“Have you heard anything, ser?” asks Bhurl, the second squad leader, a square-faced and stolid former ranker.
“Nothing new. Have you?”
“Word is that fourth company came back in. They lost near-on half a squad to those fireballs. Good thing we left when we did.”
Lerial smiles. “We made a tactical withdrawal, and you’re right. It was a good thing we did.”
“Ah … yes, ser.”
Lerial can see that Bhurl is having trouble concealing a grin.
Lerial talks in turn to Fhentaar, the Lancer ranker who is third squad leader, and is about to make his way to fourth squad when he sees Altyrn striding toward him. He turns and meets the majer. “I heard that fourth company returned, ser.”
“They did. Kusyl was a bit more adventurous than I would have preferred. They took out almost an entire company. It cost them almost a full squad, half dead, and the other half burned or wounded. The archers didn’t take any casualties.”
Although the majer’s tone is level, Lerial gets the impression that Altyrn is relieved that the archer squad has suffered no casualties … and he doesn’t think that it’s because the archer rankers are women. “You have more plans for the archers?”
“Outnumbered six to one, shouldn’t we?” The majer’s words are sardonically biting.
Lerial feels stupid for asking the question, rhetorical as it was. “I should have asked what they are, ser. It’s obvious we need to reduce their numbers while risking our own forces as little as possible.”
Altyrn actually grins. “I knew what you meant. Neither your father nor Majer Phortyn would have stopped to think about what you meant, rather than what you said. Most senior officers don’t want to guess at meanings in battle. Some can’t.”
Six to one? That was more than twice what Lerial had estimated. “I couldn’t count them this morning, but there had to be more than twenty-five hundred.”
“It’s difficult to tell anywhere close to exact numbers,” Altyrn goes on, “but they’ve got close to eight battalions. That’s if the reports from the scouts are accurate.”
Battalions? Lerial has to think for a moment. “Do they have four or five companies to a battalion?”
“Five, usually. That’s what I’m basing the number of battalions on. They’re settling in for a methodical assault on the Verd. We have to keep them off-balance.”
“Using the archers as much as you can from where they can’t easily retaliate?”
“That’s the idea. They also know that’s what we’ll have to do. That’s why they’ve set up camp on hilltops surrounded by relatively open ground. Can you conceal a squad for half a glass?”
Lerial considers. “Most likely.” Then he adds, “except I can’t conceal any dust raised and left behind if they’re riding.”
This time, Altyrn frowns. After a moment, he says, “You’re good in the dark. Are you good enough to locate wagons from a distance?”
“From a kay away, maybe farther.”
“That should do. Come and see me in a glass, but have your fourth squad prepare for an evolution after full dark tonight.”
“Yes, ser.”
With that, the majer turns and heads in the direction of the small awning.
Lerial looks to the south. The Meroweyans are completing positions some two kays to the southwest, opposite the Verdyn position along a ridge that is more like a long hill. Although the largely flat crest of the ridge is a good twenty to thirty yards lower than where Altyrn’s forces are marshaled, between the two forces is a shallow valley more than a kay wide. For either force to attack the other directly will require an uphill advance.
Somehow, Lerial doesn’t see that happening, not immediately.
But the way they outnumber us … At the same time, after the majer’s explanations of how the larger three duchies distrust each other, Lerial can see why Casseon would prefer to lose as few armsmen as possible. That means outflanking us until we’re forced to retreat behind the trees. Then they’ll burn their way through in so many places that we’ll be spread too thin to stop them … unless the majer has a better plan.
Lerial then continues toward fourth squad, slowing as he sees Moraris talking with another Mirror Lancer that Lerial only recognizes by sight and not by name. He stops and slips behind a cart, extending his order sense and trying to hear what the two are saying and what may be passing between the two.
“… any spare shafts?”
“… if I did, Moraris, wouldn’t be trading ’em to you, not after-”
“I made it up to you, didn’t I?”
“Not until … you know … What about the undercaptain? Green as he looks?”
“Green? Some ways. Stiff … like all young officers … scary, too. Part ordermage, and he’d take you and me apart with a blade.”
“… until he’s against someone out to kill him…”
The stocky Moraris shakes his head. “Talked to Juist. Undercaptain’s already killed a raider who charged him, even before he was a Lancer. This morning … fireballs falling all around us … kept his head, got us out…”
“An undercaptain you like … that’s something…”
“Don’t know about like … know it’s not good to cross him … not because of his da, either…”
“… keep that in mind…”
“About those shafts…”
“Not on your life or mine…” The other Lancer turns away.
Lerial waits a moment, then slips from behind the cart and continues toward the acting squad leader.
Moraris turns and starts, as if he hadn’t expected Lerial. “Ser?”
“I saw you talking to…?”
“Saetaln … he’s got second squad under Shaskyn, I mean, acting undercaptain Shaskyn.”
Although Lerial doesn’t recall anything about Saetaln, Shaskyn is a senior ranker who had been a squad leader, but demoted a season back for questioning a captain’s order. When Lerial had asked why Altyrn had selected him as an acting undercaptain of fifth company, the majer had just said that the offended captain was Akyael, an officer Lerial has never heard of, and said that Shaskyn was good in a fight, and that, one way or another, it wouldn’t matter.
Lerial nods and says, “Undercaptain Shaskyn is supposed to be good in a fight.”
“Angel-flamed good, ser.” Moraris starts to go on, but abruptly closes his mouth. “The past won’t matter if we all do well here,” Lerial replies. “I wanted to let you know that the majer has something special planned for you, me, and fourth squad after dark this evening. I don’t know the details yet, but I wanted you to know.”
“We don’t have that many shafts left, ser … six for each archer.”
“I’ll let him know that when I meet with him.” If we have to we can take shafts from the first three squads. “How are things going otherwise?”
“They rode well this morning. Good shots, too. Head archer is really good.” Moraris’s smile is a little too warm.
Lerial decides he will have to watch that and says, “The majer wants hands off any Verdyn women, archers or not.”
“Yes, ser. They are good archers.”
“Far better than I’d be with a bow.” Lerial smiles pleasantly. “I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”
“Yes, ser.”
Lerial can sense Moraris’s eyes on his back as he turns. He still wonders what the squad leader was going to trade to get extra shafts for his squad. He can’t fault Moraris’s interest in keeping his squad fully armed, but …
At fourth glass Lerial makes his way to the awning. The majer is not there. So Lerial waits, glancing around, especially toward the southwest. A few moments later, Altyrn rides up, accompanied by one of the Verdyn rankers, dismounts, and hands the reins to the ranker, who rides away, leading the majer’s mount.