The other three companies are spaced equally far apart, roughly twenty yards of open grassland between each formation, and consist of four squads with two squads in front and two behind, each squad showing a five-man front. To Lerial’s senses, all three companies are “misted” in chaos, as if each protects a wizard who has created a chaos blur.
But then, one wizard could have cast that mist, and how can you tell where he is? Or if he is anywhere close to any of the companies?
Ahead, the wide path ends in a narrow clearing, no more than twelve yards deep and perhaps forty long, barely large enough to fit second company.
“The grasslands lie a little more than a hundred yards to the southeast,” says the wayguide. “The trees are closer here than elsewhere, but there is enough space for a rider to pass until you reach the thornbushes. They do not begin until you are within fifty yards of the trunk-wall.”
Lerial nods, considering. Then turns in the saddle to Korlyn. “I’m going to take second squad with me, closer to the Meroweyans. You’re in charge of the rest of the company. Keep them ready to charge-or withdraw immediately.” What Lerial doesn’t mention is arrows. Only the archers of fourth squad have any shafts left, and those amount to but two or three for each archer. He is holding fourth squad in reserve, to fire several quick volleys to slow a Meroweyn charge, if necessary and practical. He hopes it is not necessary.
“Form up by squads. Five-man front! First squad on me!” Lerial rides to the west end of the clearing, making it easier for the company to re-form from the two-file column. While the squads are moving into position, he uses his order senses to check the Meroweyan advance. By now the shielded line of the Meroweyans is perhaps a hundred yards from the edge of the Verd.
Lerial immediately rides over to Bhurl, the second squad leader. “Have second squad accompany me-now-through the trees to the edge of the burned space. Or as far as we can go,” he adds quickly, thinking about the thornbushes.
“Yes, ser.” Bhurl turns. “You two! Flank the captain. Second squad! Forward!”
Lerial waits only a few moments for the two rankers to join him before urging the gelding through the trees on the south side of the clearing. While there are small bushes amid the massive trunks, and occasionally smaller and lower trees, covering the first fifty cubits or so is not all that hard … not until he reaches the massive and tangled thornbushes that are almost as high as the gelding’s ears. He reins up a few yards short of the thorny mass.
At least, the Meroweyans aren’t coming through here without clearing the way. Except he knows all too well that they will be clearing the way-unless he can stop them-with chaos-fire.
“Form a line abreast, two deep, as best you can,” he orders.
While the Verdyn Lancers are moving into position, Lerial again checks the position of the lead Meroweyan force, but, as he does, he senses the lightest of … something … tinged with chaos.
Is that what a chaos-sensing probe feels like? That is his guess, but it is only a guess.
The center company of Meroweyans halts roughly fifty yards from the edge of the Verd, or where that edge had been before being turned to ash and charcoaled tree trunks. The two trailing companies halt farther back, perhaps a hundred yards.
“The closest Meroweyans are about a hundred yards away,” Lerial tells Bhurl.
“You’ve got better eyes than me, ser,” replies the squad leader.
A modest fireball arcs from the lead force toward the back of the burned-out area, or the thornbushes and trees at the beginning of the unburned woods.
Lerial counters with a small pattern to redirect the firebolt back at the chaos wizard, but he can sense something, shields or the like, and the chaos-fire sprays away from the wizard. Lerial winces inside as he feels the silver-white blackness that Reksyl has said shows death. Although he cannot tell how many armsmen near the wizard have perished, he feels it is more than a single man, but not a large group.
Two far larger firebolts arch north, not toward the edge of the Verd, but toward Lerial and second squad. Given the shields shown by the first mage, Lerial creates two patterns, but both are angle-linked to redirect the chaos back toward the westernmost wizard, the one Lerial feels, although he cannot say why, is the weakest of the three he faces.
The wizard’s shields hold, but chaos flashes away from them, and a wave of silvered black-gray death flows from the Meroweyan company.
Even before that chaos subsides completely, three firebolts-one from each Meroweyan wizard-sear toward Lerial.
Lerial has to struggle to complete three coil patterns, and the fireballs fuse-sending flame into the trees and thornbushes less than thirty yards from him-before flaring back toward the westernmost wizard. The wizard’s shields tremble, then fragment, and chaos fire splashes out across the entire Meroweyan company.
“… flaming sowshit…” murmurs one of the rankers slightly behind but flanking him.
Sweat runs down Lerial’s face, and his eyes sting from the small amount that flows into his eyes. He finds he is breathing hard … and that two more firebolts are headed toward him.
It’s more than clear that he’s in a trap. But how … He doesn’t have time for such thoughts as he wrestles another pair of patterns into place.
The two firebolts fuse, even closer to second squad, and more trees and thornbushes go up in near-instant flame, while heat washes over Lerial and the squad. But the patterns hold, and the redirected chaos-bolt flies toward the chaos wizard shielded by the easternmost company, the stops short of him and sheets in all directions. Another wave of gray-silvered whiteness rolls back toward Lerial, a wave unseen and unfelt by any in the Verdyn force, Lerial suspects, except himself and likely the wayguide, who waits at the back of the clearing.
Another chaos-bolt flies toward Lerial, this one from the easternmost company, but only one. Again, he creates the diversion pattern, but almost as he finishes it, another comes from the closest chaos mage, the one Lerial feels is the strongest.
Lerial can barely manage another diversion pattern, and the wizard’s shields shunt the redirected chaos back into the edges of the burned-out area, the corrosive fire disintegrating more of the massive trunk wall that had guarded the Verd for so many centuries. He can feel the trees and the thornbushes in front of him beginning to spin, and knows he cannot divert another chaos-bolt, even a few yards away.
“Second squad!” he manages somehow. “Withdraw now!”
He has to hang on to the gelding’s mane, just concentrating on staying in the saddle, as he turns his mount and urges him back through the trees as quickly as he can. He yells out, “Second company! Withdraw now! Now!”
“Ser! Are you all right?” demands Korlyn.
“Withdraw, frig it! We can’t do any more here.”
“We haven’t taken any-”
“That’s because none of the firebolts have hit us yet. They will if we stay here. I can’t-”
At that moment, another firebolt arches over the trees, right toward Lerial and Korlyn and the center of second company.
Frigging sowshit! Lerial throws up another diversion pattern, a weak one, but all he can manage.
Then heat and hot blackness crush him down.
LXII
“You may be the son of a Duke, Captain, but you won’t be for long if you keep this up.” The gentle words are the first sounds Lerial recognizes as he swims out of a haze of fireballs and darkness, of burning trees and acrid smoke. Except … there are no trees, and he is lying on his back in a tent in darkness, and the Verdyn healer is blotting his forehead with a cool cloth. She lifts the cloth.