L. Modesitt - Arms-Commander

Saryn took several swallows from her water bottle and kept watching, with most of fourth squad circled loosely around her.

Almost a glass passed. All of the main Gallosian force was now in the valley, and the two full vanguard companies were within half a kay of the concealed Westwind force.

Whether the vanguard had scouts out, or sharp eyes, someone had clearly noticed something, because the Gallosians moved into an attack formation and simply kept riding toward the Westwind forces. Saryn didn’t understand that strategy, unless Arthanos had calculated just how many Westwind women there were, and unless he felt that without the great male mage Nylan, Ryba was simply posturing. What ever the reasoning, it was clear that the overall strategy was simply to keep attacking, beginning with the vanguard, until the force of numbers destroyed Westwind.

For the vanguard, that strategy was largely suicidal. After weathering a hail of targeted arrows, less than half the vanguard even closed with the Westwind companies, and many of those armsmen might have been wounded. In little more than half a glass, scattered handfuls of Gallosians were fleeing eastward, and the rest were dead or otherwise out of combat.

Within moments, a set of wagons appeared, moving forward of the Westwind positions, where guards began placing frameworks across the road and in a semicircle around the crest of the valley road. Saryn continued to watch as the Westwind guards stood down, remaining in a loose formation visible for at least a kay to the east. All the time, the main body of the Gallosian forces continued westward, with cavalry leading the way, followed by marching armsmen, with another set of cavalry troopers behind. In the rear came close to twoscore supply wagons.

As noon came…and went…the Gallosians kept moving toward the Westwind defenses. Once they were within clear sight, they halted, then reformed, with the foot moving to the front and taking the road and some distance on each side of it, and the cavalry flanking the foot, if with the larger portion on the open south side.

Ryba had either judged Arthanos correctly-or her visions had been accurate in regard to the Gallosian strategy. Arthanos was not even attempting finesse. He knew how few the Westwind guards were and intended to overwhelm them by sheer force of numbers.

Then…a flash of chaos flared across the Westwind pike line, and flames and ashes rose. When the flames died away, and the smoke and ashes had been blown clear, a large gap appeared in the framework of pikes. The Gallosian forces continued to advance, and a second chaosbolt transformed another section of the wooden piles into flame, ashes, and charcoal.

“They’ve got mages, ser,” offered Klarisa, her voice worried.

Saryn nodded. “Let’s hope they don’t have too many.” Arthanos had at least one white mage. That was why he was so confident. The mage-or mages-had to have determined that there were no mages among the Westwind fighters. And there were not, because, while Istril and Siret were in the valley, they were being held back for healing afterward. There was no point in wasting either in battle, because at most they could kill a single Gallosian, and then they’d be useless as healers for some time. While Saryn had some abilities along those lines, she’d certainly never faced a chaos-wielder, and she was kays away from the battle.

“How long now, ser?” asked the squad leader.

“I’d guess another quarter to half glass, but it depends on how fast the Gallosians move.” And when Ryba signals. Saryn glanced toward the hillock that Ryba had pointed out. While she could make out riders and mounts there, no one was signaling, not that Saryn expected a signal yet. The rear of the Gallosian forces was not yet far enough into the valley, and the cavalry and the footmen at the front had not yet even reached the smoldering and useless wooden pikes.

Ryba couldn’t have foreseen the mages. She wouldn’t have wasted the effort to build the pike frameworks, ruses or not. Saryn frowned. Or would she?

Ryba did not order a charge, and the mounted guards remained shielded by the crest of the hill-for the moment.

Saryn could see that Ryba had ordered the archers to fire again, because some of the cavalry fell, and there were places in the Gallosian lines where the advance slowed. Then, still shielded by the hill, the Westwind guards wheeled and began to ride to the southwest, directly toward the hillock from which the signal was supposed to come. The Gallosians continued to advance along the wide front, as if no one had noticed anything at all.

The cavalry on the meadows to the south of the road began to move more rapidly. That made sense, because they were higher and were the first to see the Westwind withdrawal. The lines of the Gallosian mounted forces became even more ragged, while the Westwind guards rode up the hillock and re-dressed their lines-in the staggered fashion that would allow them to fire shafts downhill at the attackers.

How long before Ryba signaled? Saryn glanced to the east end of the valley. Most of the armsmen in the main body of the Gallosian forces were well within where the avalanche would sweep-if Ryba’s visions were right…if Saryn’s judgments on where to place the weapons happened to be accurate…if she had calculated the fuse burn times correctly…

So many ifs…

The Gallosian cavalry hadn’t reached the foot of the hill that held the Westwind contingent…not yet. Ryba hadn’t signaled. How long should she wait? Saryn asked herself.

Her eyes focused on the Gallosian forces. Some were clearly being taken down by Westwind shafts, but the losses scarcely slowed the mass of men and mounts pressing toward the base of the hill.

A flash of something flitted past Saryn, and she immediately looked directly to the top of the hillock, concentrating intently. For a time she could see nothing. Then the light flashed past her again, and she realized that Ryba, or whoever was using the mirror, was sweeping the mesa, as if she could not see where Saryn and fourth squad were.

Saryn immediately moved to the fuse on the first penetrator, opened the leather bag, and removed the striker and the tinder. It took several strikes before the tinder caught, but once it did, she immediately slipped one of the fatwood splinters from her jacket and held it over the tinder, waiting until it was burning brightly. Then she lit the first fuse.

“Fourth squad! Back!” she ordered as she stood.

She walked swiftly to the second fuse and lit it, then the third and fourth, close together, and after them, the remaining three. Following her own advice, she moved back from the edge of the mesa and knelt, waiting, hoping that the weapons would work…and work as planned. If not, almost all of the Westwind guards would be overrun and slaughtered-unless they fled…and that would only prolong the eventual outcome…all that if Saryn could not trigger the avalanche necessary to wipe out most of the Gallosians.

She could sense the running reddish chaos of the fuses, and all felt as though they were burning at almost the same rate, and that they would trigger the penetrators at close to the same moment. Just before the fuses burned down to the penetrator casings, Saryn found herself holding her breath.

Whummmp! Whump! Whump!..

The entire mesa seemed to rock with the force of the explosions, but that was only the sound, Saryn realized, and all she felt was the slightest tremor from the stone beneath her feet. Small fragments of rock pelted down on and around her, and reddish dust puffed up from the north side of the mesa. A faint rumbling growled away from her, then subsided.

Saryn could sense that most of the overhang remained in place, although some of the stone had fragmented away.