“You’ll get used to it, ser.”
Kharl wasn’t certain he wanted to get that used to riding. As he struggled to make himself comfortable in the saddle, he sensed something. Except that wasn’t it. He tilted his head, trying to focus on what he’d felt. Then he realized that for the past quarter glass or so, as he had ridden southward toward the river, he had lost the distant sense of the white wizard-just as if the wizard had vanished.
“Chaos …″ he muttered under his breath. He’d been so preoccupied with his own discomfort that he hadn’t even realized when he’d lost the sense of the other wizard. He tried to gather in a sense of that chaos, but he could feel absolutely nothing.
Had the wizard gone into a cave or something? Or behind a waterfall? That might provide a shield of some sort. Or had he created his own shield?
“Ser? Something wrong?”
“Not yet,” Kharl replied. Now he’d have to be more alert than ever, and especially after they crossed the River Val.
Almost half a glass passed before they neared the river. During that time, they had seen no one nearby on the road, although one cart and another wagon had turned down side lanes to avoid the lancers. While Kharl had gotten a quick impression of faint traces of chaos several times, the traces had vanished so quickly that he only knew that the wizard was somewhere to the south. Were the rebels moving farther south and trying to circle behind Casolan’s forces? Or were they already west of the bridge and heading out to attack Casolan? Kharl couldn’t be certain, and that worried him.
It was most likely that the wizard had some sort of shield and did not want Kharl to track him easily. But why now? Had he just discovered that Kharl was near?
Kharl blotted his forehead. The clouds had thinned, and at times, fainthazy sunlight had oozed over the riders. The day had continued to warm, and the heavy armsman’s uniform had gotten less and less comfortable.
Kharl took in the raised earthen causeway that led to the bridge itself, then the river that stretched away from the bridge. The River Val wound in wide, sweeping arcs, its course meandering through the river plain, its banks clearly marked by earthen levees and trees planted behind the levees. The bridge itself was an old and heavy timber structure that was supported by three stone piers evenly spaced across the riverbed. The roadway was broad enough for a large wagon or three horses abreast, and the side rails were weathered heavy timbers. The watercourse itself was perhaps ten rods wide under the bridge. The plank roadbed was worn, and in places, as he crossed, Kharl could see the swirling gray of the water below through gaps in the planking. While the bridge creaked slightly as the squad rode across the spans, he could feel no swaying or give, but he was glad to reach the causeway on the south side.
Kharl caught the faintest sense of whiteness to the south and west, but when he tried to focus on it, the feeling was gone.
“You be wanting us to head back toward Valmurl, ser, or out west.”
“West,” Kharl said with a certainty he did not feel. “They’re past here and headed west.” He glanced back toward Valmurl, but the river road was empty.
“No tracks on the road, ser. Doesn’t look as though they came this way.″
“Not by the road,” Kharl admitted. He somehow knew that the rebel forces had not returned to Valmurl, but where could they be? The fields immediately to the south of the river road were flat and open, and the smell of turned bottomland occasionally came to Kharl on the intermittent light breeze from the west.
Another kay or so to the west, he could see a stand of trees. As they rode closer, he realized that the trees extended nearly a kay to the south, and certainly that far west, if not even farther.
“What are those trees?”
“Red pears, ser. Don′t grow many places.”
Kharl had heard of red pears, but never seen one. The orchard was old, and the trees seemed close together, so much so that he could not see more than a few trees into the mass of foliage, despite the thinner early-spring leaves.
As the squad passed the eastern edge of the orchard and continued westward on the river road, the clouds thinned more, and Kharl could feel the spring sun on his back. He had to blot his forehead more frequently, and he had lost all track of the white wizard, except for traces of white that felt almost due south, and closer. What had happened? Where was the wizard?
Demyst coughed, then swallowed. “Back there, to the east, ser …″ Demyst’s voice was almost apologetic as he pointed.
Pouring out of the orchard less than a half kay behind them was a column of lancers-men in black and green, with the blue sashes and behind a blue banner bearing a device Kharl did not recognize, not that he was familiar with heraldry, especially Austran heraldry.
“That’d be Lord Hensolas. That’s his banner, ser. Looks to be three companies.” Demyst swallowed. “And there’s another company to the west, maybe two. They’re riding toward us.”
Somewhere among the eastern group was the faintest trace of chaos. Then, a blaze of white appeared among the larger force.
Kharl wanted to hit his forehead with his palm. He’d known that the white wizard had hidden his chaos behind some sort of shield, but he’d thought that the wizard had done that to conceal his approach to Casolan’s force or to keep Kharl from tracking him. Instead … the wizard was after him-with five companies. And Kharl and his squad were trapped, with a thick orchard that was close to impossible to ride through to the south, at least at any speed, and with the river to the north.
“How deep is the river?” Kharl snapped.
“Two to three rods, five in places. Current’s real strong here, ser. We’d be sitting ducks for crossbows. They got crossbows, ser.”
Kharl understood the unspoken. Most of the lancers couldn’t swim. Even Kharl wasn’t that good a swimmer, although he might have been able to manage the river. But … he’d been the one to get them into the trap.
He looked toward the orchard, and the ancient and crooked split rail fence between the trees and the road. His order-senses did not find any other chaos, except that of the single wizard, but … he frowned. There was the thinnest mist of blackness all across the orchard. Order. From the orchard itself? From the spring growth? Behind that order was something else, not quite chaos, or a different kind of chaos, or order. He wasn’t certain, and he didn’t have time to puzzle it out.
“Form up right between the fence and the trees. Make it tight!”
″Ser …″
“We’ll try magery. If it doesn’t work, the men will at least have a chance of escaping through the trees. The rebels can’t ride through them, not at any speed.”
“Ah … yes, ser. You pick the spot, and we’ll form around you.”
“Just behind me.” Kharl turned the gelding toward a gap in the fence, not exactly a gate, but an opening wide enough for a wagon. He glanced to the east, but the rebel lancers were not galloping or even trotting, but closing in inexorably at a fast walk. He looked to the west, but that force was also closing in on them.
Kharl decided against staying at all in the open, even just in front of the trees. He rode right up to one of the gnarled and ancient pear trees. There, he dismounted and walked the gelding back toward the second row of trees. The trees had been pruned just enough to allow him to walk between them, but riding at more than a walk would have been dangerous, as he had guessed. He tied the gelding and hurried back to the front row.
“Ser?” Demyst looked puzzled. “We can’t get that close to you, not with all the trees.”
“Get into the trees-in back of the first row.” Kharl studied the oncoming riders.
The white wizard was hanging back, with a full company of lancers between him and Kharl and the lancer squad. Kharl could also see a score of crossbowmen dismounting less than twenty rods away. That didn’t surprise him. The white wizard clearly knew about Kharl’s shields and wanted to exhaust the black mage before using chaos-fire. Or perhaps he would just watch for an opportunity.