If you did that to any piece of iron … would it do that? Lerial shakes his head. To make iron act like a lodestone … at the moment, he can think of no reason to do so, but he will keep that in mind.
“If I might ask, Lerial … what are you doing?” Altyrn stands just inside the tent, shaking rain from his oilskin jacket.
“Working on trying to get better control of firebolts. Why?”
“Because you were surrounded by something like a silver-black haze.” The majer smiles almost slyly. “I recall something you said about not being an ordermage…”
“I’m not. I’ve had a little instruction, and can do some healing. Other than that, I’ve figured out a few things, but I can’t predict the weather, or change it. I can’t erect shields against either order or chaos; I can only sometimes shift where chaos goes … and that’s dangerous. You’ve seen that.”
“I have.” Altyrn nods. “I’ve also seen you destroy two chaos wizards, and you can conceal your entire company from sight.”
“Only for a short time.”
“Many would consider all of those enough to name you an ordermage, Lerial. Your rankers already do.”
Lerial winces. “I’m not that good.”
“You may not yet be what you would consider a good ordermage, but you are an ordermage of sorts, and it’s foolish on your part to deny it. Denying what you are only weakens you … just as exaggerating what you are does. Strength lies in knowing who and what you are-your capabilities and your weaknesses.”
Lerial cannot dispute that, and he nods.
After a silence that seems long to Lerial, but probably lasts but a few moments, Altyrn says, “The rain is a mixed blessing. Their chaos mages can’t do that much, and that will allow the crafters here to make more arrows.”
“That would be good. My head archer was asking about that.”
“I will let you know as soon as I do.”
“Yes, ser.” Lerial pauses, then goes on. “I know that the rain will keep the fires from spreading, but you said they can’t do much.”
“It’s been forgotten, I think, but handling chaos in the rain can be very painful for those who do. At least, that was something I was told a long ways from here when I was a very junior officer.”
Lerial frowns for a moment. That’s something he has not heard. “Is there anything else that makes it hard for them?”
Altyrn laughs softly but harshly. “An even stronger ordermage. Or having to use chaos in the middle of the ocean or a large lake.” After another pause, he says, “I came to see if you had any sense of how long this rain will last.”
Lerial is about to protest, then reluctantly smiles. “Wait a moment … if you would.” He concentrates once more, letting his senses probe the clouds. As before, he can sense no immediate change … yet … the order flows seem slightly lighter and not quite so strong. He looks at the majer. “The rain might start to weaken in a few glasses, but I can’t tell if it will strengthen after that … or get stronger again.”
“I’ll see you in a few glasses then…” Altyrn gives Lerial a surprisingly boyish grin, “Captain and ordermage.” With that he turns and leaves the tent, walking through the rain toward the tent that holds Donnael, who has remained with the six companies for the last three days.
Lerial looks down at the lodestone he is still holding. What else can you try?
LXI
By eightday morning the rain has stopped. Only a thin haze remains, a combination of fog and mist that hovers in the forest canopy and higher. The wind has shifted to the southwest and turned cooler, but the Meroweyan forces do not look to move or break camp. Shortly after midafternoon, Altyrn sends out sixth company under Denieryn through the main southern road gate-still unbreached-to see what reaction that provokes. Three companies immediately charge, and fireballs fly. Sixth company loses almost a full squad to firebolts and two stragglers who are cut down by hard-riding Meroweyan horsemen, although archers stationed by the road gate bring down close to another squad of Meroweyan riders who pursue too closely.
“They were ready,” says Lerial after hearing from the majer what happened.
“They knew you weren’t there,” observes Altyrn.
“Do you want second company to try next?”
“You can’t do everything,” the majer replies.
That’s not exactly an answer. While that is Lerial’s first thought, he realizes that what the majer means is that if second company is the only one moving against the Meroweyans, sooner or later, the attackers will find a way to trap and outnumber second company … particularly since Lerial has no way to shield his position from the Meroweyan mages or wizards, given that, just as he can sense concentrations of chaos, they seem able to know where he is through the concentration of order he has, small as it is.
“Do you think they’ll attack this evening?” asks Lerial.
“I’d be surprised. They lost some of those riders because the ground was soft. Every glass the wind holds it dries out the ground and trees more. Tonight … well … it’s going to be a long night,” says Altyrn.
By eighth glass in the evening, the first firebolt strikes the edge of the already burned area east of the road-gate, and Lerial goes to find Altyrn.
“I can try to stop them,” he says.
“Which ones? How will you keep up? The chaos-fire you saw to the east isn’t the only place they’ll fire. They’ve already moved on. Their mages rode up behind a company, threw some fire and withdrew.”
Lerial understands all too well, especially after riding on the tortuous paths of the Verd. If second company leaves the Verd, Lerial will likely be immediately outnumbered and forced to withdraw. “So what do we do?”
“Wait. The Verd is still damp, and the elders can minimize the spread. If Casseon’s men do attack in the darkness, they’ll risk taking huge losses among the trees. They’ll likely attack in force tomorrow.” Altyrn snorts. “If they attack tonight, I’ll have you awakened, never fear. For now, try to get some rest. You’ll have plenty to do tomorrow.”
Even before Lerial returns to the tent, he can smell the acrid odor of burning wood and vegetation, but he can see no fire, not even a dull red glow.
As he stands there, a short and broad-shouldered figure approaches. “Ser?”
He recognizes her. “Yes, Head Archer?”
“Do you know where we will be riding tomorrow?” Alaynara’s voice is low for a woman, but pleasant.
“Wherever the majer sends us. That will depend on where the Meroweyans are and what they’re doing.”
“You know you’re not what anyone thought?”
What anyone thought? “You mean by ‘anyone’ the people of the Verd? Or the Verdyn Lancers?”
“Both. It’s not as though the Lancers and the people are different.” Her smile is somehow sad, Lerial thinks.
“Sometimes, those who are younger don’t see things the same as those who are older.”
“Especially when the younger ones are fighting and dying. Is that what you mean?”
“I have thought that. What did you mean by my being different? That I’m fighting instead of merely being here and conferring with the elders?”
“Mostly. But you also saved Haermish when it might have killed you.”
Her words embarrass Lerial, and he quickly replies, “I did what I could … and it was after we got back.”
“You like to think of yourself as practical, don’t you?”
“I try.” He almost laughs, thinking how that description would have amused his father.
“Practicality has to include who we are.”
“That’s why you’re fighting,” he points out.
“I thought you would understand. The majer does. I hope your father does also. Good night, ser.” With a polite nod, Alaynara slips away into the darkness.
For a time, Lerial stands there. Did she seek you out just to make that point? Why? You’re not even the heir.