies, and officers’ rations are already in the dining room. Take a moment to eat something before you head out to your officers and men. It will likely be a long day.” He pauses again. “That is all.” With a quick nod that is just short of being brusque, Rhamuel turns and leaves the salon.

Lerial looks to Drusyn. “Do you think they’ll really land where you’re being dispatched?”

“Who knows? They’ll do their best to do what we don’t expect. Wouldn’t you? What do you think?”

“What the arms-commander does-that, if they attack, they’ll attack in more than one place.”

The two walk from the salon without saying more, through the hall and into the private dining room. “Officers’ rations” turn out to be a full breakfast set at each place, with a healthy helping of egg toast, ham strips, and a small loaf of bread for each officer. Lerial sits between Ascaar and Drusyn, since seating by rank is only at the evening mess, and pours himself a lager from one of the pitchers.

“What do you think?” Lerial asks Ascaar after taking several mouthfuls of the egg toast, sweetened by a dark berry syrup, followed by some lager.

“Duke Khesyn’s been wanting to conquer Afrit for years, if not longer. Figures he has to do it soon.”

“Why soon?” asks Drusyn.

“Duke Kiedron gets stronger every year. I’d wager Khesyn didn’t think that he’d send forces to support the arms-commander. Even if Khesyn did think that might happen, every year that passes means Cigoerne will be able to back Afrit more.” Ascaar looks to Lerial. “You don’t have a choice, do you?”

“No,” Lerial admits. “For all the trouble we’ve had between us and Afrit, it’s been nothing,” not since Ensenla, anyway, “compared to the difficulties we’ve had with Casseon and Khesyn.”

Drusyn frowns.

“Casseon sent more than forty companies against Verdheln, and there are usually close to a score of raids by Heldyans every year. Khesyn claims they’re raiders over whom he has no control, but we’ve captured arms that look like the same kind of blades used by his armsmen.” Lerial takes another bite of egg toast and then a ham strip, not quite as crisp as he would have preferred.

“Don’t hear much about that,” admits Ascaar. “And the bastard claims to follow the God of the Balance.”

“There’s no way we would, I imagine,” comments Drusyn. “And when did any ruler really follow faith if it wasn’t in his interest?”

Ascaar snorts.

“Just as there’s no way we’d hear about Khesyn building up armsmen in Estheld,” returns Lerial, before eating the last of the barely warm egg toast.

Drusyn rises. “Need to be off.”

Lerial nods. “Best of fortune.”

“Appreciate it.” Drusyn does not look back.

Lerial finishes the egg toast and the ham strips, then swallows more lager. He and Ascaar get up almost together, but the older officer just gives a quick smile and nods before he turns and heads for the door.

After slipping one of the small loaves left in the dining room into his riding jacket, Lerial also departs, hurrying back to his quarters, where he recovers his sabre and visor cap, then makes his way down to the main level and out the doors into a dimness barely lightened by faint glow on the eastern horizon. His gelding is saddled and tied to the railing outside. It is cool enough that when the gelding snorts, Lerial can make out his breath. He mounts quickly and turns the gelding south. As he rides toward his companies, he tries to sense any Heldyan forces beyond the walls of Lubana, but can find none within the range of his abilities.

He has no more than reined up and dismounted at the Cigoernean tents than Fheldar, Strauxyn, and Kusyl hurry toward him.

“Ser … there’s word…” begins Fheldar.

“That the Heldyans may be attacking. They’re loading flatboats with troopers. The Afritan Guards are being positioned to the south of the hunting park and closer to Luba. We’re being held back to see where else they may attack. The Afritans are sending rations. Have they arrived?”

“Not yet, ser.”

“We’re likely last because everyone else will be moving out before us. Have your men eat as soon as the rations arrive. Fheldar … we’ll send Vominen and Gherst out through the south gate. Have them take positions just south of the southeast corner tower of Lubana. That way, they can survey the river and the riverbank-and marshes-to the south, as well as the eastern wall of Lubana itself.”

“Yes, ser.”

“Do you know where we’ll be fighting?” asks Kusyl.

“No.” Lerial pauses. “Just an idea. We may not be going all that far.”

“Ser?”

“We’ll have to see. Just make sure everyone gets fed … and quickly.”

Less than a third of a glass later, the rankers are all eating bread, cold mutton slices, and cheese, washing it down with watered ale. Lerial is using his order-senses to scan the river, but can only discover a half score of flatboats barely leaving the piers at Vyada, although he has the feeling that more will be pushing off before long.

Another half glass passes, and the cloudless eastern sky has turned to greenish gray before the first group of flatboats nears the western shore of the river a good kay south of Lubana, where Drusyn’s forces are already marshaled and waiting. A second, and larger, group of boats has departed the piers and looks to be headed farther downstream. Lerial cannot tell exactly where that might be, but it is clear they are not reinforcing the boats beginning to ground on the shore south of the hunting park because they are almost even with those boats and remain in midriver.

“Ser…?” prompts Kusyl.

“There’s another group of boats headed downstream. I can’t tell where.” Lerial pauses. “I’m going to join the scouts.”

In little more than moments, Lerial and the fourth squad of Eighth Company ride through the south gate and then east toward the river. He can sense that there are more than twenty flatboats in the second Heldyan contingent. By the time he and Fourth Squad reach the southeast corner of the walls, where the graveled lane continues north at the foot of the east wall, and a similar lane continues southward between the hedgerow at the east edge of the hunting park and the marshes, the first rays of sunlight appear, almost directly in Lerial’s eyes. Lerial has to squint to make out the dark shapes of the flatboats against the low light. Still, from what he can tell from eyes and senses, the flatboats appear to be too close to the center of the river to land south of Lubana proper.

Even as he is thinking that, he can sense and see, if barely, that the lead boats are angling nearer to the shore. While Lerial has his doubts as to whether the approaching flatboats will actually attack Lubana itself, it is clear that they will at the very least pass close to the walls. He turns in the saddle. “Gherst, here are my orders to Fheldar and the undercaptains. All archers on the wall, on each side of the midwall tower. All other company elements to join us here immediately. All companies with lances, except for the archers.”

“Yes, ser.”

Another quarter glass passes, and Lerial’s archers are in position on the walls. Kusyl’s Twenty-third Company is riding north along the lane under the wall to take a position near the northeast corner of the walls. Lerial watches as the flatboats reach a point no more than two hundred yards south of him. They remain barely within accurate range of his archers, if definitely nearer the Afritan shore, clearly aiming for a landfall somewhere near Luba, most likely on the northern edge of the city, Lerial would guess. He can sense continuing activity on the Vyada piers, suggesting another force to come, but little beyond that.

The flatboats continue down the Swarth past Lubana.

“Now, what, ser?” asks Fheldar.

“We do what all good lancers have to do,” Lerial replies dryly. “We wait.”

He continues to monitor the pending attack to the south, because, from what he can tell, the flatboats have not actually landed, but appear to be standing offshore. From the occasional flash of muted silver he senses, it appears as though the Afritans and Heldyans are exchanging volleys of arrows. It could even be that the Heldyans are using heavy crossbows mounted on the flatboats.

Another and larger group of flatboats pulls away from the piers at Vyada, moving across the river more swiftly than the previous grouping. Within a fraction of a glass, it is clear to Lerial that the third group of flatboats is aimed at Lubana, or if not, at a point very close.

Lerial thinks about positioning Eighth Company along the midsection of the wall, then shakes his head. Too easy to be trapped with nowhere to go. At the same time, the ramparts at the top of the wall are barely wide enough for a single lancer, and there are only a few sets of steps to the top of the wall, those few on the inner side. At three yards in height, the walls were clearly built for privacy and to deter casual intruders, not to withstand any prolonged armed assault.

“Undercaptain Strauxyn!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take Eleventh Company back inside the wall. Take a position at least fifty yards back of the wall. Your task will be to deal with any intruders who might scale the wall and enter Lubana. Wait for them to clear the wall and then attack with lances.”

“Yes, ser.”

“It may not come to that,” Lerial adds after seeing a hint of puzzlement on the undercaptain’s face, “but I won’t put a company between a wall and the river with archers on flatboats approaching. If they have five or ten companies on those boats and ladders as well, some will likely get over the wall.”

Strauxyn nods. “Yes, ser.” He turns his mount.

Lerial continues to watch the oncoming flatboats, as well to sense what is happening at the southern end of the hunting park and farther downstream, where the flatboats that had passed Lubana are massing somewhere just offshore beyond the third canal. To the south, four or five flatboats have landed, and a Heldyan shield wall, with pikes protruding, has formed on a narrower spit of firm land that apparently mitigates against attacks from the side as it advances. You’ll definitely need lances against a shield wall.

The flatboats nearing Lubana are far closer to the shore, almost as if some plan to land in the marshes south of the walls. Of course they do. They’ve got archers that we can’t attack easily. While Lerial’s personal shields, those close to his body, will protect him against most weapons, at least those made of iron or iron-tipped, he has never been able to project that type of barrier shield more than a few yards-except momentarily, and that will not suffice against continuous volleys of arrows.

“Fheldar, pull the squads back to where the hedgerow and those trees provide some cover. I’m thinking the Heldyans will stop in the reeds and try to clear the area with archers. I’ll stay here.” Lerial is glad he doesn’t have to explain to the grizzled senior squad leader, who has politely suggested that he has no interest in being an undercaptain, even though he handles many of those duties.

“Yes, ser.”

For the moment, Lerial doesn’t have to worry about Twenty-third Company, since the Heldyan archers, if that is what the attackers have in mind, cannot reach the middle of the wall, let alone the northeast corner, beyond which Kusyl’s men are formed up.

He continues to watch, and before long the first of the flatboats halt in the marshes less than a hundred yards south of the wall tower and little more than a hundred and fifty yards from Eighth Company, although the hedgerow west of the lane assures that any archers cannot fire directly at the lancers, if indeed they even know Eighth Company is there.

Lerial pauses for just an instant to check what has happened to the south. He can’t help but frown, because the Heldyans appear to be withdrawing. They pushed their way ashore … and they’re withdrawing? There’s nothing he can do about that, and certainly Drusyn can send more accurate information to the arms-commander just as quickly as Lerial can.

While there might be archers on the flatboats, no arrows are loosed at Lerial, who is most likely the only visible target, and, after a time, the flatboats move away from the reeds, and let the current carry them toward the wall. Lerial watches as the first of the flatboats nears. In the front and on the shore side is a wall of shields. Below and behind the shields he can sense the archers he had felt would be there.

He can sense no chaos around the nearer flatboats, nor does he feel the chaotic mist that usually means a white wizard or chaos-mage hiding behind a shield of sorts. At the same time, he recalls something that Saltaryn had told him years ago-that water, especially large bodies of water, tends to mask concentrations of both order and chaos … and make using either more difficult. Still … shouldn’t he sense something?

The six flatboats with the archers swing away from the shore and the narrow lane in front of the wall, and another line of flatboats, a good seven or eight of them, begins to angle toward him.

Frig! Lerial raises a concealment around himself and urges the gelding toward the middle of the wall. Far too late, he can see the plan of attack on the part of the Heldyans. He just hopes he can reach a point where his archers can see him and take his orders, because there isn’t time to send an order around the walls and through the south gate.

The boats seem to move almost as fast as he and the gelding do. At least, when he reins up just short of the midwall tower, the boatmen are throwing out anchors, slowing and then halting the shielded flatboats holding the Heldyan archers.

“Lancer archers!” Lerial releases the concealment and uses order to amplify his voice. At least he hopes it does. “Target the Heldyan archers offshore!”

He has barely finished the command when arrows arch from the shielded flatboats toward the wall. Then … moments later, just as Mirror Lancer shafts begin to fly at the Heldyan archers, a chaos-blast arcs from one of the boats amid the flatboats holding the archers.

Lerial snaps a triple five-line order-coil out to redirect the chaos back at the Heldyan white wizard, but the wizard’s shields hold, and the redirected chaos-bolt slams into the water on the west side of the boat, raising a cloud of steam.

At the same time, Lerial can sense something well beneath the water and the ground, which begins to shake. Then, just to the south of him, less than ten yards away, the masonry of the wall begins to shake … then sags, before dropping into a pile of rubble perhaps a yard high, if that, as if the earth or rock beneath has been removed and the wall dropped into the gap. With the collapse come yells and screams as the handful of archers on that section of the wall are thrown in one direction or the other.

An earth-mage? Or one who can use chaos below ground?

Another chaos-bolt arcs toward the wall, and Lerial redirects it. Again, the wizard’s shields hold, and more steam rises. With it come screams from the boats, and Lerial realizes that steam and boiling water must have splashed some of the Heldyans.

Another earth rumble shakes Lerial, and a second section of wall crumbles, to the south of the first, throwing more Lancer archers back into Lubana or forward onto the lane. The first of the second wave of boats grounds just south of the gap in the estate wall, and shield-bearing armsmen with bright blades jump from the square prow of the flatboat.

For a moment, Lerial just watches, trying to think what he can do that will not cause more harm to the remaining archers and lancers of Eleventh Company.

He can’t raise lightnings, not out of water.

Think!

Steam? Lots of steam? He concentrates on breaking apart the wood of the flatboats, separating order and chaos within the wood of the flatboat grounded near the wall. Then the one that holds the chaos-wizard-and possibly the earth-wizard. As he can feel the buildup of chaos-order separation, he creates a momentarily larger shield, hoping it will hold just long enough.

WHUUUMPT!

The force of the explosion, despite his shields, nearly rips him out of his saddle, and a wave of heat washes around him. His own shields contract tightly, and he can barely hold them, and the knife to which they are linked feels as though it is burning through its leather sheath and searing his hip.

He forces himself forward in the saddle, but can see nothing through the mist that seems everywhere. His order-chaos senses reveal nothing, either.

Then, slowly, a cooler wind blows from the south, and he begins to be able to make out the tangled mess in the river. Of the eight flatboats with armsmen, there is no sign of three. Behind them are two hulks, one half-buried in the river mud, the second turning in the current. Lerial can finally sense some things, those within a hundred yards or so, but he can only locate three of the shield-ringed boats, and they are already moving with the current well out into the river, as are the last three boats with armsmen.

Lerial continues to watch for several moments, realizing to his horror that the flatboats that survived his efforts are joining those that had abandoned the attack on the south end of the hunting park and another group of flatboats … and look to be moving toward the city piers at Luba.

He glances around, then sees a ranker riding toward him from Eighth Company, clearly sent by the resourceful Fheldar. He only has to wait a few moments.

“Ser?”

“Tell the senior squad leader to have Eighth Company join me. We’re headed to Luba with Twenty-third Company.”

“Yes, ser!” The ranker turns and heads back south, but he has to pick his way around the rubble of the fallen wall. Lerial rides south just enough to reach the collapsed section of the wall, where he reins up.

“Undercaptain!” He boosts his voice, although it turns out that he does not need to because Strauxyn is already riding forward.

“Yes, ser?”

“Hold this position as well as you can. The Heldyans are attacking farther downstream.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lerial turns the gelding and then gallops toward the northeast tower. He reins up short of Kusyl. “The Heldyans are heading for the piers. Take Twenty-third Company and stop them. Eighth Company is coming, but we won’t reach the piers in time if we wait for them. But … don’t…”

“Don’t strain the mounts?” asks the undercaptain with a grin.

“Exactly.”

“We’ll take care of the bastards.”

Lerial watches as Kusyl and his three squads ride north, knowing that the boats and Twenty-third Company will arrive at close to the same time. Eighth Company takes a bit longer than Lerial would have liked to reach him, because the company can get through the rubble of the fallen wall only single-file. From what he can sense, Ascaar is engaged in trying to repulse the Heldyan landing north of Luba proper, a landing likely designed just to keep the Afritan forces from blocking the coming attack on the town itself.

Lerial rides forward to meet Fheldar. “Send a messenger to the main dwelling. Have him report that the Heldyans are attacking Luba proper and that two of our companies are responding.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lerial realizes he should have done that earlier, but by the time he’d thought of it, he had no one to send. “We need to move to back up Kusyl. Have the squads re-form on the move.”

It takes less than a quarter glass before Eighth Company nears the southernmost pier. Even before that, Lerial can sense that two factors have helped his outnumbered Twenty-third Company contain the attackers. First, the stone riverwall and the dredged area north and south of the piers have kept the flatboats from grounding, and has required them to try to anchor to keep from going farther downstream. Second, climbing out of the boats onto the river wall and the piers has slowed the formation of the shield wall and pikes. Clearly, Kusyl used lances to repulse and slow the shieldmen before the Heldyans could position their pikes.

Even so, Kusyl and his men are giving ground to a widening shield wall and the pikemen behind the shields as they push off the pier and onto the river road.

Lerial does not hesitate, but again separates order and chaos, this time targeting sections of the flatboats below the waterline.

FHWHUSSSH!!!

Geysers of superheated water erupt, and steam and hot mist cover the more than thirty flatboats in and around the Luban piers, jammed so close that they almost form a continuous surface. The screams are mercifully short. Lerial winces as the silver-gray mist of multiple deaths flows shoreward and across him, a mist that only a mage or wizard-or a healer-could sense.

“Eighth Company! Halt!” Lerial order-boosts his voice. “Twenty-third Company! Withdraw! Withdraw now!”

The moment that Kusyl’s men effect a separation of more than ten yards, Lerial acts, although he can only create a small line of order-chaos separations along the river road. Still, separating the underlying chaos and order in the stone is far easier than doing so in wood surrounded by water. The lightnings that crisscross the area are enough to take out or injure perhaps half of the Heldyans, and leave pikes and shields strewn here and there.

“Lancers! Charge!”

Lerial, sabre out, leads Eighth Company into an attack from the south, although he holds back just enough to let the points of the lances of the first rank strike the shields before he reaches them. One of the shieldmen pushed off balance by a lance tries to thrust his shield, but Lerial lets the gelding turn the shield, and then slashes a backcut across the man’s neck. Then he is among footmen with small shields and blades. After that, he loses track of exactly what he does with the sabre, except that his head throbs more and more with each use of the blade.

A quarter of a glass later, he has trouble seeing, between the flashes of light in his eyes and the throbbing in his head, but by then almost all of the disoriented Heldyans are either dead, disarmed, or surrendering. Lerial just takes a position on the river road, flanked by two rankers, doubtless detailed by Fheldar, and watches as the two companies round up the few handfuls of able-bodied captives. For a stretch of over a hundred yards the paved road is cracked and crazed with black lines, and more than a hundred bodies lie scattered, all wearing the bluish-gray and black of Heldya.

He has to squint to make out what has happened to the north, but it appears, again, that the Heldyans have withdrawn, since the flatboats are all in the river away from the shore. Either that or they have abandoned their armsmen, but Lerial feels that is unlikely, although he could not prove that, and, at the moment, he cannot order-sense farther than a score of yards.

In time, Fheldar and Kusyl approach and rein up. Kusyl gestures to the senior squad leader.

“Ser,” reports Fheldar, “two dead, five wounded. That doesn’t include the archers in Third Squad. What about the prisoners?”

“We’ll march them back to Lubana. The arms-commander can decide what to do with them.” Lerial looks to Kusyl.

“Three dead, eight wounded.”

“Very well handled, both of you.”

Kusyl glances down at the black marks and cracks in the paving. “The duke may have a few repairs to make.”

“Better his repairs than our rankers.” Lerial clears his throat. “Get the prisoners moving. We don’t want to stay here. Oh … and send another messenger to the arms-commander or Commander Sammyl. Inform him that we’re returning with Heldyan prisoners.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lerial hopes that the Afritan forces have fared better, or at least not too much worse, but he has doubts about that. He also worries about the purpose of the attacks. If they weren’t that serious about attacking, why attack at all? Except … the Heldyans had seemed most intent on attacking Luba proper. Why? To show weakness in Afrit? Or to make sure that Rhamuel has to keep forces in the south?

Before he turns the gelding, he takes a last look at the remaining Heldyan flatboats, all continuing downstream.