Moraris turns slightly. “Haelcyna … I need the head archer. Pass the word.”
“Yes, squad leader.”
Lerial looks at Moraris, thinking once more how the Lancer looks more like a trader, and asks, “Where do you think fourth squad would be most effective?”
“On the flank. Archers aren’t trained or armed to repulse a frontal attack.”
“That’s true.” Lerial nods.
Alaynara hurries toward the two, then stops and inclines her head. “Ser, Squad Leader?” Her voice is low and pleasantly polite.
“We’d like your advice,” Lerial admits. “If the Meroweyans attack from the road … if they do … where would be the best place for your archers?”
“Against a shieldwall front? What do you want us to do? For how long?”
Lerial almost blurts out, “Kill as many as possible, of course,” but realizes just before he does what she means.
“They’ll likely continue with the shieldwall,” he begins, although that is merely a calculated guess on his part. “They’ll try to shield those who will make the first attempts to cross the stream … try to get them as close as possible to the water before exposing them.”
Alaynara nods thoughtfully. “We ought to be to the side some, not so much that we can’t shoot down the road if necessary, but we’ll have a better chance if we have an angle on the column.”
“How do you…?” Lerial shakes his head.
“In some ways, it’s like hunting. It’s hard to hit a red deer head-on. If you do, there’s a better chance of bringing him down with a single shaft, but a greater chance of missing if he moves suddenly. In fighting, it’s obvious that you want every shaft to count in some way. If you wound more, rather than just kill a few, the fewer that are left to fight.”
Lerial can sense grudging agreement from Moraris. “You two have the same general views. The squad leader doesn’t think your archers would be used to their best advantage in a head-on confrontation, and you think a slight angle will allow you to cover both the road and the attack. Good. We’ll leave first and second squads where they are, but I’ll have you and third squad switch positions.” He smiles. “Thank you both.”
When Lerial turns and leaves to inform Fhentaar of the change, he can sense a certain veiled amusement from Alaynara. Moraris does not seem upset, even possibly relieved that Lerial has not placed fourth squad closer to the bridge abutments.
Lerial continues toward the bridge, or where it had been, wondering when the Meroweyans will attack … and how.
LXX
Slightly before seventh glass on eightday morning, Lerial hears regular thudding sounds, but cannot see anything. He even checks the white and gray puffy clouds for lightning and thunder. While there are certainly flows of order that will likely bring rain and lightning later in the day, he senses nothing within the clouds immediately overhead. Scanning the road and the woods with his order-senses, he finally locates three men some hundred yards west of the stream and on the south side of the road. At first, for just a moment, he thinks that they are swinging at a midsized tree with blades, but almost immediately realizes that they are using axes to cut down the tree, which slowly topples. The axemen move to another tree. Lerial studies the area some more and finds that a squad of armsmen is drawn up near the loggers.
With that information, Lerial hurries along the ground behind the trenches, glancing to the east as he hears a mount whinny. He can sense but not see where the Lancer mounts are tied, in the trees adjoining the road, but a good fifty yards from the back of the trenches. He sees Altyrn in the shade just south of the road and behind the earthworks. Lerial also notices Donnael and Ruethana of the elders walking away from the majer.
Lerial glances up at the clouds once more, wondering if Ruethana is a weather mage as well as Donnael … and what they may be able to do, if anything, when the Meroweyans attack. A few yards away from Altyrn, he stops and says, “They’re chopping down trees, and they have at least an armed squad protecting them. They’re staying off the road and out of sight.”
“That makes sense. How long before they have enough trees to create a bridge, do you think?”
“They’re working fast, but they’ll have to trim the trunks as well. At least a glass.”
“More like two.”
“We could slow them down with arrows,” suggests Lerial.
“How many shafts would it take? Could they even get through the brush and trees? If you were successful, how many arrows would it cost us? And to what result?”
Lerial understands. “Yes, ser.”
“Let me know what else you find.”
“Yes, ser.”
Lerial returns to second company and keeps watching. Before long, the three loggers have felled two more trees of the same size. Other men have joined the first three, but the new arrivals work at cutting away limbs and branches, while the three initial loggers move on to another pair of trees.
Somewhere farther to the southwest, Lerial can vaguely sense both riders and a faint chaos mist, a good indication that the Meroweyans have left Ironwood and are approaching on the main road. There is no smoke rising from the woods, suggesting that the attackers have not put the hamlet to the torch. But then, no one opposed them there. So far, they have only fired the hamlets and towns where they were opposed. Lerial shakes his head. The Meroweyan force more to the west fired two hamlets. Then he reconsiders. You don’t know if the people there opposed or attacked them.
He takes a slow deep breath. There is so much he does not know, and he wonders if war is always like this … never knowing everything, and sometimes almost nothing about the enemy, and trying to outthink and anticipate what one’s enemy might do.
A glass later, the loggers have stopped felling trees. As well as he can determine from order-sensing, they have cut about ten trees, none of them particularly large, but all moderately tall and straight, and all of those around the trees are trimming them. In time, the men begin to move the tree trunks, all cut to the same length, until they are within a few yards of the grass and low brush flanking the road. By now, Lerial can sense the main body far more clearly, although they are still indistinct to his eyes, over a kay to the west on the road. The shadows come and go as the clouds pass over, seemingly closer together and larger as the morning draws on.
There are few woodland sounds, except for the traitor birds, several of whom apparently are taking delight in flying around the loggers in the woods, alighting on branches and offering their irritatingly cheerful and loud chirps. Only one of the traitor birds come near enough to Lerial so that he can see its yellow-banded black wings, but the calls that sound like twirrpp are identification enough.
Lerial senses someone approaching from behind, and he turns to see Altyrn walking toward him.
“Two glasses,” says Lerial. “You were right. The shieldmen are half a kay down the road, and they’ve got ten small to moderate tree trunks cut and ready to go.”
Altyrn nods. “They’ll bring up the shieldmen to give cover to the men who will carry the trunks toward the stream. Your Lancers and archers are not to fire at them. First company will. Unless something changes, you’re to target the main body, but not until they attack and I give you the order.”
“Yes, ser.”
Once the majer leaves, Lerial turns and tells Korlyn, “I need to talk to the head archer. I’ll be back in a few moments.” Keeping his head low, Lerial hurries northward along the trench until he reaches fourth squad, about thirty yards north of where the bridge had been.
“Squad Leader! Head Archer!” Lerial waits for Moraris and Alaynara to join him, then relays the majer’s instructions.
“The main body is out of range,” Moraris points out.