“I think so … except there was too much order. There had to be too much chaos with that much fire.”
“What happened in the west of the Verd won’t help us tomorrow,” Altyrn says. “According to the scouts, they still have fifteen companies. In actual numbers, we have less than four, perhaps even less than three if we don’t count the riding wounded.”
“That’s why all the stick figures?”
“They’ve helped before. At the very least, they should slow the Meroweyan advance, until someone gets close enough to see that’s what they are. That should give us enough time to bring down more of their armsmen before we have to withdraw.” Altyrn pauses. “Is there any possibility that you…”
“If their white wizards throw chaos at us, I can often-not always”-That’s not something you ever want to promise as certain-“divert some of it back onto their forces.”
“If you can, that would be helpful.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
“That’s all I can ask.”
“I’d better get back to my company and make sure the stick figures look as real as possible.” And keep working on some other way to use your abilities against the Meroweyans.
“Go.” The single word is delivered lightly, with a humorous smile, if one that vanishes even before Lerial turns.
The rest of threeday is long, but by the time the sun drops behind the trees at the west end of the meadow, the modest earthworks do indeed look like they shelter more than twice as many Lancers as will be actually holding the defenses.
Lerial is tired, not from what he has to do as company commander, but from what he has been attempting to discover. For all the ways he has tried to use order, by the time he stretches out in the tent he shares with Altyrn, he still cannot find a way to draw enough chaos from the area around him to create more than a tiny fireball. Chaos wizards can do it. So can great ordermages. He looks through the darkness at the fabric overhead. But you’re not a great ordermage, and you must be doing something wrong. Not necessarily wrong, he decides. It’s just that he doesn’t know how to do it right. Before his eyes close, he just hopes that he can find a way … before it’s too late.
LXXV
When Lerial wakes on fourday, he has no new ideas.
Perhaps you’ll get one. Right now? Not likely. He snorts softly as he pulls on his boots and looks out at the sky that is still gray-but very clear. And perhaps thunderclouds will appear from nowhere.
Early as it is, Altyrn is already awake and gone, doubtless looking over the meadow and checking the reports from the scouts and dispatching more scouts. Lerial shakes out his blanket, rolls it up and slips it into the loops on the side of his kit bag, then puts on his visor cap and goes to look for the majer. He finds Altyrn at the edge of the trees on the north side of the meadow, looking southward at the trenches. In the low light before dawn, the stick figures, even from behind, look convincing.
“They don’t look bad, ser … the stick figures, I mean.”
“If they just keep the Meroweyans together for a time, that will be helpful.”
“They’ll help,” Lerial affirms.
“For long enough? We’ll see.”
“What have the scouts reported?”
“The Meroweyans are forming up in a very small hamlet. They’re about two kays south. Might be a little less.”
Lerial extends his order-senses. While he can sense a mass of men in and around some dwellings on a lane some two kays south, there are so many Meroweyans in such a small areas that he cannot make out details. “Have you heard any more about Juist and Denieryn?”
“No. We won’t hear anything until after whatever happens here today. That’s if the Meroweyans even decide to attack.”
“You think they won’t?”
“You never know until it happens. I just hope they haven’t heard too much about what happened at Faerwest. That might decide them against attacking.”
Lerial understands that Altyrn definitely wants the Meroweyans to attack, outnumbered as the majer’s forces are.
“So that, even if they decide to withdraw, they lose more armsmen?”
“The more they lose here, the less likely Casseon is to consider attacking again … or opposing your father. It would be best if we could defeat them decisively, but that’s unlikely. If we can hold together for a few more battles, and they keep taking the kind of casualties they have been, they might get to the point where their commander will realize that there’s little difference, so far as he’s concerned, between a victory and a defeat. That’s when things could get very deadly.”
“Because he’ll be facing one disaster if he continues and another disaster if he has to return to Nubyat?”
Altyrn nods, still looking at the defense emplacements largely garrisoned by stick figures at the moment. When he does not speak for a time, Lerial slips away to seek out his squad leaders and go over the plans for the day. They are simple enough, not that executing them will be anywhere close to that simple. Or that things will work out even close to what the majer has planned.
In order to dissuade the Meroweyans from immediately using their horse to sweep over the ends of the ridge beyond the trench, Altyrn has assigned two mounted squads from first company at the east end, and two from fifth company at the west end. The remainder of first company is to hold the center of the trench, with second company on the east and fourth on the west of center. All the mounts for the Lancers and archers in the trenches are on tie-lines on the back side of the rise, close enough for the Lancers to reach them in moments, long moments perhaps, when the time comes for the withdrawal. The inevitable withdrawal, thinks Lerial.
Once he reviews the postings with the four squad leaders, he dismisses them to have them position their rankers. Then he grooms the gelding and leads him out to the tie-line below the ridge. From what he can order-sense, the Meroweyans have left their encampment-or most have, since a small group, perhaps a squad’s worth of cooks or others, remains-and are proceeding along the main road toward the meadow and the Verdyn emplacements.
He studies the sky once more, but there are no signs of clouds, and the wind is warm and out of the north. He tests the order and chaos in the air by creating the smallest of clouds by separating the order and chaos, then shakes his head, knowing that he is missing something, but is unable to determine what he is overlooking. Or what you do not know.
“How long before they get here, ser?” That is the first question Korlyn asks after reporting that first squad is in position and standing ready.
“A glass or so.”
“You said fifteen companies?”
Lerial notes the uneasiness in the squad leader’s tone and replies, “We don’t have to hold the trench to the last ranker. Our job is to inflict as many casualties as possible and then withdraw.” And keep doing it, retreating from place to place, until we destroy them, or they us, or they decide it isn’t worth it and go away.
Korlyn looks pointedly to the east, then asks earnestly, his open round face expressing worry. “How long do you think it will be before they try to circle around the ridge?”
“As soon as they think they can. Our job is to send arrows and spears into their main body so that they don’t have time to think about what else they might do.”
“What if they don’t attack?”
“Most likely they’ll get hungry and they’ll have to start raiding the local people, and the people will hide everything. Then the Meroweyans will start losing men one by one, and they’ll try to take another town. We’ll be waiting, and they’ll be attacking with fewer men.”
“They’ll start killing people in the forest steads and smaller hamlets. It’ll be hard on them.”