“Yes, ser.”
“Then you’ll withdraw to the rear and mount up, and then each man will take one or two, as necessary, of fourth squad’s mounts and take a position behind third squad. Second squad will shoot down to one arrow per man, and then withdraw and hold third squad’s mounts.…” When Lerial finishes, he asks. “Are there any questions?”
“Ser … ah … what do we do after third squad withdraws?”
“We withdraw back downstream and take up a position on the flank of fifth company. That’s unless the majer has other orders for us by then. Any other questions?”
“No, ser.”
“Then go form up.”
Lerial watches as they do, hoping this plan will work better than the last one he designed by himself. Then he rides up and stations himself just at the edge of the trees, even with the front line of first squad.
After a short time, Korlyn calls out to Lerial, “Ser … the ground’s too soft on the lower slope closer.”
“What about a five-man front near the top of the bank?”
“I’d say that would be better, ser.”
“Go to a five-man front … and pass it back to second squad.”
“Yes, ser!”
It seems like more than a glass has passed before the Meroweyans come into view, but it is likely only about a third of a glass. While the sky continues to darken, there is no sign of rain. Lerial estimates that there are probably five companies in all, as Altyrn has said, and they extend back close to a hundred yards. Once again, they advance with foot-bearing shields, but these armsmen carry smaller round shields on their left arms and blades that look somewhat longer than sabres.
Shields and blades make sense with the softer and uneven ground. It also may be that they only have so many troopers with heavy shields. In addition, he can sense the faint chaos mist.
Lerial continues to watch as the Meroweyan foot move forward at a measured pace. He is trying to judge at what distance he should have first squad open fire and wonders when the white wizard will loose a fireball. From what he can tell, there is likely only one with the approaching force, but he has been wrong before in judging what he has faced.
At a hundred and fifty yards, Lerial orders, “First squad! Ready bows! Stand by to fire.”
“First squad, standing by,” replies Korlyn.
With just under a hundred yards between the forces, the Meroweyans break into a trot or lope toward the outnumbered first squad.
“First squad! Fire! Fire at will!”
In moments, several of the attackers are staggering or down under the continuing assault of war arrows. At least one has tripped on a sawed-off stump or the like, and the attack is slowing, if only slightly.
“First squad, ready to withdraw.”
Meaning that they’re out of shafts. “First squad, withdraw! On the double!”
Lerial turns the gelding and rides back toward second squad. “Second squad! Fire at will!” He reins up, looking beyond the first lines to the rear of the oncoming force. He can sense the chaos mist, but there is still no sign of a firebolt.
The Meroweyans keep coming, and the gap between the forces is more like sixty yards, although Lerial can see and sense that the war arrows, fired at such comparatively close range are taking a toll, despite the attackers’ shields, which are deflecting many of the Verdyn shafts.
All too soon, Lerial orders, “Second squad! Withdraw! Double time!”
He barely waits until the last second squad ranker has slipped past the fourth squad archers before ordering, “Fourth squad! Fire at will!”
The greater number of archers in fourth squad, and the speed with which they release their shafts, slows the Meroweyans, but the attackers are far too close, and Lerial wishes he had ordered first squad to begin shooting far earlier.
Again, he wonders why the Meroweyan wizard has not thrown a single firebolt. Because he’s been told to let the troopers do what they can? Because they’ve lost too many wizards? Still, he’s definitely glad that he hasn’t had to deflect any firebolts.
Overhead, thunder rumbles through the dark clouds, but there is not a hint of rain.
Lerial glances from the Meroweyan foot troopers, still advancing, if more slowly, now only forty yards away and holding their shields in a fashion to guard their chest and guts, and then back to fourth squad, where Alaynara stands in middle of the front rank of the archers, releasing shaft after shaft.
At that moment, he senses a strong buildup of chaos, just before a firebolt arches toward fourth squad from behind the still-advancing Meroweyan shields and foot.
Lerial concentrates, coldly, accurately, and like a crossbow quarrel, the firebolt sears straight back to the chaos wizard who created it-except that the wizard does something, and the firebolt, brighter than ever, and far stronger, slows, then reverses its course, arching higher and angling straight toward Lerial.
Lerial smiles grimly and sets out three fine-linked ten-line patterns, then clamps them around the firebolt. There! See how you like this!
WHHHUMPHT!!
Lerial gapes, openmouthed, as the firebolt splits into three unequal lines of flame-the largest one slamming back at the Meroweyan wizard, one fanning down on the lead ranks of the Meroweyan foot, and one narrower beam slashing into the middle of the fourth squad-where Alaynara and three other archers had stood loosing shafts a moment before.
Unseen silver-gray mists, but mists that Lerial can sense all too well, fill the entire area from the front of fourth squad to the rear of the Meroweyan force.
For several moments, Lerial sits frozen in the saddle. How did that happen?
With all that chaos in one firebolt … why hadn’t he considered where some of it might go when it could not return to him and some was blocked by the Meroweyan wizard’s shields? Why hadn’t he…?
Anticipation! Why didn’t you anticipate something like that?
His eyes keep looking for Alaynara and the other two archers.
“Ser!” calls Moraris. “Fourth squad is ready to withdraw!”
Lerial brings himself up short. “Fourth squad! Withdraw! Withdraw! Withdraw and mount!” He looks to the Meroweyan front, but the shielded foot have halted. For the moment.
He tries to see if he can tell anything about the casualties that he and second company have inflicted, but amid the lingering smoke and a misty haze rising from the damp ground that had once held at least a score of Meroweyan foot, he cannot tell.
“Third squad, withdraw now! Third squad! Withdraw now!” While Lerial would like to have Fhentaar’s squad use their shafts, the Meroweyans are beginning to regroup, and they are far, far too close.
“Third squad, withdrawing!”
Lerial keeps looking from his rankers to the Meroweyans and back again.
His eyes go back to second company. The archers have reached their horses and mounted, and third squad is beginning to mount. But the Meroweyans, at least some of them, are beginning to run toward second company. Realizing, almost belatedly, that he is the closest one to the attackers, he turns his mount and urges the gelding forward.