L. Modesitt - Ordermaster

Kharl caught the faintest sense of whiteness to the south and west, but when he tried to focus on it, the feeling was gone.

“You be wanting us to head back toward Valmurl, ser, or out west.”

“West,” Kharl said with a certainty he did not feel. “They’re past here and headed west.” He glanced back toward Valmurl, but the river road was empty.

“No tracks on the road, ser. Doesn’t look as though they came this way.″

“Not by the road,” Kharl admitted. He somehow knew that the rebel forces had not returned to Valmurl, but where could they be? The fields immediately to the south of the river road were flat and open, and the smell of turned bottomland occasionally came to Kharl on the intermittent light breeze from the west.

Another kay or so to the west, he could see a stand of trees. As they rode closer, he realized that the trees extended nearly a kay to the south, and certainly that far west, if not even farther.

“What are those trees?”

“Red pears, ser. Don′t grow many places.”

Kharl had heard of red pears, but never seen one. The orchard was old, and the trees seemed close together, so much so that he could not see more than a few trees into the mass of foliage, despite the thinner early-spring leaves.

As the squad passed the eastern edge of the orchard and continued westward on the river road, the clouds thinned more, and Kharl could feel the spring sun on his back. He had to blot his forehead more frequently, and he had lost all track of the white wizard, except for traces of white that felt almost due south, and closer. What had happened? Where was the wizard?

Demyst coughed, then swallowed. “Back there, to the east, ser …″ Demyst’s voice was almost apologetic as he pointed.

Pouring out of the orchard less than a half kay behind them was a column of lancers-men in black and green, with the blue sashes and behind a blue banner bearing a device Kharl did not recognize, not that he was familiar with heraldry, especially Austran heraldry.

“That’d be Lord Hensolas. That’s his banner, ser. Looks to be three companies.” Demyst swallowed. “And there’s another company to the west, maybe two. They’re riding toward us.”

Somewhere among the eastern group was the faintest trace of chaos. Then, a blaze of white appeared among the larger force.

Kharl wanted to hit his forehead with his palm. He’d known that the white wizard had hidden his chaos behind some sort of shield, but he’d thought that the wizard had done that to conceal his approach to Casolan’s force or to keep Kharl from tracking him. Instead … the wizard was after him-with five companies. And Kharl and his squad were trapped, with a thick orchard that was close to impossible to ride through to the south, at least at any speed, and with the river to the north.

“How deep is the river?” Kharl snapped.

“Two to three rods, five in places. Current’s real strong here, ser. We’d be sitting ducks for crossbows. They got crossbows, ser.”

Kharl understood the unspoken. Most of the lancers couldn’t swim. Even Kharl wasn’t that good a swimmer, although he might have been able to manage the river. But … he’d been the one to get them into the trap.

He looked toward the orchard, and the ancient and crooked split rail fence between the trees and the road. His order-senses did not find any other chaos, except that of the single wizard, but … he frowned. There was the thinnest mist of blackness all across the orchard. Order. From the orchard itself? From the spring growth? Behind that order was something else, not quite chaos, or a different kind of chaos, or order. He wasn’t certain, and he didn’t have time to puzzle it out.

“Form up right between the fence and the trees. Make it tight!”

″Ser …″

“We’ll try magery. If it doesn’t work, the men will at least have a chance of escaping through the trees. The rebels can’t ride through them, not at any speed.”

“Ah … yes, ser. You pick the spot, and we’ll form around you.”

“Just behind me.” Kharl turned the gelding toward a gap in the fence, not exactly a gate, but an opening wide enough for a wagon. He glanced to the east, but the rebel lancers were not galloping or even trotting, but closing in inexorably at a fast walk. He looked to the west, but that force was also closing in on them.

Kharl decided against staying at all in the open, even just in front of the trees. He rode right up to one of the gnarled and ancient pear trees. There, he dismounted and walked the gelding back toward the second row of trees. The trees had been pruned just enough to allow him to walk between them, but riding at more than a walk would have been dangerous, as he had guessed. He tied the gelding and hurried back to the front row.

“Ser?” Demyst looked puzzled. “We can’t get that close to you, not with all the trees.”

“Get into the trees-in back of the first row.” Kharl studied the oncoming riders.

The white wizard was hanging back, with a full company of lancers between him and Kharl and the lancer squad. Kharl could also see a score of crossbowmen dismounting less than twenty rods away. That didn’t surprise him. The white wizard clearly knew about Kharl’s shields and wanted to exhaust the black mage before using chaos-fire. Or perhaps he would just watch for an opportunity.

Could Kharl tap the order of the orchard? He reached out, nodding as he gathered in some of the orchard’s order, then waited. Both forces drew closer, then reined up, waiting, except for the crossbowmen, who continued to set up.

Finally, the crossbowmen lifted their weapons. Kharl smiled grimly. Just before the quarrels sleeted toward them, Kharl raised a shield of hardened air, only long enough to halt the quarrels. Bent quarrels and iron shafts rained down short of the trees. He hoped that the attackers would continue to fire in volleys, but he watched closely as the crossbowmen rewound their weapons.

The white wizard had done nothing-except remain well back from the center of the orchard, as if he knew that Kharl’s ability to strike was limited in distance.

″Oh …″ murmured one of the lancers.

Kharl continued to consider what he could do. Before long, either armsmen or lancers would charge in force, and he could not hold shields for that long, not around even a small group. His last efforts with releasing chaos had not been totally successful, but perhaps … maybe … using the order of the orchard … and his own shields …

His lips tightened. He would have to see.

Three more volleys flew toward Kharl and the lancers. Between the thick foliage and Kharl’s quickly raised and lowered shields, none reached the defenders.

Then a horn sounded, and a full company of rebel lancers dressed their lines, then unsheathed blades.

“Don’t leave the trees until I tell you!” Kharl hissed to Demyst.

“You heard the mage,” the undercaptain ordered. “Stay under cover till you get the word.”

“Sitting ducks …″ murmured someone.

“Not yet,” replied a deeper voice.

There came two blasts on the horn-off-key-and lancers trotted toward the orchard, blades at the ready.

Kharl disliked what he was seeing, because Hensolas and the white wizard were sacrificing troops-essentially Ghrant’s troops-to wear down Kharl. Yet, Kharl reminded himself, the same thing would have happened, and might anyway, in a pitched battle between Casolan′s forces and those of the rebels.

Kharl concentrated on a single section of the split rail fence, waiting until the lancers were almost upon it, when he unlinked the order in a section a third of a yard long, erecting a curved hardened air shield behind that fence section.

Whhhsssttt! … Crumptt!