Treachery's Tools (70 page)

“Sowshit! The whole Namer-fired column can do two quints at a full trot.” Wilkorn raised his voice to a shout! “Column! Forward! Full trot!”

Alastar turned in the saddle and said back to Cyran and Akoryt, “Can you see where the bushes and grasses are moving, even though here's no wind? I'd wager that's half a battalion under a concealment.”

“Won't take that wager.”

“I'm guessing. We'll have a little time after we form up. Make sure they all have some lager. They'll need it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Less than a full quint later, the column halted with the southern end of the column positioned just north of the side road. In moments, Wilkorn was re-forming the two companies into a wedge formation. Alastar positioned the imagers on the right side, close to the northern end of the formation, where they could use imaging if the rebels attempted to squeeze between the formation and the marshland some two hundred yards west of the imagers.

Then he addressed the imagers. “I don't want any of you wasting your strength. When the attacking troopers get close enough, and I order darts to the attackers, I want you, Arion, to put a dart in the eye of the trooper on the far right side of the front rank. Dylert, count one, and take the next trooper.… Keep doing it that way as long as you can. After that, those of you in back, aim for troopers nearer the rear. Those in front, aim for the middle.…” When Alastar finished his instructions, he eased his mount back and positioned himself behind and just slightly to one side of Seliora, something he felt strange about.
But she has strong shields, and you won't be doing anyone any favors by getting killed needlessly.

As the attackers neared, as evidenced by the motion of the grasses and brush, and the sound of hoofs, the concealment of the oncoming troopers remained in place. That worried him.
Exactly what are they concealing?

It couldn't be cannon, not at the pace at which they rode up the almost imperceptible slope toward Wilkorn's waiting troopers.

When Alastar judged that the lead elements were just over two hundred yards away, and just past the flat yellow marker he had imaged beside the road, he ordered, “Junior maitres! Red pepper fog! From the marker to fifty yards back! All the way across the road.”

The vague outlines of troopers appeared, coated in red mists … and then the concealment vanished. The attackers were packed into a tight formation five abreast.

Apparently seeing the tight formation, Wilkorn immediately ordered, “Fire at will!”

For all the bullets flying toward the attackers, not a single attacker dropped or staggered, which explained why the attackers were formed up so closely, although Alastar did not see any obvious imagers.

“Keep firing!” Alastar projected.

The lead ranks of the attackers raised their rifles and fired, not all that swiftly, and some were definitely having trouble seeing and aiming. At the same time, a few of Luerryn's troopers had been hit.

“More pepper!” Alastar ordered.

Abruptly, the lead riders among the attackers began to fall, and those behind turned the attackers toward the gap between the imagers and the marshy lands to the west, as if aiming to squeeze into the open space and sprint for the river road.

“Imagers! Measured darts to the attackers. Now!”

Ten of the first twelve riders went down, and then more behind them.

Just as suddenly a burst of flame appeared over the front rank of the defenders. For an instant, Alastar gaped, not believing what he'd seen, then used what imaging strength he had to drop it back onto the attackers. “They're imaging Antiagon fire! Image it back onto to their troopers!” He found himself breathing hard, but not feeling weak.
Not yet.
He also realized that he'd missed a small part of the Antiagon fire that had dropped on several of Luerryn's troopers, turning them into charred figures, at least one of whom was still moving and screaming.

Another gout of flame appeared, but one of Alastar's imagers flung it in a line across the troopers aiming for the gap. Then more of the attackers went down with darts in them. The pace of fire from the defenders picked up.

After another burst of Antiagon fire flew toward the defenders, but was imaged back across the rebel troopers trying to get to the river road, charring several ranks, a horn sounded, and the attackers turned and began to withdraw.

Only when it was clear that the attackers were truly withdrawing did Wilkorn order, “Hold your fire!”

Alastar surveyed the area between the imagers and the marshes. A quick count suggested more than a hundred of the attackers' mounted infantry lay dead or likely dying just there. Farther to the south the carnage was even greater. For a moment he wondered why the rebels hadn't persisted. Some very well might have gotten through.
But not enough to proceed to L'Excelsis and do what they had in mind.
He looked out to the west. The rebels were indeed withdrawing to the hamlet at the northwest end of the lake.

Wilkorn rode up to Alastar and reined in his mount. “Were those yellow-greenish flames Antiagon fire?”

“That's what it seemed to be,” replied Alastar. “The last time I saw that was when Chesyrk used it on the Army High Command at Ryen's memorial service.”

“Hehnsyn and Marryt were both junior officers then,” said the marshal. “But … I thought it took an imager to create it.”

“They could have taken the formula. They've obviously had an imager for a while.”

“Nasty stuff.”

“We might see more of it.”

“So long as you and your imagers can handle it, that may be the least of our problems. I just got a messenger from Maurek. They held off the rebels, and he's moving to join us. It appears that the rebels have re-formed and are following, and they've been joined by the regiment of High Holder troopers from Caluse. They have five cannon, from what his scouts show.”

“How many do we have?”

“Eight. We had to leave two in L'Excelsis. One turned out to be flawed, might have exploded if we used it, and someone damaged the other one … ruined the trunnion on one side. Could have been done years ago.”

“You might think about spacing the cannon out,” suggested Alastar. “The rebels might try what we did this evening or early tomorrow morning.”

“I've already planned for that. We'll also be using earthworks and putting the foot behind them. That way they can fire from cover with minimal exposure. I hadn't thought we'd be able to do that.”

That comment puzzled Alastar, given that firing from cover seemed far preferable to firing from a position where one was fully exposed. “Why not?”

“They have greater numbers. I would have thought that they would attack in waves and from angles and in places where we couldn't afford to dig in, for one reason or another. If we had dug in, they just would have gone around us, and the effort would have been wasted. This way, they've boxed themselves in.”

Alastar frowned, then almost nodded, but because he wanted to hear what Wilkorn had to say, he replied, “Aren't we the ones boxed in?”

“That's true, but we've shown that we can whittle them down with far fewer losses than they've taken. They're running out of time and men, and resources. They feel they have to break through and win.”

“If they do, Lorien is finished.”
And the position of the Collegium will be close to untenable.

Wilkorn laughed harshly. “We both know that losing Lorien as rex would be no great loss. Putting his brother on the throne at the beck and call of the High Holders would be a disaster for Solidar. That's why both of us know that we have to use this situation to destroy the rebels or weaken them so greatly that they're not only defeated, but perceived by other High Holders as defeated.”

“The only problem with that,” Alastar pointed out, “is that the only High Holders directly linked to the revolt are all dead, except for Ryentar. Lorien might be able to make a case against Caervyn, but he's the only one besides Ryentar for whom there's any real proof. The only one living, besides Ryentar, that is.”

“What a frigging mess.” Wilkorn shook his head.

Alastar thought the marshal's assessment was exceedingly understated.

“They'll likely attack early tomorrow. That's Aestyn's preference. Usually, anyway. We'll talk later.”

Alastar turned his mount, only to see that Cyran and Akoryt had eased their mounts closer. “How much did you two overhear?”

“Enough,” said Cyran dryly.

“How is everyone?”

“All the imagers are close to full strength,” replied Cyran.

Akoryt nodded.

“In case you didn't overhear it all,” said Alastar, “it appears that the rebels are massing all their forces. Wilkorn believes they'll make an all-out attack early tomorrow morning. You two talk it over, and see if you can come up with anything else we should do. We'll get together later. I need to find Captain Weidyn.”

“Yes, sir.”

Weidyn wasn't that hard to find, since he was less than a hundred yards away, standing at the edge of the road, clearly having left his mount elsewhere … or had it shot from under him.

“Maitre … what can I do for you?”

“I was wondering. Have you issued those special bullets?”

“No, sir.”

“It might be a good idea to do so before tomorrow.”

“Much as I dislike the idea, sir, I'm afraid you're right. Especially after they used that yellow-green fire.”

“Antiagon fire.”

“Is that what it was? I heard about that, but I never saw it before. Nasty stuff. Where did they get it?”

“Subcommander Hehnsyn or Subcommander Marryt must have gotten the formula from army files and persuaded a renegade imager to make it.” More likely to image it, but that was something that Alastar didn't want to get into.

“Is there anything else, sir.”

“Not right now.” Alastar smiled pleasantly and turned his mount back toward where Cyran had gathered the imagers.

 

46

Alastar woke well before the sun on Samedi morning. Knowing that he would not sleep longer, no matter how long he lay on his makeshift bed, he slowly rose and stretched, trying to get the aches and soreness out of his muscles, trying to ignore all the reminders that he wasn't as young as he liked to think he was. He checked his shields … and was relieved that he seemed able to hold them without strain. The last thing he needed was to be unshielded or to have to rely on one of the other imagers for protection.

There was neither a glimmer of light to the east nor were there many night sounds outside of the chirping of crickets. Unlike birds, crickets didn't stay quiet unless someone was moving and close enough to step on them. Erion was still fairly high in the western sky, but gibbous, while Artiema, nearly full, was close to setting.
The hunter's moon will see the day hunt.
A sardonic grin crossed Alastar's lips and vanished.

Once he was fully dressed, he walked toward the upper level of the low earthwork revetments set in a semi-circle, careful to stay well back from the troopers manning them as he looked first south along the river road, and then westward toward the hamlet, where he saw several points of light that had to be fires, most likely cookfires. Although he, Cyran, and Akoryt had discussed possible imager tactics the night before, none of them had come up with anything new. The only questions were those relating to when to use what tactic or ability and how to space out which imagers were dealing with the attackers so that some were always ready to step forward.

Alastar had no doubts that the day ahead would be long, one way or another, as he made his way to the imager wagon for an early breakfast, most likely of porridge and tea. Cyran was already there, not totally surprisingly.

“The rebels had their cookfires going early this morning,” said the senior imager after a mouthful of porridge. “What sort of imaging do you think we'll face today?”

“I wish I knew. There's only so much two imagers can do, but Bettaur's as strong as a Maitre D'Structure.”

“We haven't seen that sort of strength yet.” Cyran sipped tea from his tin cup. “They're probably saving him for something special. Where do you think we'll be?”

“Most likely in two groups, but not too far apart, and under a concealment so that they can't target cannon at us … at least until we can get rid of their cannon, one way or another. The objective today is simple. Destroy every possible rebel ranker and officer. We don't want to have to fight another battle.”

“No tactical victories, then?” Cyran offered an exaggerated smile.

“Not unless they're total.”

“And you'll promise not to make any heroic sacrifices so that I don't have to tell Alyna?” While Cyran's tone was humorous, Alastar could sense a certain concern behind the words.

“No heroic sacrifices, I promise. I'd like to have the rebels make heroic and futile sacrifices.”

“That makes two of us,” returned Cyran.

After eating hurriedly, Alastar made his way to the command tent.

Wilkorn was there alone, sitting behind the camp table where a small lantern illuminated the map spread before him. He looked up. “Morning, Alastar. How does it feel to be one of the two gray eminences … fighting a revolt that never should have been, caused by pride, ignorance, arrogance, and greed?”

“About the same as you do, I imagine. Except I feel gray, and not much like an eminence of any kind. But hasn't every revolt or war been caused or fueled by pride, ignorance, arrogance, and greed?”

Wilkorn laughed harshly, then winced, and adjusted the sling that still held his broken arm. “Any that I've ever heard of. To win will require the greatest slaughter I'll ever be a part of, and … and if we lose, the same will be true. The pity of it all is that almost all of those who created this mess are either already dead or will never be called to account—except by the Nameless … if there even is a Nameless.”