L. Modesitt - Ordermaster

“The squad leaders and officers have rifles,” murmured Demyst.

“Not the lancers?”

“Don’t see any.”

Kharl knew that few armies used firearms, either the kind fired by cammabark or by powder, because a chaos-mage could trigger any powder not contained within iron-and sometimes even propellant that was so contained. Yet the Hamorian officers and squad leaders had rifles. Because they were so confident that their own mages would prevail? Or for special situations?

Kharl suspected the latter. He might find out in time, and probably when he least wanted to do so. Without extending any order-energy beyond himself, he concentrated on trying to get a better impression of the two white wizards, both of whom rode roughly in the middle of the Hamorian lancers. What he could only have described as lines of unseen white flashed from the two, but those energies were directed more to the west.

“How long are we waiting?” asked the undercaptain.

“Until they’re far enough away that we can attack the bridge guards and get across before the main body could turn and get back to us.” In some ways, Kharl would have preferred to have been on the south side of the river; but there was no cover there, not nearby, and nowhere to go if they had been discovered and immediately attacked. There was no other bridge across the Fahsa, not within kays, not except the north road bridge to the west, and the river was also more than three rods wide, and the spring runoff was violent and deep-close to two rods deep in midstream.

Kharl watched.

The main body of Hamorian column, riding three abreast on the wider river road, was more than a half a kay in length. With the outriders, and the squad or so of the trailing rearguard, the Hamorians took up nearly a kay of road.

Almost a third of a glass passed before the rear guard passed the bridge. When the last of the rear guards were about fifty rods west of the bridge, the bridge guards turned their mounts and began to trot westward to rejoin the main body.

“Now?”

“Not quite yet,” Kharl said. “We’ll wait until they’re another half kaywest. They’ll still be short of the lord-chancellor.” Not that short of Hagen’s forces, he reflected, but he didn’t want to call attention to himself or the squad until he had to.

Kharl used his order-senses once more, but there were no signs of other Hamorians-or of Lord Fergyn’s lancers. Finally, once the distance between the Hamorian rear guard and bridge reached more than half a kay, Kharl turned to Demyst. “Now.”

“Forward! To the bridge.”

The Hamorians did not look back, not so far as Kharl could determine, and none of the column was detached to fight a rearguard action against the squad, even though someone must have seen them. Were the Hamorians that oblivious to Kharl? Or that confident, or did they know that Kharl-or anyone-would have to come to them? The latter, probably, Kharl surmised.

Once across the narrow bridge, a span that did in fact creak and sway with each passing rider, the squad re-formed in double files and headed after the Hamorians, who maintained a quick walk westward.

“Don’t seem to care about us, do they?” ventured the undercaptain.

“Not for now,” Kharl replied, his concentration on the column ahead and the unseen chaos-probes that flashed from the two white mages.

Another half glass passed as Kharl’s small force slowly closed the gap. Kharl could sense the growing closeness of Lyras and, presumably, Hagen’s forces. The morning sun was beating out of a clear sky, bringing a summerlike heat to the road, and sweat plastered the armsman’s tunic against his back.

“They’ve halted.”

Kharl could see that. The Hamorians waited on a flat of the road. Beyond was the intersection with the northeast road out of Valmurl, and farther to the west was the hillside on which Hagen and Lyras and their forces had taken a position. A quick glance showed riders in black and green-with blue sashes-withdrawing downhill. Kharl had to wonder how many attacks Fergyn’s forces had already made-or if they had just begun, then withdrawn at the approach of the Hamorians.

Kharl wrenched himself away from futile speculations because he could also see that the rear ranks of the Hamorians had turned, and several squads faced eastward-toward Kharl. Immediately behind them was a smaller group, which included one of the white mages.

“Ser?”

“Keep riding. We need to get closer.” Kharl could smell, seemingly for the first time, the road dust, the odor of fresh horse droppings, and the faintly acrid odor of chaos. Or was that odor only in his thoughts?

Ahead, the Hamorian lancers facing him lifted their lances but remained in place.

A bolt of chaos-fire flashed from the white wizard. Kharl waited, and at the last moment, lifted an order shield, letting the chaos splash away. The impact was enough to drive him back in the saddle. He leaned forward, trying to concentrate on finding the chaos tie that led back to the white wizard.

“Ser …?”

“Keep riding,” Kharl snapped. “Unless you want to be ashes.”

“Yes, ser.” Demyst raised his voice, “Follow ser Kharl. Keep riding!”

Hssst! Another chaos-bolt, every bit as powerful as the first, slammed against Kharl′s shields. His readiness kept him in the saddle, but even as he sensed what he was looking for, he had to wonder how many more firebolts he could deflect-and he was only facing the lesser wizard.

A trumpet sounded, somewhere, and the Hamorian rear guard charged.

“Keep riding! Same pace!” Kharl ordered. The closer to the wizards, the better, because, while they could incinerate at any distance, or at least at a far greater distance than could he, what he could do had to be done at close range.

“Keep riding! Same pace!” echoed Demyst. “Blades at the ready! At the ready!”

Kharl waited, knowing what was about to happen.

The Hamorians thundered toward the Austran squad, still moving forward at a fast walk. Then, when the lancers in tan were but fifty cubits from Kharl-or less-an enormous firebolt arced in over them.

Kharl smiled grimly, and hardened the air before him, into the slippery tube shape that turned and focused the chaos back on the charging Hamorians.

Whhhssst!

The chaos-fire flared across the close-packed Hamorians, so quickly that there were not even screams as men and mounts turned to burned meat and charcoal, then ashes and blackened forms. The reddish white emptiness of a score or more of deaths shivered through Kharl, and he swallowed, trying to regain his concentration.

“ … demon-spawn!”

“Friggin’ sowshit!”

“Quiet! Keep riding!” snapped Demyst.

Within moments, the squad was through and past the ashes and blackened remnants of the fallen Hamorians.

For all his success so far, Kharl knew his strengths and resources were limited.

Another trumpet sounded, and Kharl glanced beyond the Hamorian forces at the hill where Hagen and Lyras held out-so far. He could sense an enormous gathering of power-of mighty raw chaos. Then, a firebolt, more like wave of fire, washed over the front of the hillside. When the fire subsided, the hillside was black and gray-bare except for a few tree trunks at each side. The thornberry patches that would have slowed lancers had vanished into powdery ash.

Kharl found himself momentarily awed at the power and the amount of chaos released, far more than he had seen from other white wizards.

But the remaining Hamorian lancers did not charge. They remained on the flat to the east of the slope, their lines dressed.

Fergyn’s lancers rode northward, and re-formed.

Kharl could see all too well what was about to happen. Both Austran forces would fight-and tear each other down-until either Fergyn was repulsed and defeated or until the lord-chancellor was. Either way, the Hamorian casualties would be far less.