Korlyn rides up and says quietly, “Squad one in position, ser.”
“Good. Stand by.”
Shortly, Bhurl reports, followed by Fhentaar.
Then Lerial turns to Moraris. “Squad four. Forward.”
“Squad. Forward. Silent riding.”
As he rides, Lerial tilts his head, but can sense no clouds near, and there is so little wind in the stillness well before dawn that the archers should not have too much trouble lofting the fire arrows over the sentries.
A third of a glass later, Lerial halts fourth squad, then orders, as quietly as he can, “Fourth squad to positions. Loose shafts when you see the first fire arrow fly.” While he remains mounted beside Alaynara to give the head archer the command to begin the fire attack on the east end of the camp, he forces himself to wait as he senses the twenty-nine other archers ride out and take positions in an approximate square, each archer a good five yards from any other ranker. So far, the sentries in the darkness before them have not moved or raised an alarm. Are they even awake … or is it some sort of trap?
Still … he can sense no armsmen near, except for the sentries, and no chaos wizards.
“They’re in position,” he finally says to Alaynara. “Strike and light.”
“Striking and lighting, ser.”
After a few moments, the first fire arrow arches into the darkness of the sky and then drops toward the Meroweyan camp. Within a few moments, flaming arrows are raining down upon the eastern end of the camp.
“Enemy archers!” shouts one of the sentries, but he does not advance.
“Fire arrows! Scores of them!” yells a second.
Lerial hears voices, and several loud voices giving orders, but he is too far away to make out what all those orders might be. What he does sense is that, so far, no one is moving toward the archers. Before that long, more than a hundred fire arrows have left the archers’ bows, and more than a handful of tents or wagons have begun to burn. Lerial can hear more shouts and orders, and, in the scattered light cast by the fires, see and sense men running, some beating out flames with blankets, but he does not feel the building chaos he had experienced during the last attack.
Why not? Because the archers are spread out … and the fire arrows aren’t doing that much damage to the armsmen?
Abruptly, a larger tent bursts into a ball of flame.
Within moments, Lerial can sense men running toward the horses on tie-lines, some two hundred yards to the northwest of the westernmost of the fourth squad archers, as well as another group of armsmen on foot beginning to form up. He can also sense chaos probes sweeping the area, followed by a concentration of chaos near the burning tent. Then a wagon goes up in flames, as if it had contained oil.
“Archers! Withdraw! On the double!” While Lerial has not sensed that the Meroweyan riders have finished forming up, they are moving quickly, more quickly than he has expected.
“Archers! Withdraw!” echoes Moraris.
“Keep your intervals!” Lerial turns the gelding and urges him forward, feeling that if the archers group together that could result in a fireball being lofted at them, especially as the chaos near the burning section of the Meroweyan camp continues to build.
For the first fifty yards, Lerial is almost comfortable-until he realizes that there is one company riding directly toward him and fourth squad-a company that is far closer than he had thought. Were they under a concealment from order-sensing? That is certainly possible, although that isn’t a skill he has even considered, let alone tried to perfect. “Double time! Otherwise they’ll catch us before we clear the other squads.”
“Double time!” echoes Moraris.
Several moments later, Lerial can sense a mount going down-one of the archers out to his right, but there is little he can do, not with speed of the pursuit. Then two of the pursuing riders somehow get tangled and go down, and Lerial can sense that slows the company riding directly after them. But there are two more companies, and one behind their direct pursuers, and one riding due east, as if to try to cut fourth squad off.
Lerial can only hope that company will turn south before the gully shallows out beyond the base of the ridge. Being chased by two companies is bad enough.
After covering another two hundred yards or so, Lerial can sense that their pursuers have only closed the gap slightly, if at all, and are not pressing so much. Just as he wonders about that, he can feel a ball of chaos-fire heading in his direction. Can you divert it back into the Meroweyans?
Even as he thinks that, he summons up a double-pattern of ten fine order-lines, trying to angle them so that they will accomplish his objective.
Whhssst!
The modest fireball slams into the grass-covered ground well behind fourth squad, but well before the pursuing armsmen. Lerial realizes that trying to ride, to use his senses to know where he is going, and trying to redirect chaos-fire, all at the same time, isn’t the easiest combination of tasks in the world. Then, too, he can sense that they are nearing the remaining three squads of second company.
“Fourth squad! Close up! On the squad leader!”
“Close on me!” orders Moraris.
As the squad leader draws closer, Lerial calls out. “They’re yours now. Set up below.”
“Yes, ser.”
Lerial slows the gelding and turns more to the east, where he will be on the northwest flank of first squad. In moments, he reins up beside Korlyn.
“Ser?”
“It’s me. Ready bows!”
“Ready bows! Pass it on!”
Lerial can feel as much as hear, the pounding of hoofs as the Meroweyans approach. He scans the darkness, sensing, rather than seeing the position of the first three squads, each with a staggered ten-man front, angled so that each ranker can loose arrows straight forward into the pursuers, approximating a partial cross fire. If the Meroweyans follow fourth squad.
The first Meroweyan company slows as it nears second company, almost as if the captain knows he is nearing Verdyn forces, but the Meroweyans do continue forward.
At that point, another firebolt arcs toward second squad.
Lerial attempts to divert it, but instead, the fireball explodes above the open ground between the Meroweyan attackers and second company-and knives of pain flash through Lerial’s skull, so much so that he can just barely see the oncoming Meroweyans. In the fading glow from the fireball, he orders, “Shafts at will! Loose now!”
“Loose now!” echo the squad leaders.
At that moment, rather than turning or retreating, the Meroweyans spur their mounts forward, directly toward second squad. Lerial belatedly realizes that the southern commander has seen second squad and assumed that second company is massed there.
“Second squad! Bows away! Second squad! Sabres out! Charge!”
As Bhurl repeats the command, Lerial draws his own sabre. Given the relative positions of the squad and the charging Meroweyans, he can only hope that maneuver will give the rankers the best chance.
The first ranks of the attackers charge past first squad, less than ten yards away, as if they have not even seen Lerial and the Lancers … and in the darkness, they may not have. But Lerial cannot leave second squad to face a company, or what looks like one.
“First squad on me!” Lerial rides directly into the side and rear of the Meroweyan company. Neither of the first two rankers he cuts down even see him, and the third barely has a chance to react.
Other sabres clash … and then, for whatever reason, the attack from two sides in the dark causes enough consternation that, abruptly, the Meroweyan company turns, and riders scramble to head away from the mass confusion, mainly heading due west and uphill.