L. Modesitt - Colors of Chaos

“Best it remain so.” Cerryl smiled bitterly to himself. “I would not be the one to tell her otherwise.”

“Axalt was a city of parasites, adding to the cost of trade and siphoning off coins that better should have gone to Fairhaven. Likewise, the middle highlands of Gallos were worth little to any but herders. Spidlar, on the other hand, is rich in farmland, rich in timber and even in metals. Those make the land valuable, and you wish me to turn it to cinders?” Jeslek laughed once, harshly. “I will bring down another city as I did Elparta, but only if that will place all Spidlar within our hands.”

“You are letting lancers die.”

“Lancers will die. That is their job.” After a moment, Jeslek added, “Besides, the prefect has sent fivescore Kyphran lancers and an additional tenscore heavy foot. He would rather send those of Kyphros. They are less loyal than those from the north of Gallos.” The High Wizard turned and gestured. “Cerryl! Come on out. I can sense your chaos blazing.”

Leyladin let go of his hand, and Cerryl stepped from the shadows of the tree and began to walk toward Jeslek.

“I see you, too, could not sleep long.” Jeslek’s words were mild, far milder than those he had used upon Anya.

Unseen chaos coiled around Anya, almost as strong as that which entwined the High Wizard, but the redhead did not speak.

“So…how do you propose that we avoid these latest traps?” asked Jeslek. “I presume you have thought upon this.”

The younger mage repressed a sigh. “Ser…I have checked. He can only hide that much black iron under something ordered-like the paving stones. The ground is dry, now, and if we march beside the walls…”

Jeslek nodded, his eyes cold, as Cerryl explained. Beside the High Wizard, Anya’s pale eyes made the High Wizard’s seem warm.

IN THE SHADOWS cast by the late-morning sun, Cerryl stood behind the higher earthworks on the top of the rise to the south of the slightly higher hill where the Spidlarian forces were dug into an entrenched circle. The west river road from Elparta to Kleth angled up the slope from southwest to the northeast. East of the hill that held the forces of Fairhaven were the bluffs overlooking the river, and to the west the hills sloped downward into the Devow Marsh, which stretched westward a good four kays. Farther west of the marsh were the Kylen Hills, rugged and filled with potholes and crumbling sandstone ledges.

Overhead, high, thin clouds gave a gray tinge to the morning. A light southerly breeze barely lifted the banners of the White forces but carried the odor of burned fields.

Pushing his senses outward, Cerryl had tried to find the smith. The glass had shown that Dorrin rested in an earthworks somewhere, and Cerryl had determined that the Black mage was somewhere on the opposite hillside, but he could not sense where. That bothered Cerryl. The last time the Black smith had been present had not been pleasant, either. Not pleasant? An ironic and self-mocking smile crossed Cerryl’s lips. Faltar would have said more than that …Except Faltar would have forgiven Cerryl. Will you be able to forgive yourself?

From midway down the hill sounded a wavering horn, the first signal of the assault to come.

Cerryl glanced sideways to where Jeslek stood, flanked by Anya and Fydel, all looking over the berm of the earthworks to the north. None of the three moved as the horn sounded a second time, even as gouts of chaos fire flared from the ramparts fifty cubits below the one where Cerryl stood.

Whhhsttt! Whhhssst! Whhstt! The globules of chaos splashed across the hillside and the Spidlarian earthworks.

Cerryl sensed little change and could hear no screams, but earthworks were a good shield against chaos fire, although several thin lines of greasy black smoke spiraled upward. A second line of fire followed the first.

The horn signaled once more, and silence followed-for a long moment before the purple banners of Gallos surged uphill toward the lower front line of timbered trenches where the outlines of Spidlarian pikes and halberds waited.

Cerryl frowned at the speed and the ease with which the Gallosian armsmen smashed over the first line and through the trenchworks.

“See!” snapped Jeslek. “They have the first line already.”

Fydel lifted his eyebrows but did not speak.

On the far hill, the purple banners pushed uphill, reaching halfway to the higher Spidlarian emplacements. Scattered arrows fell across the attackers, downing an armsman here and there but scarcely slowing the assault.

CRUUUMPPPPPP!!!! The hillside erupted, sending huge gouts of earth and chunks of timber skyward. And bodies…and part of bodies.

Cerryl smiled grimly. Yes, the smith had been there.

Jeslek turned toward Cerryl. “You did not sense that.”

“Again,” added Fydel.

“I could not get close enough to sense that. I warned you that the smith was there.” This failure is not yours. Others, yes, but not this . Cerryl tightened his lips.

“No matter. It will not change matters.”

Anya’s broad and false smile underscored Jeslek’s words. The High Wizard glanced back at the hill opposite.

Fydel held Cerryl’s glance for a moment longer, then gave a scornful smile. Cerryl forced a pleasant smile in return.

Abruptly Jeslek turned to Fydel. “Darkness with this measured approach!”

“It was your idea,” observed Anya.

“So? I can be wrong.” Jeslek looked across to the hillside that resembled an instantly churned and plowed field.

“You can? I never would have guessed it.” Anya’s voice was bitter.

“Fydel,” ordered Jeslek, “tell Eliasar to have all the levies march over the mined ground there. Bring up some more.”

“What?”

“The one thing we know is that they can’t have planted more of those devices where they already exploded. And we don’t want them to retreat and mine another section of hill or field.”

From where he stood Cerryl silently agreed. Even Fydel nodded at the logic.

“Everything that smith has done requires advance preparation. We can’t give him any more chances. Order the charge. Pour everything into that point. And keep the troops moving.”

“Yes, Jeslek.”

“I mean it. Keep them moving.”

As Jeslek turned to survey the battlefield, Anya and Fydel exchanged glances. They nodded. Then Fydel hurried out from behind the earthworks and downhill toward the small tent that held Eliasar and his glass. Cerryl had scarcely seen the older arms mage in the whole campaign, except from a distance.

Shortly another trumpet sounded, and the green banners of Certis flowed downhill through the already-trampled grass of the swale and upward through the explosion-plowed ground that had held earthworks. Before the Certan levies reached the second level of Spidlarian emplacements, another hail of arrows flew downward, cutting down as many as a third of the Certan forces.

Then a wave of blue armsmen swarmed from hidden trenches flanking the attack, slashing inward. Just as suddenly, the blue attackers retreated to their trenches, leaving the scattered remnants of both Gallosian and Certan forces.

Whhsstt! Whssst! The belated firebolts caught but a few of the laggard blue armsmen.

Another trumpet sounded, echoing from the south to the north, wavering but insistent. Cerryl glanced upward, half-surprised that the sun had dropped past midday.

“Another charge!” snapped Jeslek. “They can’t hold forever.”

Fydel had hurried back toward the High Wizard, then frozen as he heard the order. His eyes flicked back to the lower berm. Yet even before the trumpet died away, as though Eliasar below had heard the High Wizard’s words, a set of golden banners rose, and yet another wave of armsmen began the charge uphill toward the next set of Spidlarian earthworks.