“I’ve been checking the Meroweyan positions and how they line up against us and against the woods.” Altyrn walks over under the awning, but does not sit down behind the table.
“What I need for you and your archers to do is to create a number of fires amid their supply wagons. Those wagons are still mostly on the west end of the ridge. That’s because it’s close to the road. They’re worried about rain … as if it’s going to rain any time soon. It’s not looking to be cloudy tonight, and that will make it easier for them to see you. But if we wait until it’s dark and cloudy, we’ll still be waiting when Casseon’s men charge over us. That’s why I asked about concealing one squad.” The majer pauses. “You can’t throw firebolts, can you?”
“No, ser.”
“I didn’t think so, but it never hurts to ask.” He looks at Lerial. “Do you know why?”
“Because sometimes you think something is so, based on what you believe, but it’s not, and you won’t find out if you don’t ask.”
“Exactly. Now … since you can’t throw firebolts, your archers will. You’ll need to get close enough to put fire arrows into the wagons and everything around them.”
“Ser … we’re already short on arrows-”
The majer holds up his hand. “You don’t need to waste good war arrows. Send some rankers to the third supply wagon. We’ve got fire arrows there. They’re easier and faster to make because we don’t need barbed iron heads. We’ve also got some oil bottles. The archers will have to share, and your squad leader will need to make sure they’re distributed so that every archer can get to one quickly…” Altyrn continues with his instructions, but when he finishes he asks, “Any questions?”
“How much do you want me to risk the archers?”
“As little as possible, but we need to have enough fire arrows hitting things to get them to burn. The faster they can release shafts the less likely any mages can stop you. I also don’t want to explain to your father how you ignored caution and became a dead hero.” Altyrn offers a grim smile. “Remember, one of the ways to be successful in war is to make your enemies make all the gallant but useless sacrifices…”
Gallant but useless sacrifices … Lerial wants to keep that in mind.
“… should be as dark as it’s going to get by eighth glass…”
In the middle of the majer’s explanation, Lerial realizes something he should have picked up earlier. “Ser…?”
“Yes?” Altyrn’s voice carries mild exasperation.
“To get close enough, I think we’ll need to move under concealment. I can sense where I am, but no one else can. I need two long, long lengths of rope or really strong cord. That way-”
“I understand. How long? You think twenty yards?”
“At least twenty. Twenty-five might be better.”
“I’ll have it at the supply wagon later. Now…”
Once the majer has finished explaining, Lerial heads back to find Moraris.
The squad leader has an apprehensive expression as Lerial joins him. “Ser?”
“We’re going to make a night attack on the wagons marshaled near the west end of the Meroweyan position. With fire arrows. We won’t need any more war arrows. You’re to take the archers to the third supply wagon and draw special arrows and oil. Let me know if they don’t have enough iron and flints.” Lerial takes a deep breath. “They’re going to have to trust me again, because they won’t be able to see for a good part of the approach if I conceal us from their sentries and scouts. If I don’t, we won’t be able to get close enough to do what we need to do … not without taking a lot of casualties…”
“Ser … best we talk with the head archer. She’ll have to instruct the others.”
Of course. Once more, Lerial feels stupid, and even stupider for not recalling the name of the head archer-which he ought to know.
“Begging your pardon, ser, but I told Alaynara to stand by. Figured we might need her thoughts.”
“We do.” Lerial decides to say as little as possible.
The squad leader motions, and a short and squarish woman walks away from the women of fourth squad. She has broad shoulders, reddish brown hair cut squarely a digit or so above the back of her uniform tunic, a lightly freckled face, and a nose slightly too small. Lerial suspects she is among the older rankers, possibly older even than Korlyn, but not as old as Bhurl.
“Ser?” Her voice is neither high nor low.
“We need to talk over the approach to the Meroweyan camp,” Lerial says. “I’d thought that you could loft arrows-they’ll be fire arrows-up the slope and down onto their supply wagons. You’ll have to be mounted. How close do we need to get?”
“Uphill … not that much of a slope…” Alaynara tilts her head slightly. “We could do two hundred, but closer is better. First volley will be a guess. Fire arrows, though, they’ll let us see the range better than war arrows…”
As she talks, Lerial mentally revises some of what he has planned. When she finishes, he says. “The other thing is that to get close enough, we’re going to have to ride under a concealment … the blackness I used at the ambush this morning.”
“How will we know where to go?”
“I’d thought to use cord from rider to rider. I can tell where to go, but I can’t be calling out directions.”
The head archer nods. “Ought to work. Can’t be that much worse than night riding in the deep Verd.”
When he finishes with Moraris and Alaynara, Lerial walks to the west end of the Lancer positions and begins to study the Meroweyan positions. He especially notes where there are large clumps of bushes, few as those are. After a time, he returns to second company, checking the tie-line near the woods where the mounts are tethered. That arrangement and the fact that the supply wagons have not been unloaded suggests to Lerial that Altyrn thinks that they may have to withdraw on very short notice. It’s not a comforting observation.
Lerial forces himself to eat when dinner is ready-ghano hash between dry acorn bread slices, washed down with either water or greenberry … or the combination of the two that Lerial can get down. After obtaining lengths of cordage from the supply wagon, and turning them over to Moraris, he forces himself to take his time getting ready, and he offers last-moment orders to Moraris about a third before eighth glass.
“We’ll ride west as a two-abreast column, and then, just before we’re opposite the target we’ll stop and pay out the cord so that each file can keep position. We’ll head south, still east of the road. I’m going to take us beside several areas that have clumps of bushes until we’re at a point where I’ll raise a concealment. Once we get in range, I’ll drop the concealment. When the archers can see the stars, I’ll give the command to dip the arrows and then strike their flints and light them. Then they keep dipping and firing them until they’re out of fire arrows … or if there’s a charge headed our way. That’s when we turn and leave as fast as we can.”
“No concealment on the way back, ser?” asks Moraris.
“There’s no reason for that. If they have white wizards, they’ll sense where we are from the concealment … once they know we’re there. And the fire arrows will give away our initial position anyway. They likely won’t be looking with chaos senses all the time before we get there. That’s too tiring.” That’s what your experience says. What if theirs is different? “If they sense us earlier, we’ll just have to break off the attack.”
Finally … fourth squad sets out westward, parallel to both lines, with Lerial at the head of one file, and Moraris at the head of the other.
When they’re opposite their target, Lerial turns the squad and starts south before calling a halt and giving the order, “Pay out the cord to each file.”
While he waits for the guiding cord to reach the last ranker in each file, Lerial again tries to sense, without reaching out, whether the Meroweyan white wizards are showing any sign of having discovered them. So far, they are not moving, nor are they doing anything different. Then, too, they could be watching to see if you get closer, or waiting until you do.