Even so, Lerial does not slow the company to a slow walk until they have put a good kay between themselves and the Meroweyans. Unfortunately, after riding another half kay, Lerial can sense yet another difficulty. Not that far ahead-perhaps a kay and a half-is the other Meroweyan group that Smathyl has mentioned … and the last thing Lerial wants to do is get trapped between both forces-especially since the force they are approaching has a strong white wizard and since Lerial still feels somewhat shaky after his last encounter with a wizard.
He turns to Korlyn. “We’re going to have to head farther southeast. There’s another large Meroweyan force ahead.” He pauses. “How many shafts do most of the men have? Get me a rough count, if you would … and from the other squad leaders.”
“Yes, ser.”
Lerial keeps surveying the shaded spots under the trees at the edge of the Verd as well as the open grasslands with their scattered clumps of bushes, but he can sense only the two groups of Meroweyans and some scouts for both.
Before long Korlyn returns. “No more than four shafts each, ser. Some only have three.”
“Then we’re going to have to take a longer ride than we planned.”
“Yes, ser.”
“On me!” Lerial commands as he turns the gelding more to the southeast.
Once they are farther away from the Verd and the effect of the tall trees, Lerial feels that the wind has also begun to pick up. When he looks more intently to the northwest, he can see dark clouds, and the clouds appear to be moving swiftly across the far reaches of the woods toward them, with the haze beneath suggesting rain. While the rain, if it continues, will hamper the wizard in his efforts to burn through the tree-walls of the Verd, Lerial really doesn’t want to be caught in the open in the middle of a rainstorm … not that he will have much choice, it appears, given the need to avoid the Meroweyans.
The Meroweyans also apparently see the oncoming rain, and while it is possible that the white wizard may sense second company, the three companies or so of horsemen ride more quickly back westward. Even so, by the time Lerial and his company circle around the Meroweyans and finally locate the wayguides and the second narrow entrance to the Verd, the rain has been falling steadily for almost a glass, and Lerial and all the rankers are soaked through and through.
By then, the rain has also penetrated the forest canopy and falls from the leaves on all the riders as they make their slow way along yet another narrow, turning, twisting, and seemingly endless passage through the Verd, back toward their encampment.
It is well after sunset, or would have been, had the clouds not covered any trace of sun, by the time Lerial settles second company-and after discovering that one of the rankers in first company had broken his arm when the backlash gust of wind had unhorsed him. Lerial has finished a cold and oily meal whose contents he could not have described and is standing just inside a damp tent he understands he will be sharing with Altyrn, although he has not yet seen the majer.
Is there any way you could retain or manipulate that order split from a chaos-bolt? The problem is that it all comes at once, and he has no experience in dealing with that much order or chaos. He is still pondering over that when Altyrn walks stolidly through the rain and into the tent, where he gently brushes the water off the oiled leather jacket he wears.
“What happened?”
“We were attacked even before we could even attempt a fixed ambush…” Lerial goes on to relate the details, finishing up with, “… and then we rode back along a very wet and narrow passage through the Verd, getting even more soaked before we got here.”
“You managed to inflict some casualties. Do you have any idea how many?”
“Maybe two squads worth, between the injuries at that temporary order barrier and the ones brought down by arrows.” Lerial shrugs. “We didn’t stay to find out.”
“You’re likely hurting them more with what you’re doing to their mages,” muses Altyrn. “They burned two more gaps in the trunk wall before the elders could get the rain to strengthen.”
“They’re weather-mages? Why do they need us-”
Altyrn sighs. Loudly. “Didn’t you hear me? They’re not that strong, or not that strong without risking their lives. They can make it rain harder … or less … but they can’t create the storms.”
That makes sense, unfortunately.
“The damage the Merowyan wizards did was enough. They have three gaps big enough to put a company at a time through.” The majer turns and looks out into the dimness beyond the tent. “The rain will help for a few days after it lets up, but then they’ll burn another one or two. After that, there won’t be any way to keep them out.”
“How did Juist do?” asks Lerial, not only wanting to know, but also to change the subject.
“About the same as second company. Kusyl didn’t even get close. They were waiting for fourth company as well. He lost eight men. Between the three of you, we cost them another company today.”
Lerial understands all too well what the majer isn’t saying-that they still face overwhelming odds.
LX
The rain keeps falling sixday evening. It is still coming down on sevenday morning, and from what Lerial can sense in the clouds and in the flow of order and chaos, it will continue for at least several glasses, because he can find no change in the clouds to the northwest, which is from where the light winds are blowing. He still wonders just how the elders had managed to increase the rain.
After dealing with muster and making sure his men are as dry as possible, and having to admit to Alaynara that he does not know whether more arrows will be forthcoming or when, Lerial spends the morning experimenting with various order-patterns, using the lodestone at times, and not at others. He is discovering that, for whatever reason, most likely practice, he is more able to summon free order … but he has difficulty in doing much with it. To him, order is more like a flow of liquid, like water, except, unlike water, he has no container with which to hold it, so that he can direct it to some extent, but unless he concentrates-hard-on containing it, it flows from his patterns like water running through his fingers, or oozing from cupped hands.
The other matter that concerns him is the feeling of ugliness or uncleanness that he felt when he had redirected the chaos-bolt. He has always been slightly uncomfortable with chaos, a feeling he had almost not recognized, but the ugliness … even sitting on his blanket in the tent, he shivers slightly to think about it. Was that because you were dealing with more chaos … or more closely? That brings to mind his aunt’s caution about always making sure order lies between him and any use of chaos. But you were using order and not trying to influence the chaos directly.
Still … he has only been using one coil of order, unlike the earlier patterns where he has employed several lines of order. What if you use just two thinner order lines in the coil shape?
He sets to work trying to duplicate that. After a half glass he is sweating slightly, despite the slight chill, but he has finally managed to create the small pattern the way he wants it.
He nods happily. Then another thought crosses his mind. What would happen if you wrapped that order pattern around the lodestone?
Lerial smiles as he does so-but his mouth drops open as the lodestone, pouch and all, rips itself from his hands and slams into the scabbard of his sabre, lying on the blanket beside him. The lodestone holds to the iron of the blade even through the hardened leather, and it takes a great effort by Lerial to pry it loose. Holding the lodestone tightly and well away from the sheathed sabre, he studies the dark oblong with his order-senses. Somehow, the pattern he has created has become part of the lodestone itself, amplifying the natural order-lines of the stone.