L. Modesitt - Mage-Guard of Hamor

"Weapons ready!"

The sound of hoofs preceded any sign of riders through the fog, and the dampness magnified the sound.

At the same time, Rahl heard a single thunderclap, somewhere to the north, he thought. He waited for another thunderclap, but he heard none-or if there had been another, it was lost in the growing rumble of hoofs beating downhill.

Rahl forced himself to wait, to check positions until the first of the rebel lancers thundered past, thirty cubits uphill, barely visible through the fog.

"Fourth and fifth squads! Forward!" ordered Rahl.

His two small squads struck the side and rear of the lancers, and in moments, close to a score of the rebels were down, and the flank attack had clearly slowed the impact of the charge on Third Company and the adjoining Nineteenth Company.

A rebel half turned and tried to swing a long lance at Rahl and the trooper flanking him, but Rahl managed to deflect the weapon, no longer shining, but dull with moisture and other encrustations. He slipped under the lance and cut-thrust with the long truncheon. The lancer gaped, then doubled over and toppled out of the saddle, one boot still caught in the stirrup.

Rahl turned the gelding to the right, trying to keep on the edge of the lancer formation rather than plunging into it. He parried another lance, but the rebel wheeled away before Rahl could deliver a direct blow.

An ominous and prolonged roll of thunder rumbled over the hillside battle.

More and more of the rebel lancers discarded the long lances and began swinging shortswords, not even quite so long as the Imperial sabres. That was fine with Rahl, because his truncheon was longer than a sabre.

A flash of lightning lit the fog, if but for a moment, and then fat drops of rain pelted the back of Rahl's neck, first intermittently, then with increasing regularity, until water seemed to be coming from the clouds as if from a cataract-or so it seemed.

Another lancer charged Rahl, who leaned in the saddle, then slashed the shortsword out of the man's hand by breaking his wrist.

As the fog began to thin, Rahl continued to concentrate on defending himself and unhorsing rebels, but he could both see and sense lancers and troopers alike being unhorsed on the muddy and slippery grass. Combatants on both sides were losing weapons as the chill rain numbed arms and hands. Even with the cross-hatched grip of the truncheon, Rahl found himself occasionally two-handing his weapon just to hang on to it. Icy water ran down his neck and spine, and his riding jacket and uniform were close to being sodden all the way through.

A trumpet call of paired triplets rang out from the top of the hills, and within moments the lancers and their mounts struggled to climb away from the Imperial troopers.

The fog had lost a battle of sorts to the cold rain, because the rain was washing the fog right out of the air, Rahl realized.

"Second Army! Hold position! Hold position!"

"Third Company! Re-form on me!"

Rahl glanced toward Drakeyt, glad to see the captain uninjured, then repeated the orders. "Third Company! Re-form!"

As the company squads straggled into line, Rahl glanced uphill at the churned mud, almost the color of the ooze he'd created before. Could he use that against the rebels? He let his senses check the ground. Then he shook his head. The entire hill was little more than soil, clay and sand piled high and deep, with little rock and gravel.

If he tried what he'd done on the road to Lahenta, and he couldn't contain it, especially now, when he was far from full strength as an order-mage, all of Selyma would end up falling into a massive sinkhole filled with ooze. Rahl didn't think either Taryl or the Emperor would exactly appreciate that, and the liquefaction process would be slow enough that most of the rebels could probably escape.

What else could he try?

"Companies! Return to quarters!"

As Rahl shivered in the cold rain and rode beside Drakeyt back down the hill through the rain that now poured down in sheets, he tried to think about what else he might be able to do, but his teeth were chattering, and his whole body was damp and chilled, and all he really wanted to do was to get out of the rain and dry off.

For the remainder of oneday morning, the rain continued. After doing what he could for the gelding, and a touch of healing for several wounded-all that he could manage-Rahl returned to the small sheep shed. He sat there in the gloom and thought about possible uses of his order-skills against the rebels. Outside, the rain poured down throughout the afternoon and well into the evening.

No matter what Rahl considered, his efforts seemed doomed to failure because he simply couldn't manipulate order on a large enough scale to affect the thousands and thousands of troopers and lancers spread across more than two kays of hillside behind various kinds of fortifications and barricades and earthworks.

That night, sharing the small shed with Drakeyt and a handful of other junior officers, Rahl slept poorly, dreaming of lancers building barricades with intertwined lances, of troopers dying everywhere… and Deybri looking on, clearly horrified at the carnage that Rahl had created. He was almost glad to struggle awake on twoday-except for the fact that he still had no idea how anything he could do would be of much help in defeating the rebels, and might not even be enough to keep him alive, let alone the remaining troopers of Third Company. He also wondered if there was something wrong with him that he felt more guilt when he thought or dreamed of Deybri.

After getting himself ready for the day on twoday morning, in the light just before dawn, he slowly ate some hard cheese that he'd had to scrape the mold off, and a few hard biscuits. Drakeyt was doing the same.

"They won't move," Drakeyt predicted.

"Why not?" asked Alnuyt, a company commander Rahl had only met the afternoon before, although Rahl might have seen him in passing because the young captain looked familiar.

"If they move, we take Selyma and the bridge, and the access to Nubyat. Besides, they're in the best defensive position for kays. They know they have to fight us. Why abandon a good position to fight from one that's worse?"

Rahl had to admit Drakeyt's point.

Thrap!

A trooper wearing a courier's sash eased the shed door open. "Sers? Majer Rahl? Captain Drakeyt?"

"We're both here," Rahl replied.

"The overcommander would like to see you both immediately, sers."

"We'll be there shortly," Rahl answered, "as soon as we can mount up."

"I'll tell him, sers." The courier stepped back and closed the door.

Drakeyt raised his eyebrows as he looked at Rahl.

"He has something in mind," Rahl said.

"I'm certain he does." Although Drakeyt did not say that Taryl's ideas always cost Third Company dearly, from the resigned expression in his eyes he might as well have done so. "We'd best saddle up. It wouldn't do to keep him waiting too long."

Rahl nodded and fastened his riding jacket-still damp in places, but warmer than doing without.

The two hurried through a quick brushing of their mounts, then saddled and mounted, riding down a mud-churned excuse for a lane before turning northward, away from Selyma. While the night had not gotten cold enough for it to frost, with dawn it had not warmed measurably, and Rahl's breath steamed under the gray clouds that continued to blanket the skies around Selyma.

Neither spoke on the short ride to Taryl's headquarters-a stead-holder's weathered yellow-brick dwelling a kay north of the hillside battlefield. As they neared the dwelling, with its outbuildings surrounded by troopers and mounts and the tents and lean-tos-and horse-churned mud-Rahl could see Commander Shuchyl walking out of the front door, followed by several majers. Rahl looked sideways at Drakeyt, but the older officer's face was impassive.