Heritage of Cyador

XXXV

Lerial awakens early on eightday, feeling the heavy stillness of the air even at dawn. When he looks outside, the sky is darker than usual for dawn, and he can discern a thick haze overhead. At least his headache has finally vanished, and there are no flashes across his eyes. He washes, shaves, and dresses quickly, then makes his way to the duty officer stationed in the small chamber off the senior officers’ mess.

The captain on duty looks toward the door as Lerial enters, then straightens. “Ser?”

“Do you have any reports on the Heldyans?”

“Ah…” The captain yawns. “Sorry, ser. It’s been a long watch. The last word came in about half a glass ago. The scouts report some movement in the center of the encampment. No companies appear to be forming up. They weren’t then, that is.”

“Do we have any word from the arms-commander?”

“Nothing since yesterday.”

“No messages or dispatches for me?”

“No, ser. No dispatches since yesterday afternoon.”

“Thank you.” Lerial turns and walks back into the mess.

One of the servers hurries over. “Ser … ah…”

“Nothing’s ready, I take it.”

“Not yet, ser.”

“I’ll have a lager while I wait.” Lerial settles into one of the chairs at the long table, worrying. Why haven’t there been any dispatches from Rhamuel? Has he taken a turn for the worse? Yet at the same time, he knows that whether Rhamuel survives or perishes is, at least at the moment, secondary to the need to defeat and destroy the Heldyans and remove them from Afrit. Destroying would be better, especially if Rhamuel does not survive. Lerial just hopes that the arms-commander survives … and that his father and Emerya will agree to her coming to Swartheld … if she will even consider it. Even crippled, Rhamuel would be a far better duke than Atroyan had been, and Lerial shudders to think of Afrit under Mykel, if he has even survived … or one of the merchanters, since Kyedra would never be allowed to rule. Then, they might consort her to the son of whatever merchanter took over so that they could claim the line would continue. That thought also disturbs him, even as he considers that he scarcely knows her. He directs his thoughts back to the likely battle ahead.

He is still pondering over what role or task the Mirror Lancers might best accomplish in the face of the certain oncoming Heldyan attack when the server reappears with a beaker of lager and a platter with cheesed scrambled eggs and a still-steaming small loaf of bread.

“The cook thought you might need this now, ser.”

“Thank you … and thank him. I appreciate it.”

Lerial eats the eggs and bread-all of it-quickly, draining the beaker as well, then stands as he starts to head out to meet with his officers.

“Ser?” A junior squad leader hurries toward him. “There is a senior officers’ meeting at half before seventh glass. Commander Dhresyl would appreciate meeting with you immediately before that.”

“Did he say how much before?”

“No, ser.”

“I’ll plan to be there,” Lerial gestures toward the door to Dhresyl’s makeshift study, still only occupied by the duty officer, “a tenth of a glass before the meeting. If he needs more time than that, I’ll be meeting with my officers.” Lerial pauses briefly, then asks, “Did the commander say anything about the meeting?”

“No, ser.”

“Thank you.”

The squad leader turns and leaves the mess. Lerial follows him out but turns toward the junior officers’ quarters. In less than a tenth of a glass, he has gathered Strauxyn, Fheldar, and Kusyl together in a corner outside the stables, where he briefs them on what he knows, finishing up with the message from Dhresyl. “I have no idea what he wants, but it’s likely he wants to know what we intend to do if the Heldyans attack. I’d like your thoughts on that.”

“Keep us out of the front lines,” suggests Strauxyn. “It’d be a mess.”

“Rankers will get so jammed together that we won’t be able to use lances,” adds Fheldar.

“We’d have more effect by circling and attacking their rear,” says Kusyl. “That’d also keep their wizards from frying a lot of the Afritans.” He pauses. “Not that some of them couldn’t use frying.”

“Oh?” Lerial looks to the older undercaptain.

“Some of the majers and younger captains act like some mages, begging your pardon, ser, excepting they don’t have talent at either leading or arms, from the way the old undercaptains look at them when they don’t think anyone’s watching.”

Lerial manages not to grin. “Let’s just let them do us a service by blunting the Heldyan attack.”

Fheldar nods. Strauxyn looks puzzled for a moment, but only a moment.

Kusyl grins. “Sounds like a good idea to me. They need to do some of the hard work.”

“Some more of the productive hard work,” Lerial says. “They’ve already taken significant losses, but South Point was the only place in Swartheld where they managed to damage the Heldyans.” He pauses. “That’s unfair. What happened here also reveals the sort of attack we could expect if Cigoerne has to deal with Khesyn … and that knowledge isn’t costing us anywhere near what it’s cost Afrit.”

“Shows what a total bastard Khesyn is,” Kusyl comments. “He deserves some of his own poison.”

“That may be, but first we need to deal with the armsmen outside Swartheld.” If we can. “I’d like you to think over how you think we could be most effective while I meet with Commander Dhresyl.”

After leaving the three, Lerial walks quickly back to the senior officers’ mess and then to the door of the small study, now occupied just by Dhresyl, who motions for him to enter … and for him to close the door. Lerial does and then takes the chair across the table desk from the commander. “You requested my presence, ser.”

“You’re always so polite. You remind me of the arms-commander.”

“How is he? Do you know?”

“According to Commander Sammyl’s dispatch yesterday, he’s alert and very much in command.”

Lerial nods and waits, not that he totally trusts what Sammyl might write.

“I’m convinced that the Heldyans will begin their march on Swartheld today, later this morning. What I need to know is where you believe you and the Mirror Lancers would be most effective.” Dhresyl’s tone is even, not quite bland.

“I couldn’t say until I know what you plan as a defense or a counter,” replies Lerial.

“I’ve already positioned Ninth and Tenth Battalion behind earthworks across the road and to the east on the south side of the stream, even with First and Seventeenth Battalion. They’re the ones on the south side of the stream opposite the Heldyans’ south perimeter.”

“You don’t think they’ll cross the stream and attack uphill?”

Dhresyl shakes his head, then says, “Not unless I move First and Seventeenth Battalion. Once the Heldyans commit to an attack, assuming they take the road, First and Seventeenth can either move north-if the Heldyans don’t maintain their perimeter-hold against remaining forces, or move to support Ninth and Tenth … whatever’s necessary. Drusyn’s battalions will take position at the fork between the road to the post and the shore road … so that the Heldyans cannot move east off the shore road and flank our positions…”

Lerial listens as the commander continues to detail what he has in mind.

When Dhresyl finishes, he looks to Lerial, inquiringly.

“I think the Mirror Lancers should initially remain out of the immediate line of battle, but forward enough so that we can move quickly where we can do the most good.”

“If…” Dhresyl does not finish his statement.

“If we hadn’t already killed so many, it might sound like we had reservations about fighting. Is that what you meant, Commander? Putting the Mirror Lancers where they can’t move destroys our effectiveness. Just let us do what we do best, and you won’t regret it.” Lerial knows that is a dangerous promise, but getting his men and himself in the middle of a massive melee would be even more deadly-and a total waste of men and mounts.

“Still…”

Lerial says nothing.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Destroying as many Heldyans as possible so that Khesyn cannot attack again any time soon.”

“I can’t fault that, but how…?”

“By attacking where they’re not expecting it. That’s all I can say at the moment. Once you finish briefing the senior officers, I’d like to take a squad and study the situation while the Mirror Lancers ready themselves.”

“That might be useful.”

“I’m certain it will be,” Lerial returns. “That way we’ll know where to move and attack when the time comes.” He hopes that reminder that the Mirror Lancers will indeed attack penetrates Dhresyl’s skepticism.

“We might as well move into the mess for the briefing,” says the commander as he rises.

Lerial stands and follows. Subcommander Drusyn is already there, as are several majers that Lerial does not recognize. By the time all the battalion commanders have arrived, in addition to Drusyn, Dhresyl, and Lerial, there are ten majers and one captain around the long table. Lerial recognizes only four-Paelwyr, Knaak, Aerlyt, and Captain Grusart, who is clearly replacing Majer Fhaet, whose loss, so far as Lerial is concerned, is a benefit to the Afritan Guard.

Dhresyl clears his throat loudly. “All of you know the general plan of battle from the orders you’ve received or from what I have informed you of personally. The latest scouting reports indicate that the Heldyans appear to be preparing to attack…” The commander goes on to give more details about what he expects from each battalion and then finishes by saying, “Overcaptain Lerial’s forces will not be part of the initial order of battle, but will act independently and in coordination with the Afritan Guard.”

Lerial notices a momentary frown from Drusyn and a faint smile that quickly vanishes from Paelwyr. Aerlyt nods almost sagely. The other majers offer no immediate reaction, almost as if that is what they have expected.

“Do you have any questions?” asks Dhresyl.

“How long will it take the Heldyans to move once they’re formed up?”

Dhresyl looks to Lerial. “Overcaptain … you’ve seen the Heldyans in that situation. What would you say?”

“I’ve seen them turn an entire battalion with pikes and a shield wall in less than a tenth of a glass, and they can move forward at a trot, holding a shield wall. With the size of their forces, it will likely take them longer to initially form up, but they maneuver quickly.”

“How many mounted battalions do they have?”

“The scouts have reported that they have five, possibly six,” replies Dhresyl.

“What arms do they bear?” asks Lerial. You should have asked that earlier. Much earlier.

“The scouts couldn’t tell, except that they had round shields.”

“Heavy cavalry, most likely, not lancers, then.”

After several more questions, Dhresyl simply stands. “Time to form up and be ready to move out.”

Lerial leaves quickly. Less than a tenth of a glass later, after giving brief and more general instructions than he would have liked to his company commanders, he is riding down the paved road from the Harbor Post toward the shore road with a single squad from Twenty-third Company … and Kusyl. At the last lane short of the shore road, he turns northward because he doesn’t want to interfere with the Afritan battalions and because he wants to determine if the lane is suitable for what he has in mind for his forces. After passing two cots and several sheds, the lane narrows into a wide path that will just hold two mounts comfortably, three if crowded. The ground between the path and the shore is rocky, with intermittent patches of grass, and slopes downward both toward the bay and to the north, although there is a small ridge about a half kay ahead. The ground between where he rides and the ridge rises enough that he can no longer see either the shore road or the Heldyan encampment, and there are two Afritan scouts reined up a hundred yards or so short of the section of the rise toward which Lerial leads the squad.

Farther from the Heldyans than you’d like, but it might do. “This way.” He turns the gelding toward the north end of the low ridge, trying to see and sense the most level way through the rocky pasture.

“If this is as I think it is,” Lerial says to Kusyl, “you’ll be leading the Lancer forces back this way.”

“What if the Heldyans want to take the rise here?” asks Kusyl.

“I’m thinking that they might, especially if there’s only a small force visible.”

“Do you think they’ll expect what we’re going to try?” asks Kusyl.

“They won’t put the cavalry in the front. They’ll want to use the road, if they can, before they try to flank Dhresyl. We haven’t fought their heavy cavalry before. So it’s likely they’ll think we will charge directly, especially if we make it look good.” Lerial can’t see any other way that the Heldyans can bring their cavalry to bear effectively. You just hope that they do what seems right. But then, usually an attacker with overwhelming forces doesn’t try to be too innovative.

Lerial continues to study the ground, as well as try to sense what lies over the rise and to the northwest. So far as he can tell, the Heldyans have not yet left their encampment, but he can feel a great number of men moving. He can also sense the two Afritan scouts watching as he and Kusyl and the squad ride east of them toward the slightly lower northern end of the rise. Once they reach a point where Lerial can survey the shore road some two hundred yards to the west and little more than twenty yards lower, he reins up and looks to the north and northwest.

All the Heldyan tents have been struck, and apparently stacked in neat bundles west of the hamlet. The organization and neatness worries Lerial as much as the number of battalions that appear to be formed up and ready to move, especially since he doubts that the Afritan Guards would be nearly so organized were they in Heldya.

Lerial turns to Kusyl. “I’ve seen enough. Take as many men as you need and get back to the post. Bring the companies the same way we came.”

“Yes, ser.”

Once Kusyl leaves, Lerial returns to studying the Heldyans. So far as he can sense, there are only two chaos-focuses among the Heldyan forces, and both remain within the encampment, but south of the cots of the hamlet that is either unnamed or whose name is unknown to Dhresyl and the Afritan Guard. Another worrisome sign? Lerial pushes that thought aside and continues to watch as the Heldyan formations tighten into disciplined oblongs. After a time, he turns in the saddle and looks toward the Harbor Post, where Drusyn’s battalions are riding out toward the shore road, taking positions that will allow them to support either the Ninth or Tenth Battalion or to move north toward the position Lerial has taken.

Almost half a glass passes before the Mirror Lancers arrive and take positions on the east side of the hill, out of direct sight of the Heldyans. Then Lerial meets with Fheldar, Kusyl, and Strauxyn once again.

“We’re going to stay put here until we see how things are going,” he begins. “I’m judging that the Heldyans will bring up their cavalry to take this rise first, so that they can flank the Afritans … or keep Drusyn’s battalions from flanking them. By being out here, we’re in a strong position because we’re uphill, but I suspect that they’ll think that we don’t have enough forces to hold the ridge.” Lerial grins raggedly. “And they’re right. We don’t. But that’s not what I have in mind…” He goes on to explain.

Once he has finished, the companies move into the tight formation Lerial wants, all out of easy sight except for the First Squad of Eighth Company. Then the company officers dispatch scouts … and Lerial waits and watches. He feels as though time is dragging, yet he knows less than a glass has passed when he sees one of Strauxyn’s scouts riding swiftly toward him.

The scout reins up. “Ser … there are two mounted battalions moving down the shore road … and there’s more dust behind them.”

“Are they lancers or heavy mounted cavalry?” Lerial doesn’t totally trust Dhresyl’s scouts.

“Heavy cavalry, ser. Round shields and long blades.”

“Good. Thank you. Take a position just at the end of the rise. Halfway down. Let me know if you see anything else that might be unexpected. If you don’t see anything like that, once the Heldyans are close enough for archers, rejoin your company.”

“Yes, ser.”

Before long, Lerial can see the Heldyan main force beginning to move. Half appear to be moving to take the road; the other half, led by a shield wall, are marching due south down the slope to the creek, and presumably up it toward Ninth and Tenth Battalion, contrary to what Dhresyl has expected. The total mass of armsmen moving forward must comprise close to ten battalions-and that doesn’t include the mounted companies or any archers. Khesyn must have been transporting troopers for more than a week … and kept it up over the last few days. Just the number of trips and the presumed cost of transport must have been staggering. Except the trip is fairly short. Still …

Horn signals from the direction of the Harbor Post suggest that Dhresyl is already bringing up reinforcements, although Lerial cannot see past Drusyn’s forces to determine where Dhresyl is sending the reserve battalions.

The lead Heldyan battalion moves off the shore road to take that part of the western side of the rise that offers the most gradual approach to Lerial and First Squad.

“Eighth Company! On First Squad,” Lerial orders.

“Eighth Company! Forward!” Even before the order is completely out of Fheldar’s mouth, the remainder of Eighth Company moves forward and rejoins First Squad. Eleventh and Twenty-third Companies also move forward, so that Eleventh Company is flanking Eighth on the right, if slightly back, and Twenty-third on the left, also back.

The Heldyan advance quickens, and the second Heldyan battalion speeds up even more, but does not take the slope but moves along the road, as if to cut off any possibility of the Mirror Lancers riding down to the road and withdrawing. Lerial doesn’t even have to use order-senses to see that the third mounted Heldyan battalion is swinging more to the east, so that the three will eventually form a solid line, designed to sweep over the small Mirror Lancer force and then flank Dhresyl’s main body.

Lerial glances south. Drusyn’s forces remain planted firmly in place. Good! Then he looks back at the lancers, checking their spacing-each company set in a tight ten-man front, essentially almost a square. His eyes go back to the advancing Heldyan mounted battalions. Forcing himself to be patient, he waits … and waits … until the lead riders are barely more than fifty yards from the front rank of Eighth Company.

“Mirror Lancers! Charge!” Lerial drops back into the middle of the first rank as Eighth Company levels its lances and heads downhill directly toward the middle of the Heldyan cavalry. He hopes that they are far enough from the main forces that the Heldyan mages will not immediately direct their attention to what is happening on the flank.

Lerial hears a command he does not understand-except that its meaning is clear, because the Heldyans immediately raise and brace their shields, angling them so that they can try to slide the lances rather than take a full direct impact. When he is less than ten yards from the wide line of Heldyan cavalry, he shouts a single-word order. “Flank!” Then he turns the gelding at an angle left … and downhill, while raising order-shields wide enough to cover himself and two riders on each side.

When his shields sweep aside two Heldyans, Lerial manages not to be unhorsed by the impact pressure, but is forced to shrink the shields so that they barely cover himself and the gelding. Even so, the front ranks of Eighth Company shear across the southwestern corner of the Heldyan cavalry and keep moving toward the rear of the other cavalry battalion, still on the shore road.

Behind him, Lerial can sense that Eleventh and Twenty-third Companies have managed to rip at an angle across more ranks of the Heldyans and then close up, so that the Mirror Lancers are now a tight wedge charging into the side and rear of the second Heldyan cavalry battalion. Lerial urges the gelding forward, aiming for a slight gap between ranks, possibly a break between companies.

He can feel the pressure as he rides into that gap, and then fragments of silver mists as Eighth Company and the rest of the Mirror Lancers follow, cutting down Heldyan cavalrymen as they aim through the cavalry and toward the middle of the encampment that still holds the Heldyan reserves … and at least two chaos-mages or wizards. Lerial knows all too well that not all of those death mists are from Heldyans. He hopes that moving quickly will keep the losses to his own men from being too great. But what else can you do?

From seemingly nowhere, a long blade slashes toward Lerial. He slides the heavier blade and backcuts as he passes, feeling that he has struck well, but not looking back, concentrating on where Eighth Company needs to go.

“Eighth Company! South on me!” He turns the gelding slightly, so that he is angling toward the westernmost point of the rear of the Heldyan reserves … or those that are mustered and actually moving toward the fighting.

Abruptly, a wave of chaos-flame flashes toward Eighth Company-and Lerial, who has been waiting for this, redirects it across the rear ranks of the Heldyan reserve foot battalions. Another more powerful chaos blast follows, and Lerial does the same.

Sensing what is likely to come next, he is already creating a multiorder line diversion and redirection pattern even before a line of brilliant gold chaos-fire sears directly at him.

The diversion sends it back at the chaos-mage. While the wizard’s shields hold, the chaos flares in all directions from him, incinerating likely well more than a company of Heldyan foot. Lerial is readying another diversion when the other mage strikes, this time with a probe that Lerial recognizes-an attempt to separate order and chaos right before Eighth Company.

Lerial clamps shields over the probe for a moment, then tries to locate the other mage, but can only find the diffuse sense of a shield. The other mage’s effort to shield himself breaks off the order-chaos separation effort, but the first mage sends more chaos at Lerial.

Again, Lerial redirects it-this time into the rear of the main body that has just engaged Dhresyl’s forces.

Then both mages aim chaos at Lerial. He manages another diversion, but some of the chaos evades his pattern and strikes his shields, leaving his hip burning. Burning? Of course. The knife’s the anchor. Sweat oozes from all over his body and dribbles down from his visor cap across his forehead, as well as down his neck in back. He can also sense that another Heldyan heavy cavalry force has turned from the shore road and gallops toward the Mirror Lancer rear.

You’re running out of time and space.

He is also breathing heavily, and his arms ache.

Yet another chaos-bolt flares toward him, and redirecting it is an effort … But more Heldyan foot are turned to ashes … and silver death mists flow.

You’re going to have to use order-chaos separation on at least one of those mages. He’d prefer aiming at the stronger one, but Lerial still cannot locate him precisely. Except … if they’re coordinating those attacks … they can’t be that far apart … and besides, it should be easier just a bit away from their shields.

He senses the slightly weaker mage ahead of him and to the south. Guessing that the stronger one must be more to his left, he begins to create a circle of order-chaos separation, trying to focus the flow of destruction to the south. A chaos-bolt splashes against his shields, and the burning pain from his hip is agonizing as he concentrates on the separation.

He can feel one of the mages trying to throw a shield around the order-chaos separation, followed by another shield from the other.

Too late, you slimy bastards!

A circular wall of silvered-golden-white sears skyward, so intense that Lerial can see nothing. Vain as he knows it must be, he extends his shields across the front of Eighth Company.

… and then … he feels them shredding and crumpling, with spears of red-dark chaos and black-silver order flaring toward him, bolts of power that jerk him back in the saddle and then slam him forward into an even darker blackness.