Abruptly, Lerial can sense, almost with brilliant light, the interplay between another level of order and chaos, an interplay within all things, from the air he breathes to the ground on which he stands. With that understanding, he begins to separate order and chaos in the ground under the mounted Meroweyan formation.
He has barely begun-or so he thinks-when he senses something-immense power-and he frantically drops trying more order-chaos separation and flings up a triple ten-line order coil with the power going anywhere but along the Verdyn trenches.
HSSSST!!!!
Lightning flares from ground and sky, crisscrossing and searing men, grass, shields, and mounts. Thunder with the force of mighty winds slams into everything, and Lerial can sense armsmen before the earthworks being flattened-just before he is flung against the back of the trench with enough force that for several moments, he cannot move or breathe. Then he struggles up and looks over the embankment as a wave of the unseen silver-gray flows over him. His head feels as though it is being pounded with a wooden mallet, and his eyes burn, leaving his vision blurry. He squints. That sharpens his sight enough that he can make out what lies below the low rise.
Half, if not more, of the Meroweyan foot force is strewn across the grass, much of which retains its tan-tipped green, if with an irregular crosshatched pattern of black lightning burns.
“Fifth company! Charge!”
From the west, Shaskyn’s two squads race toward the disorganized remnants of the cavalry around the chaos wizards and, most likely, the force commander … if they have even survived. Shaskyn leads that charge, a sabre in each hand, guiding his mount with his legs and knees. Then a squad of first company’s Lancers charges on foot from the trenches toward the Meroweyan armsmen remaining in front of the trenches, with fourth company’s Lancers following.
Lerial thinks about having second company follow that example, but his eyes go to the mounted riders still swirling around the rear-and Shaskyn’s outnumbered squads. “Second company! Lancers! Mount up!” Then he hurries around one of the stick figures, and is about to leap out of the trench, only to hear someone moaning.
That someone is Korlyn, half sitting, half propped against the back of the trench between two stick figures-with a javelin through his lower chest just below his breastbone.
“Ser…”
Lerial glances from Korlyn back across the embankment to the south, where he sees the scattered remnants of the mounted troopers starting to regroup, and regrouping around a chaos concealment screen. Frig! He glances at Korlyn, seeing the pleading look. He can sense that in all likelihood, nothing he can do will save Korlyn. In all likelihood …
“Ser…”
Nothing he can likely do will save Korlyn from that kind of wound. Yet … he might …
He wants to shake his head, because the last thing he wants is the Meroweyans to reform and rally to destroy the Verdyn Lancers. If that should occur … he doesn’t have time to think about that. He has to act. While second company may be tired, the mounts aren’t. He looks to Korlyn. “I’ll be back,” he says, knowing that he will not see the squad leader alive again. “Second company! Mount up! Now!”
“Ser?” calls Bhurl.
“We have to stop them from re-forming…” Lerial doesn’t need to explain. “Mount up! Now! On me!” He is already trotting back to where the mounts are. “Moraris! Mount the archers and hold them here!”
“Mount up!” echoes Fhentaar.
“Squad one! Mount up! On me!” Lerial yells again.
Lerial chafes at the time it takes before the first three squads are moving around the end of the trenches with three squads abreast in a five-man front. Before them lies a confusion of fallen men, patches of burning grass, and swirls of gray and black smoke. Although he has not heard any commands, the two squads from first company have already joined the fray around where the Meroweyan wizards were, and where, from the diminished chaos shield he senses, one still is. While fifth company is attacking from the west and first from the east, even with blurred vision Lerial can see that the Meroweyans are beginning to re-form in the middle … and that is where he leads second company.
“Sabres ready!” Lerial orders, belatedly, hoping that the Lancers have anticipated him and, with a quick glance around and behind him, seeing that some have not and are struggling to draw weapons. With that observation, a single thought crosses his mind. Is this really a good idea? Bad idea or not, he and second company are committed, and he scans the still somewhat disorganized Meroweyan horse troopers less than fifty yards away.
The very emergence of another company from the swirling smoke prompts some of the Meroweyans to turn their horses and attempt to flee, but most spur their mounts toward second company, if in a ragged and very uneven line, with gaps here and there. Before Lerial almost knows it, a tall Meroweyan rider waving a very long blade, or so it seems to Lerial, is bearing down on him.
Lerial flattens himself under the wild cut, then uses a thrusting slash, guided more by order-sense than vision, into the brown-uniformed horse trooper’s shoulder, half yanking, half slipping his sabre away from the wounded man and using it almost as a short lance against the next trooper-who does not even see it coming. After that, he barely manages to block a side cut from another Meroweyan, and has to lean to one side in the saddle, almost unbalancing himself before managing to regain balance and initiative.
While he is alternately attacking and defending himself, he can sense that the chaos shield is moving away-toward the south, back toward Merowey, and there is nothing he can do about it. Not yet. All he can do is cut, thrust, parry, duck, twist … whatever it takes to avoid getting hit, reacting to what his order-senses tell him is likely coming.
Then … suddenly, it seems, there is no one left to fight, and second company is near the trees on the south side of the meadow, not all that far from the road that leads south back to empty or destroyed hamlets … and to Merowey.
Much as Lerial has tried to cut through the disorganized Meroweyan forces quickly, the small band of Meroweyans that surround the chaos wizard are close to a kay south of the meadow.
“Second company! Re-form! On me! Second squad forward.” Lerial has to repeat the command several times. Although it seems as though it takes glasses before the company is in a column heading south, with Bhurl riding beside him, second squad behind, followed by first squad, and then third squad, he doubts that it has taken more than a fifth of a glass.
He sets the pace at a walk, a good walk, but running the horses won’t help. The Meroweyans have run theirs, and they are already slowing. But he cannot allow the Meroweyans to escape, even if his head continues to throb and his vision to blur.
That he knows, even if he could not explain why that is so.
In less than a fraction of a glass after Lerial begins the pursuit of the remaining Meroweyan forces, he realizes that no one, especially Altyrn, will know what he is doing. He should have thought of that, but it is hard to think of everything. Especially when your head feels like it’s splitting. For a moment, he looks to find Korlyn, then realizes, with a sinking feeling, that he will not see that round cheerful face again.
He looks to the second squad leader, who has been riding silently beside him. “Bhurl? Is there anyone with us who is only slightly wounded? Someone who could carry a message back to Majer Altyrn?”
“Yes, ser. Jharem could. Slash on his arm. Insisted he could still fight.”