Heritage of Cyador (saga of recluce Book 18) (50 page)

Once Lerial is satisfied that Paelwyr has passed on the change to the Afritan companies, he turns to Fheldar. “Five-man front! Lances tight!” He waits as Fheldar and the undercaptains relay the orders, then adds, “Forward! Fast walk!”

All of Eighth Company is over the crest of the ridge and headed down, less than fifty yards from the grass of the swale, before Lerial can see any movement among the defenders, and he and the first ranks are at the swale before shields start forming.

“Charge!” Lerial raises his sabre, then drops it, letting the first rank sweep past him, since he is not carrying a lance, and then keeps pace with the second rank.

In moments, or so it seems, Eighth Company has smashed through the thin line of surprised defenders and turned south against the troopers manning the perimeter. By now loud clangings and horn signals are coming from everywhere in the Heldyan camp, along with shouted orders, and groups of armed Heldyans taking defensive positions almost randomly.

A single chaos-bolt arches from somewhere to Lerial’s left toward Eighth Company, and Lerial immediately redirects it to a line of defenders on the south perimeter that has already pivoted to bring shields and pikes against the Mirror Lancers. The chaos-flame slashes through a score of shieldmen and pikemen.

Almost instantly, two lines of brilliant chaos-fire sear toward Lerial, almost as if the Heldyan mages had sent up the first chaos-bolt as a way to locate him.
Which they probably did.
He manages to deflect and redirect both bolts into more defenders, but the attack is so swift that he cannot redirect that force back at the mages.

Even before the next wave of chaos comes, though, he is forming a multiline order pattern that returns that chaos to the Heldyan mages. Fast as he has been, the Heldyan mages are just as swift—and add more chaos—to send that power again at Lerial. That return redirection gives Lerial a better feel, and his return of that massive chaos slams into one of the concealed chaos focuses.

WHHHSASSTTT!!

A pillar of brilliant reddish-white energy flares skyward, momentarily as bright as the white morning sun, so powerful that Lerial can barely sense the accompanying silver-gray death mist flowing out from the chaos, especially since some of that energy slams back at his shields, likely the effort of one of the surviving mages. A searing surge of heat burns at his hip, then fades.

“To the left!” roars Fheldar, for which Lerial is grateful, struggling as he is to deal with the Heldyan chaos-mages.

Lerial strengthens his shields, which have faded, and barely manages another redirection of chaos into the Heldyans ahead, just before the lances of Eighth Company rip into the remainder of those defenders.
You should have sent that back at the mages.

With that thought, he immediately struggles to create a massive diversion pattern, suspecting that he will see more chaos focused on him. He almost does not finish the thought or the pattern before another intense blast of fused chaos strikes at him—one line from not quite directly behind him and another from ahead of him and slightly to his left. Sensing that the control must come from the wizard ahead, Lerial narrows the redirected chaos into a point.

Whhhsstt!!

The resulting chaos pillar is far narrower, but rises much higher than the previous one … and the silver mist is fainter.

Lerial sways in the saddle, realizing that he is most light-headed … and unlikely to survive another chaos-blast. Although he does not immediately sense a chaos buildup, he looks forward to the shore road, still almost half a kay away, then again tries to sense the concentrations of chaos. He can find only two, both somewhat diminished, at least for the moment.
Did you manage to take out two?

Still concentrating on staying in the saddle, he sees that the shore road is nearing, so much closer that he wonders if he has lost awareness for a time … or is it that he is so exhausted that even trying to sense chaos takes so much longer than he realizes?

As the Heldyans in front of Eighth Company scatter, Lerial calls out, “Battalions! Forward and withdraw!” The command is possibly unnecessary, but he knows he cannot parry, redirect, or even shield much more chaos. He also worries that he will not be able to issue commands for much longer, and he wants his force away from the Heldyans before the enemy mages recover enough to throw more chaos.

As the gelding reaches the road, and Lerial turns onto it, heading southeast and back toward the Harbor Post, Lerial remains so unsteady that it takes most of his concentration just to keep riding, but he does sense that, behind them, the Heldyans have rushed to reinforce the gap in their defenses, but that they do not keep pursuing.
Thank the Rational Stars for that.

Finally, after the entire force is clear and has slowed to a fast walk, with Paelwyr’s last company several hundred yards from the nearest Heldyan defenders, Lerial manages to fumble out his water bottle and take several swallows of watered lager.

He is still light-headed, with flashes of light and accompanying daggers of pain across his eyes, when he and the first ranks rein up in the courtyard of the Harbor Post. After a longer swallow that empties the water bottle, he lowers it, corks it, and turns to Fheldar. “Did you tell me how many we lost? If you did, I didn’t hear.”

“No, ser. I thought I’d wait until I could check again.”

Lerial almost asks, “Why not?,” but manages not to utter the words. “Let’s find out.” He can only hope that the casualties are not too high. He also wishes he’d taken some bread from the mess and stuffed it in his saddlebags. That would have helped with the light-headedness.

He isn’t certain just how much time passes before Fheldar rides back to report, but doubts it could be much more than a tenth of a glass.

“Eighth Company, three killed, two missing, and likely dead, eight wounded, two seriously. Eleventh Company, six dead, eleven wounded. Twenty-third Company, four dead, seven wounded. Fourteenth Battalion is still determining their casualties, but Majer Paelwyr does not think that they were especially high, except possibly with his Fifth Company.”

“Thank you.”
Why would the last company have higher casualties … unless they lagged too far behind?
“Dismiss the men to quarters, the wounded to the healers. I’ll see them shortly. Once the officers are through with their companies, and I hear more, I’ll meet with them. If you’d convey to Majer Paelwyr that I’d like to meet with him in the senior officers’ mess when he’s available…”

“Yes, ser.”

Lerial rides slowly to the stables, untouched by the earlier explosions, where he dismounts and turns the gelding over to an ostler, patting his mount on the shoulder before he walks back toward the makeshift senior officers’ mess. Once there, even though it is not mealtime, he asks for lager, bread, and cheese. The sole ranker on duty does not question him.

Then he eats and drinks, deliberately. After a third of a glass, he begins to feel some strength returning, and the throbbing in his head and eyes begins to diminish. At the sound of a door opening, he turns his head to see Majer Paelwyr step into the mess.

“You requested to see me, Overcaptain?”

Lerial gestures to the table. “I did. I apologize for leaving, but … there was no help for it.” He pauses only for a moment, not enough for Paelwyr to say anything, before going on. “How did your battalion fare?”

Paelwyr drops into the chair across the long table from Lerial. “Our casualties were light. Very light, given that we rode right through the Heldyan encampment. How did you manage that, ser?”

“Surprise. I doubt that anyone expected an attack like that. We were inside their lines before they could react.”

“You
knew
where their lines were thin before you ever saw the encampment.”

“I scouted it out yesterday. People seldom change their lines when they haven’t been attacked.” All of that is true and allows Lerial to avoid answering Paelwyr’s implied question. “What were your casualties? I’ll need to report them to the commander.”

“Twenty-nine killed or missing, forty wounded, most only slightly.”

Lerial nods. “That’s good for what you accomplished. We likely created a battalion’s worth of casualties. You obviously kept your men in an effective tight formation.”

“Not quite as tight as I would have liked.”

“That tight under those conditions was admirable.”

“Will we be doing something like that again, ser?”

“Not like that. We may be called on to undertake another diversionary attack, but it will have to be different if we are.”

“Is there anything else, ser?”

“Not for now. If that changes, I’ll let you know.”

“By your leave … then…?”

“Of course.” Lerial watches as Paelwyr rises and then leaves the mess. Once he is alone, he takes a swallow of the lager, then sets the beaker down. He worries about the thrust of Paelwyr’s questions, and hopes he has defused at least some of the majer’s suspicions.

“Overcaptain, ser?”

Lerial looks up to see a junior squad leader standing at the end of the mess table. “Yes?”

“Commander Dhresyl wanted you and Subcommander Drusyn to know that Subcommander Ascaar is fighting off four battalions of Heldyans at Shaelt.”

“Thank you.” Lerial can’t say he is surprised.

“The commander would like to meet with you both as soon as Subcommander Drusyn arrives.”

“I’ll wait here for Subcommander Drusyn.”

“Yes, ser.” The squad leader nods and then hurries out.

Lerial takes another swallow of lager, realizing that the beaker is almost empty and that he has eaten the entire small loaf of bread and the wedge of cheese.

“Would you like more, ser?” asks the mess ranker.

“Please.”

Lerial has only drunk several swallows from the second beaker of lager when Drusyn walks into the senior officers’ mess.

“I hear you did some damage to the Heldyans…” begins the subcommander.

“Both of you in here, if you would!” calls Dhresyl from the small chamber adjoining the mess.

Lerial rises from the table, taking the beaker with him, and joins Drusyn in entering the smaller room, where Dhresyl sits behind a table desk. The commander looks askance at the half beaker of lager that Lerial carries.

“It’s been a long morning … day.” Lerial takes one of the straight-backed chairs before the desk and sits down.

Drusyn takes the other chair.

“What sort of damage did you inflict on the Heldyans?”

“We cost them at least a battalion, possibly two,” replies Lerial.

“You don’t know the enemy casualties?” The commander frowns.

“It wouldn’t have been wise to remain close enough to count.” Lerial takes another swallow of lager. “We rode inside the western perimeter of their encampment and then along the southern edge. Along the way, we took out as many as we could without stopping or slowing.”

“They didn’t pursue?”

“Not beyond their own lines.”

“What about their pikes and shields?”

“They’re not nearly as effective if you attack them from the side or from behind … and if your riders have lances.” Lerial’s tone is dry.

“I see. What about your casualties?”

“The Mirror Lancers lost fifteen men and suffered twenty-six wounded. Fourteenth Battalion lost twenty-nine and had forty wounded.”

“A hundred or so casualties from a diversionary attack?” Dhresyl’s eyebrows lift.

“A diversionary attack that removed over a battalion of Heldyans.”
And likely two chaos-mages.

“It is rather difficult to kill a large number of enemy armsmen without losing some troopers,” Drusyn adds dryly.

After he leaves Drusyn and Dhresyl, Lerial makes his way to the officers’ quarters, where he gathers Fheldar, Strauxyn, and Kusyl and briefs them on the situation Ascaar is facing.

“Doesn’t surprise you, does it, ser?” asks Fheldar.

“I would have been surprised if there hadn’t been another attack somewhere, and an attack on Ascaar makes sense.”
And the fact that Khesyn knows where all Rhamuel’s forces are makes another kind of sense.

“Do you think the Heldyans will attack somewhere else?” Strauxyn looks intently at Lerial.

“You can never tell, but I would doubt it. All these attacks are designed to destroy the Afritan Guard. So far as I know, there aren’t any large Guard forces anywhere else besides where the last four attacks have been. There’s more likely to be an attack somewhere else in Swartheld than in any other town or city.”

“Begging your pardon, ser,” begins Kusyl, “but what did the commander really want?”

Lerial can’t help smiling faintly, since he has not mentioned that Dhresyl wanted anything, but Kusyl has been in the Lancers far longer than Lerial—long enough to be skeptical of senior officers and to know that they often want far more than seems reasonable. “To know why our casualties were so high.”

“We ought to bring him along next time,” says Strauxyn.

“Wouldn’t do any good,” drawls Kusyl. “Have to be able to see what you’re looking at.”

Fheldar offers the smallest of headshakes, then asks, “What’s next, ser?”

“That depends on the Heldyans. I’d be happy if they just don’t attack today.”

“When do you think they will?”

“If they’re smart, and they’ve generally been effective, they’ll attack tomorrow. Plan on that. If they don’t, the men will get another day to recover.”
And you’ll start worrying about what else they’ve caused to go wrong somewhere else.
Lerial manages a smile. “That’s all for now.”

After he leaves them and begins to walk to his small room, where he hopes he can take a nap or at least rest, his mind is already considering the possibilities of what the days ahead will bring.

XXXV

Lerial awakens early on eightday, feeling the heavy stillness of the air even at dawn. When he looks outside, the sky is darker than usual for dawn, and he can discern a thick haze overhead. At least his headache has finally vanished, and there are no flashes across his eyes. He washes, shaves, and dresses quickly, then makes his way to the duty officer stationed in the small chamber off the senior officers’ mess.