Heritage of Cyador (saga of recluce Book 18) (45 page)

“That makes sense…”

“But we didn’t spell it out. Part of that was because of the arms-commander’s injuries. Now that Commander Sammyl is there, communications should improve.”
Not that you’re at all convinced of that.

“How badly is he injured?”

“He’s bruised all over, and his left leg is broken. He has no feeling in his legs and cannot move them. He’s well in control of himself,”
at least when we left,
“and is using the undamaged west part of the palace as his headquarters.”

“But … he is likely the heir … and if he is so damaged…”

“He may recover. Sometimes people do.”
Most don’t, but that problem can wait.
“But, if we don’t stop the Heldyans, it won’t matter who will succeed who as duke.”

“Not everyone is likely to feel that way,” Drusyn points out.

“Those who are more concerned about who rules might be the best ones to look at in search of the traitor who blew up the palace … and the Harbor Post.”
And spreading that idea might put a damper on some of the maneuvering for power among the merchanters.

“You really don’t think…?”

“Who else? The only people who have the resources to do that are merchanters. Most likely whoever set it up corrupted someone in the palace and an officer in the Afritan Guard. In turn, they might have been promised great gains by Duke Khesyn if he is successful in conquering Afrit. Even if he is not, he’s weakened Afrit, and it costs him little.”

“You don’t have a high opinion of our merchanters, do you?”

Do you, really?
“Not your merchanters … any merchanters, including those in Cigoerne. Merchanters are necessary. Most necessary, but trusting them blindly is unwise.”

“Then how would you trust them?”

“Only when they profit by our success,” replies Lerial dryly. After a moment, he goes on. “Perhaps we should plan out what will happen tomorrow morning so that there is no confusion as there was today.”

Drusyn nods.

As he moves toward the counter on which the maps are spread, Lerial can only hope he has mitigated the impact of his earlier words.

XXXI

After spending more than a glass working out details of what Lerial and the Mirror Lancers—and Drusyn’s Afritan Guards—would do on sixday, Lerial and the Lancers withdraw to South Post, where Drusyn has arranged for quarters and rations. For the rest of the day, through dinner, and even when he is falling asleep in a room in the officers’ quarters, the same thought keeps running through Lerial’s mind.
You have to find a way to deal with that last chaos-wizard. Otherwise, Drusyn and his idiot majers will sit here until they lose.
That thought is still there, stronger than ever, when he wakes and dresses on sixday, but he pushes it aside and gets on with readying himself and the three companies.

By slightly before seventh glass, they leave South Post. When they reach the factorage that serves as Subcommander Drusyn’s command center, Lerial dismounts and makes his way inside.

“Good morning, Overcaptain,” says Drusyn cheerfully.

“The same to you. Has anything changed at South Point?”

“Not so far. The Heldyans haven’t landed any more men.” The subcommander frowns. “I did receive a dispatch from the arms-commander. They’re still bringing in men and mounts at the tileworks.”

“That’s good and bad. Good because they may not attack as soon as we feared, and bad…” Lerial shakes his head.

“Because they’ll have a massive force there when they do.”

After a moment, Lerial asks, “You have three battalions here?”

Drusyn nods. “Aerlyt’s Fourth Battalion is on the south side, and Fhaet’s Third is to the north and east of the point. Majer Knaak has Fifth in reserve, back slightly and between them.” He gestures to the maps on the counters. “I can show you.”

Lerial follows the subcommander to the counter.

“Third is here, Fourth here, and Fifth there.” Drusyn looks up.

“Have you given the majers written orders?” Lerial asks cautiously.

“No. Do you think that’s necessary?”

“I’d appreciate that. When there’s conflict and confusion, there are some officers who have a tendency to forget orders that they question.”

“I presume you’re referring to Majer Fhaet.”

“I apparently haven’t made the best impression on him,” Lerial says dryly, suspecting that his words are a massive understatement. “I’d prefer there not be any more confusion.”

“I can understand that. I’ll write up a brief order to all three majers and dispatch them by courier immediately.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“I appreciate your taking on chaos-mages.” Drusyn actually smiles, if for a moment.

Once Lerial leaves the subcommander, he decides to proceed deliberately, even as he worries about what the Heldyans on South Point may be doing. First, he moves the three companies to a back street out of sight of the attackers, but within easy striking distance, then takes three rankers with him to visit each of the battalion commanders, beginning with the reserve battalion.

His eyes study the high thin gray clouds, which will probably burn off by midmorning, but which will mean that the Mirror Lancers will not be riding into the sun. The air is still, damp, and heavy. The streets are deserted, although Lerial can sense people watching through the cracks in shuttered windows, and the echoes from the gelding’s hoofs on the stone pavement sound hollow. He sees a single smudge-gray cat sitting on a sand barrel. The cat looks back at Lerial evenly, and so regally that he smiles.

Once Lerial turns onto Spinners’ Lane, he has no trouble locating the Fifth Battalion command post, since the horses outside a café ahead are the only sign of any activity.

Lerial has barely reined up when Majer Knaak hurries off a narrow porch where he is meeting with his captains to see Lerial. “Good morning, Overcaptain. Amazing what you did yesterday.” He shakes his head. “Too bad we couldn’t take advantage of it.”

Lerial dismounts, ties the gelding to the end of the hitching rail, then turns to the majer. “There was a bit of confusion. That’s why I’m here. We’re going to try to remove the last of the chaos-mages to make matters easier. But it would be best if…” Lerial goes on to explain what he and Drusyn have planned.

When Lerial finishes, Knaak, a short man with black and gray hair, nods approvingly. “That sounds good to me. You know we’re in reserve, though.”

“I know, but I thought you should hear it from me.”

“Appreciate it.” Knaak offers a warm and open smile. “We wish you the best, and we’ll be ready if we’re needed.”

From there, Lerial makes his way to the Rusty Nail, a tavern one block off the river road on the south side of the point, less than a hundred yards from where Majer Aerlyt has positioned Fourth Battalion. While Aerlyt does not come out to meet Lerial, a junior squad leader does and escorts Lerial into a small side room, most likely a plaques or gaming room.

Aerlyt rises from the table and smiles. He is silver-haired and easily the oldest Afritan Guard officer that Lerial has met, at least so far. He listens intently as Lerial explains, then says, “I wish I’d known what you were doing yesterday. We were slow to react, and then Fhaet sent word that we weren’t to attack.”

That sleazy worm.
Lerial still manages an apologetic smile. “That was my fault. I thought Subcommander Drusyn had informed you, and he thought I had.” Lerial isn’t going to go so far as to admit just how much he had fouled up matters, but it is becoming more clear that he had overlooked far too much. “So we planned today’s attack together, and I thought it best to check with each battalion commander before beginning our attack.”

“It helps when everyone’s clear on who will do what.” Aerlyt smiles. “We’ll be ready, Overcaptain.”

“Thank you.”

The last stop is the empty tinsmith’s shop. There are no officers around, except for Fhaet himself, and he barely looks up as Lerial enters the front area of the shop.

“Good morning, Majer,” Lerial offers pleasantly.

“Good morning, Overcaptain.”

“I just wanted to stop by before we begin our attack so that you would know what we’re doing, and how your battalion is expected to follow up.”

Fhaet smiles politely, but scarcely pleasantly. “I understand what you’re doing, Overcaptain. I’ve read the subcommander’s orders, and I’m a good Afritan officer.”

Lerial doesn’t like Fhaet’s tone, or the way he is responding, but doesn’t wish to push. “We’ll be starting our attack shortly. I just thought you should know so that you can follow up if we’re successful.”

“We’ll do what is necessary, Overcaptain.”

“I’m sure that you will. I appreciate that.”

“I won’t keep you, Overcaptain.”

“Nor I you, Majer.”

As he leaves the former tinsmith’s shop and rides back toward the Mirror Lancers, Lerial cannot help but wonder exactly why Fhaet is so politely unpleasant.
What does he have against you? Or Cigoerne?

“Everyone’s ready, ser,” Fheldar announces when Lerial reins up on the side street, just out of sight of South Point.

“Good. It’s going to be a few moments.”

As he did on fiveday, Lerial uses his eyes and order-senses to survey the Heldyan positions. It is clear that they have built up the initial stone barricades to the point where it will be difficult for a mount to clear them, unlike before—another reminder of the costs of his haste and sloppiness and Fhaet’s anger and/or incompetence. Still … there is an area some thirty yards to the north of the center of the barricade where perhaps the tiniest bit of order-chaos separation could create an opening wide enough for the Mirror Lancers, provided that Lerial can deal with the remaining chaos-mage. Except … his senses reveal that there are now two chaos focal points, one most likely the diffuse and shielded mage who survived the attack on five-day, the other a more open and less-shielded and likely younger white wizard.

But Drusyn reported that the Heldyans didn’t land any more men.
Lerial frowns. The combination of more armsmen behind the first line of the rough stone wall, the increased height of that barricade, and, now, another mage suggests all too strongly that either Drusyn is lying or that he is relying on Fhaet, who is either failing to report or sending false or incomplete reports. Lerial can only hope it is the second possibility, but even that doesn’t reflect all that well on Drusyn. He forces himself to study the entire South Point area once more, slowly and methodically.

Finally, he nods.

“Ser?” asks Fheldar.

“Apparently, Majer Fhaet failed to notice or to notify the subcommander that the Heldyans did manage to land a few more troopers. I’d judge another two companies, possibly three. Pass the word that we’ll attack with two companies, Eighth and Eleventh. Undercaptain Kusyl is to reinforce us where necessary.”

“Yes, ser.”

A tenth of a glass passes before Lerial receives word that all companies are ready. He strengthens his shields, then orders, “Mirror Lancers! Forward!”

Unlike on fiveday, Lerial’s forces have barely cleared the side street and begun to move toward the stone barricade when the first firebolt arches almost lazily from somewhere behind the stone barricade but forward of the old walls of the fort proper. It is not aimed at Lerial, however, but at the rear squad of Eleventh Company—the most distant part of the formation from Lerial.

Because it is a small chaos-bolt, Lerial uses a twin five-line order-pattern to redirect the chaos back down behind the front stone barricade along where he intends to attack.

Another chaos-bolt arches higher and seems aimed farther back, toward Twenty-third Company, but Lerial intercepts it as well and angles it into the Heldyan troopers to the south of those who perished from the first firebolt.

Abruptly, a shielded column of Heldyan foot rises and charges out of the north end of the stone barricade, as far from Lerial and his lancers as possible, clearly heading for Third Battalion, while avoiding the Mirror Lancers. Leading, as well as flanking the south side of the column, are shieldmen and pikemen, enough so that Lerial wishes that he had ordered his men armed with their lances. Without them, charging the column would result in far too many deaths and injuries.

Frig!
“Mirror Lancers! Halt!” Lerial immediately creates the smallest amount of order-chaos separation in one of the shields in the middle of the column roughly two ranks back from the front.

Chaos erupts, but not nearly so much as Lerial would have thought—if only for a moment, as the remainder of that chaos is gathered and arrowed straight toward him. Lerial parries and redirects the chaos he has created back toward the chaos-wizard who has been throwing the firebolts, if while trying to keep track of the stronger and more concealed chaos-mage.

Sun-white chaos flares where the first wizard had been, then flashes toward Lerial like lightning, so quickly that he has no time to react, but his shields throw the chaos back toward the remaining Heldyan chaos-mage, who in turn boosts more chaos and returns the chaos to Lerial.

On the third pass, Lerial is ready and uses a triple ten-line pattern to focus all that chaos into a narrow lightning-like spear back at the chaos-mage.

WHHHSTT!

The entire front wall of the old fort explodes into a seething wall of sun-white heat, tinged with golden red, so bright that Lerial cannot even see for several moments thereafter.

When he can see, he finds his hands are shaking, not quite uncontrollably.

Only the last squad or so of the Heldyan column remains, and those survivors scramble back toward the remnants of the old fort.

It takes Lerial two hands to grasp his water bottle, uncork it, and take a swallow … then another. He looks around … and has to swallow hard. Four men in the front rank of Eighth Company, the two at each end of the rank, are charred corpses. So are their mounts, the result of Lerial’s shields, wide enough to protect him and those on each side, and quick enough to keep the chaos from passing the front rank. One of those rankers had been Vominen, the Verdyn lancer and scout who had left the Verdyn Lancers to join Eighth Company … and Lerial.