“Is there anything I can do?”
“Wait patiently for nature to take its course. And find Prince Olio. I think more than anyone else, Areava needs her brother.”
Lynan had no real idea how the battle was going. From his position in the center he could not see if his army’s flanking attacks were succeeding or being driven back. As the Chett horse archers closed in on the enemy, loosed their arrows, then retreated out of range again, the grass was slowly trammeled to the ground and then destroyed. Clouds of dust were now spiraling into the air, obscuring the view. As well, the lay of the land was not completely flat—there were dips and rises—leading to strange consequences. Lynan could hear the clash of weapons and the cries of the wounded and dying in a skirmish on the far left flank between a troop of Chetts that had been surprised by a sudden charge by light infantry, but he could hear no sound at all from another skirmish much closer on the right flank between Chetts and a small band of Hume cavalry.
Ager, next to him and Gudon in the line, was able to make more sense of goings-on and could tell when the Chetts had the upper hand or when they were on the receiving end, but in one way this made it harder for Lynan. Having given the order for the attack to start he could do little to influence events until he decided to let the center or the reserve join in, and he was loath to do that until he had some clear idea of what the situation was like on the flanks. He needed to know what kind of troops his horse archers were encountering, and whether or not any had met the knights of the Twenty Houses. He had to know what quality of troops they were fighting, and whether or not they were determined or demoralized. He knew Korigan would arrange for riders to bring him information when she had the opportunity, but it seemed that the attack had already been going on for hours.
“Your center is getting itchy,” Gudon said.
Lynan glanced along his line and saw that the Red Hands and Ocean clan warriors were looking frustrated. They were constantly shifting in their saddles, pulling on their bow strings and drawing and resheathing their swords.
Lynan kicked his mare into a canter. He first rode in front of the Ocean clan, making sure they noticed him, then back to the Red Hands. When he had the line’s attention, he stopped before them.
“Our time is soon, but you must be patient. After this battle, no one in Theare will ever be able to stand against the Chetts without feeling fear!” The Chetts started to cheer. “You are my warriors, and I will lead you to battle today.”
The cheering became louder, and he rejoined Ager and Gudon.
Gudon slapped him on the back. “Truth, little master, that was not bad.”
“Not bad at all,” Ager conceded. “No Elynd Chisal, but not bad.”
“And what would my father have said?”
Ager grinned at him. “Charge.”
Lynan was surprised. “Just charge?”
Ager shrugged. “More like ‘Charge you fucking sons-of-whores,’ but you get the idea.”
Word had spread about the miracle worker. More and more of the injured were being brought to the inn.
Olio was no longer completely aware of what he was doing. The healing surge that coursed through his body was like a river of blue fire in his mind. His vision had narrowed to the point where he could barely see the victims being brought before him. His hand would go out, touch a hand or an eye, a burn or a puncture, and then another would be placed before him.
After a while he could hear a voice in the back of his head, and it sounded familiar but he could not put a name or a face to it.
He needed to stop, but did not know how. He tried to say “enough,” but no sound at all came from his lips.
And all the time there was this voice trying to tell him something, something he was sure was important.
More victims. He felt himself fall, but hands picked him up and supported him. The river of fire grew wider and wider, his vision dimmed more and more, and there came a time when at last all he could see was the river. He wanted to step into it, to leave this place, and even as he wished it, it happened. He was adrift in the river, and slowly it covered him over until at last he was drowning in light. At that moment he heard the voice in the back of his head for the last time, saying a single word over and over, and he recognized the voice as his own.
And then it was gone.
“The infantry cannot take much more of this,” Charion said, shouting to be heard over the din of battle. “Both our flanks are starting to cave in. Most of our infantry and light cavalry have been destroyed. We have to commit our heavy cavalry!”
“No!” Galen shouted back. “It’s not time yet. The Chett center is still uncommitted. If we move the knights into action now, we will have nothing more to throw into the battle. The infantry have to hold or all is lost.”
Both commanders fell silent and turned their gaze on Sendarus. He had visited each flank himself and seen the casualties they were suffering. A Chett troop would gallop in, let loose a volley of arrows, then retreat to be replaced by another troop. None of the volleys by themselves did much damage, but cumulatively they were starting to inflict significant casualties and damage morale. All their attempts so far at counterattacking had only resulted in the destruction of the pursuing units. But Galen was right. Until Sendarus knew what Lynan intended to do with his center, he had no choice but to hold back the knights. Still, there was one thing he could do to help the flanks.
“Move the archers from the rise,” he ordered Charion. “Shift them all to the left flank. They have a greater range than the horse archers. When the enemy attack starts to flag, transfer them to the right flank.”
It was not what Charion wanted to hear, but she was smart enough to know it was the most she would get from Sendarus at this point in the battle. She hurried forward to give the orders to the archers.
“That will leave our own center vulnerable,” Galen pointed out.
“And offer a tempting target for Lynan,” Sendarus countered. “Once he moves, we will know where to commit your knights. I hope he commits sooner rather than later.”
Galen silently agreed.
It all seemed so unreal for Jenrosa. Beside her, sitting on one of the big stallions taken from the victory at the Ox Tongue, Kumul stared straight ahead, occasionally turning his head slightly one way and then the other. His face was almost blank; the smallest of frowns creased his forehead. Before her, she could see the thin front line of the Red Hands and Ager’s clan warriors. Beyond that there was a muffled, metal noise, like the sounds from a busy kitchen heard from the street. A cloud of white dust slowly drifted over the whole plain.
She tried to see inside her own mind, but there was nothing there except her own confusion. She wondered what Lasthear and the other magickers who had come with the army were thinking right now. The previous night she had asked Lasthear if there was some incantation they could use to help ensure victory, and Lasthear had laughed at her. “We might make it rain,” Lasthear said, “but I can’t see how that could help. Or we could start a fire and hope it spreads the right way on the grass, but I can’t see how that would help either. No, best to strap on a sword and join someone you are prepared to die with.”
Well, novice with a sword though she was, she was by Kumul, and there she would stay.
A rider galloped up to them. “His Majesty asks that you come to him.”
Kumul nodded, and he and Jenrosa followed the rider back to Lynan. Ager, Gudon, and Korigan were already there.
“Any sign of heavy cavalry?” Kumul asked.
Korigan shook her head.
“What of Areava?”
Again Korigan shook her head.
“But they have brought up archers to their left flank. I am starting to lose riders. If I pull my forces back from that wing, the enemy commander will just switch the archers to the opposite. If something isn’t done, our whole attack will stall, and I’m certain their infantry is close to collapsing.”