Soarers Choice (75 page)

“What
about the Reillies? It’s been over a glass. It doesn’t take that long to cover
four vingts.”

“Except
at a very slow walk,” Mykel pointed out.

“Majer,
sir!”

Mykel
turned, raising his left arm and watching as one of the scouts rode toward him,
up the narrow space between where Seventeenth and Fifteenth Companies were
drawn up. The Cadmians were all dismounted, but still in a loose formation by
squads.

Coroden
reined up. “Sir, the Reillies and the Squawts ... they all just stopped.
Couldn’t be more than a vingt from us. One of their leaders rode out in front,
and jumped and stood on his saddle. He was wearing green, all green. Even his
face was painted green.”

“Are
they still there?”

“Yes,
sir. They’ve been there for nearly half a glass. That was when I’d left. It
looks like they’re all praying, but they’ve got their blades out, or the
captain might have been tempted to ask to attack.”

Mykel
didn’t like that at all, especially not with the rumbling in the ground, and
the Talent he’d felt before dawn — not when the soarers had suggested they
didn’t care much for Cadmians who acted as hunting dogs for alectors. “Tell him
to hold. He’s not to attack except if he’s attacked. Otherwise, he’s to follow
the battle plan, unless I send other orders.”

“Yes,
sir.”

“Have
him send word if or when the Reillies start to move again.”

Coroden
nodded, then turned his mount back down the slope, heading toward the back lane
that paralleled the Borlan road.

“Praying
to their gods?” asked Fabrytal. “Goddesses,” replied Mykel. “If they’re green,
they have to be praying to the ancients.”

“Are
the ancients all women?”

“I
don’t think anyone knows for certain.” Mykel pulled out his water bottle and
took a swallow, thinking. He’d never seen a male ancient.

The
entire mass of hill riders had stopped dead — less than a vingt from Mykel’s
Cadmians and less than two from the Borlan bridge. And they hadn’t disbanded. They
hadn’t made camp. They just prayed and waited. For what?

For
a sign from the ancients? For the ancients to attack and destroy the Cadmians?

Another
glass came and went, without either a messenger or any sign of the Reillies and
Squawts. The light breeze that had blown out of the northeast died away. So
still was the air that, despite the chill, the day felt far warmer than it
actually was.

“Majer!”

Mykel
turned and caught sight of Coroden riding hard from the back lane and across
the winter-browned grass of the slope up toward him.

“They’re
moving, sir,” the scout reported, even before fully reining in his mount and
coming to a stop short of the majer. “They didn’t even look at the side lane.
They’re pouring down the Borlan road, sir. The captain’s waiting for them to
all get past before he follows, but there’s got to be close to two thousand of
them.”

“Thank
you. Tell him to follow more closely. He’s to attack as soon as he hears us
begin to fire.”

“Yes,
sir.”

“Go.”
Mykel gestured with his good arm. “Be careful on the ride back.”

Coroden
turned his mount and headed back down the slope.

“Third
Battalion! Mount up!” Mykel half jumped, half climbed up into the saddle of the
roan, an awkward but effective mounting for a man with a single usable arm.

“Mount
up!” The command echoed across the slope of the knoll.

While
the three companies were forming up, Mykel rode to the top of the knoll and
looked to the northwest, but he did not see any sign of the Reillies and
Squawts. Uneasily, he rode back down on the east side, toward his men, but only
far enough that he could still watch the road without being silhouetted against
the sky.

As
the companies finished mounting and re-forming, the ground began to shiver, and
then to rumble. The high haze in the silver-green sky became even more silvery.
Mykel sensed violent pulses of brilliant amber-green energy flowing somewhere
in the ground, not beneath him, but both to the north and south. What were the
soarers doing?

Fabrytal
rode forward toward Mykel. “Fifteenth Company, mounted and ready, sir.”

“Thirteenth
Company ...”

“Seventeenth
Company ...”

The
three undercaptains looked at Mykel.

“Sir?”
Loryalt finally asked. “Is that the Reillies?”

“No.”
Mykel shook his head. “It’s the ancients.”

The
three officers exchanged glances.

A
roaring, rushing sound filled the air, coming from the south and east. Mykel
turned the roan toward the bluffs overlooking the river. He could sense water,
knew it was crashing downstream, but his mouth still dropped open when spray
spewed up the side of the bluffs to the south, turning into a thick fog. Even
from half a vingt away, Mykel could feel that the water was warm — even hot.

“Sir!”
shouted Fabrytal. “Here they come.”

Mykel
turned the roan. The river would have to wait.

A
mass of mounts and men rode down the road, and then rode away from it, aimed
directly at the knolls behind which the Cadmians waited.

“Battalion
forward. Reform just below the top! Staggered firing lines!”

“Battalion
forward ...”

After
initially riding forward of the battalion, Mykel turned back and reined up on
the crest of the knoll, letting the Cadmians ride past him. The three companies
slipped into the positions Mykel had planned.

By
that time, the Reillies were less than a half vingt to the west. There was no
strategy, no flanking maneuvering, no attempt at a cross fire — just a swarm of
hill riders with green-painted faces riding full speed toward the Cadmians.

Mykel
waited until the foremost of the hill riders were less than a hundred yards
away. “Open fire! Fire at will!” He glanced to the south in the direction of
the Vedra. A thick fog rose over the river, and some of it had begun to roll
northward. The line of fog was high enough to be seen above the tops of the
trees and the bluffs, and followed the course of the river.

He
forced his concentration back to the flat below and to the east of the knoll.

Already,
scores of Reillies were dead and dying, and yet the flow of riders went over
and around the fallen.

From
their slight elevation on the upper section of the knoll, the Cadmians
continued to fire down on the flat. Occasionally, Mykel could feel a Cadmian
fall, but few of the Reillies and Squawts were using rifles. Most were carrying
their overlarge blades. Some of the blades dripped green as well.

Mykel
glanced to the northwest, catching sight of maroon and gray uniforms —
Fourteenth Company riding toward the Reillies and Squawts. Even as the shots
from Culeyt’s men began to rip into the rear of the attackers, not a one
turned. All of them pressed forward.

The
charge had begun to slacken, if less than fifty yards from the base of the
knoll, as more and more riders were slowed by fallen riders and mounts.

Then,
a group of close to fifty riders coalesced at the base of the knoll, right in
the center, and redoubled their efforts, riding straight uphill toward
Fifteenth Company — and Mykel.

“Fire!
At the center!” ordered Fabrytal, standing in the stirrups at the front of the
company.

Seeing
the undercaptain so openly ordering his company, Mykel winced.

The
concentrated fire from Fifteenth Company reduced the number of riders in the
oncoming advance charge to less than half those who had started up the slope,
but there were still fifteen or twenty who neared the front line more than
forty yards ahead of the main body.

Fabrytal’s
sabre flashed — once, twice, perhaps again — before he was surrounded.

The
first lines of Fifteenth Company struck back, and the rest of the Reillies went
down, one way or another.

“Dress
those lines!” Senior Squad Leader Chyndylt’s voice penetrated the chaos, and
Fifteenth Company responded.

While
the continued fire from Third Battalion had taken its toll on the attackers,
they still rode forward.

Mykel
calculated the distances and the speeds, noting how the attackers were bunched
in the middle, then called out his own orders, boosting them with his Talent.
“Fifteenth Company! Rifles away! To sabre! To sabre! Seventeenth Company!
Thirteenth Company! Keep firing!” To offer the example to Fifteenth Company, he
raised his own sabre, if left-handed. After a moment, he shouted, Talent
amplifying it, “Fifteenth Company! Charge!”

“Charge!”
echoed Chyndylt.

Clearly,
the Reillies had not expected the Cadmians, with their smaller sabres, to
charge, but those smaller sabres could be — and were — far more deadly in
confined quarters, with riders and mounts pressing on all sides.

The
Reillie and Squawt riders broke off, despite shouts and orders from somewhere.

“Fifteenth
Company! Withdraw and re-form! Withdraw and re-form!”

Mykel
was relieved to see that most of the company did ride back up the slope,
already littered with bodies.

From
the west, Fourteenth Company continued to rake the Reillies with rifle fire,
but the warleaders or priests in the front seemed ignorant of or indifferent to
those losses as the much diminished mass of hill riders regrouped into a rough
series of lines and once more charged toward the bulk of Third Battalion.

Another
concentration of Reillie riders formed a wedge aimed at Mykel. In between the
grunts, the screams of men and mounts, and the continuing rifle fire from
Fourteenth Company, he could hear the shouts of the attackers.

“To
the priest-killer...”

“For
Kladyl!”

At
those words, Mykel did his best to gather and strengthen his Talent shields
around him, but he remained behind the center of Fifteenth Company.

From
beyond the swirl of attackers and Cadmians below him, Mykel could sense a focus
of Talent somehow being directed at him, and he raised his sabre, if
left-handed, trying to infuse it with what Talent he could. As he did, a line
of greenish flame arced toward him, a crossbow bolt coated in Talent.

Amber-green
flared before Mykel, and he rocked slightly in the saddle at the impact of bolt
and sabre. His eyes still watering from the last Talent impact, he tried to get
a clearer view of the battle beside and below him.

Thirteenth
and Seventeenth Companies remained on the fringes of the attack, but Loryalt
had angled his lines downhill on the north side to give his men clearer shots
at the Reillie center. Mykel did not see Dyarth, but Thirteenth Company also
continued to fire telling shots into the mass of hill riders.

He
took a quick look at his sabre, but it seemed undamaged by the Talent-bolt, if
slightly discolored.

A
loud shrieking series of yells presaged another charge up the hill at Fifteenth
Company. This onslaught was formed like a blunt wedge, and Mykel had a good
i.e.
why. When the attackers reached the first line of
Fifteenth Company, nearly half had gone down wounded or killed, but they had
shielded the older and more seasoned Reillies who spurred their mounts through
the center of third squad, striving to reach Mykel.

“The
priest-killer!”

“Avenge
Kladyl!”

Much
as his instinct was to charge down toward them, Mykel did not, instead,
waiting, rebuilding his Talent shields. A squad of Fifteenth Company angled
southward, trying to cut off the Reillies who were cutting their way through
the center of the company, but a handful of Reillies surged past them before
the squad intercepted those following.

Only
when those few riders were within a handful of yards did Mykel urge the roan
forward, waiting until he was almost upon the four riders to do his best to
stiffen those shields.

The
combination of his shields and momentum were enough to unhorse two of the
riders and push the others away, where they were cut down by the near rankers
of Fifteenth Company.

Mykel
reined up. Although there were less than half of the attackers left, he wasn’t
about to go charging into them.

He
could sense another blaze of green Talent being readied, centered on yet
another group of riders who appeared, riding from the northwest side of the
mass of Reillies, led by two men clad totally in green, their faces painted
green as well. A faint green aura surrounded them.

“Aim
for the greenies! Aim for the greenies!” Loryalt’s voice bellowed forth across
the hillside.

The
renewed fire from Seventeenth Company cut down close to a third of the
attackers within moments.

Mykel
had the feeling that all the Reillies and Squawts below had stopped — and were
watching — as if all those in the world around him had decided to hold their
collective breaths. Except that they hadn’t stopped. The remaining attackers
had re-formed around the green priests, and the entire body was aimed at the
northern
e.g.
of Fifteenth Company.

Seventeenth
Company had swung southward. “Charge!” ordered Loryalt.

Mykel
could see that the Cadmians would not be able to cut off the leading section of
the attackers. He turned the roan and reined up. Holding tight to his shields,
he did what he had winced to see Fabrytal do. He stood in the stirrups, trying
to anchor himself and the roan to the very ground, and to whatever lay beneath
it, trying to drive pylons of Talent to bedrock.

Fire
from the Cadmians to the south redoubled, ripping into the body of Reillies and
Squawts for several moments, then died away as Seventeenth Company’s rankers
hurled themselves into the northern flank of the attackers.

The
riders leading the green priests had fallen, leaving the priests alone and
isolated from the remainder of the Reillies.