L. Modesitt - Cyador’s Heirs

“You’re a stubborn woman, Yasnela.”

“Wasn’t that what led you to consort me? Least, that’s what you always said.” The woman puts her hand on her consort’s arm. “Together, we’ve got twice as many arrows.”

“Still say you’re a stubborn woman.”

“We’re going to lose everything, no matter what. You know that. We don’t do what we can, each of us, everyone’s going to lose everything. No sense in asking why it falls to us. It does, and that’s that. Now … we’ll go back to the house and plan this out sensible like.”

Lerial does not move as the two turn and walk toward the small brick dwelling, the last one on the lane, away from him. He drops the concealment and smiles because he only feels slightly tired … and that might just be because he has had a long day. At least, that’s what you hope.

He turns the gelding and starts his return south, riding back toward what is likely to be a very temporary camp, his smile vanishing as he thinks over the words of the couple, years older than even his own parents. He smiles wryly as he thinks that, in a way, in their own way, his parents are doing the same thing as the older couple he has overheard.

Later on twoday, the Lancers from second company join all the other Lancers and archers in creating a set of defenses for Nevnarnia, using shovels and mattocks from two carts that Lerial had not noticed earlier, and he wonders if they had come while he was inspecting the hamlet. Lerial glances into the skies to the south, where trails of smoke still wind into the skies, wondering why the Meroweyans don’t press, and watching as the scouts ride up and report to Altyrn, then ride back out.

After a time, well after the fourth glass of the afternoon, he makes his way to where Altyrn has set up his table under the trees to the east side of the road.

“Ser?”

“Yes, Lerial?”

“Why aren’t they pushing forward?”

“Because they can’t.” The majer smiles at Lerial’s puzzled expression, then goes on. “The larger a force is, the more difficult it is for it to move swiftly. The roads here in the Verd are narrow, at least for thousands of riders and armsmen on foot. If they try to move quickly, they’ll have to form a narrow column, most likely more than two kays long. That would allow us to attack anywhere, and they would lose the advantage of having a much larger force. They’re proceeding deliberately, clearing a wider area on each side of the main road. They’re using their wizards to do that, and that slows them more, because they don’t want them worn out.”

Lerial can see that, but that raises another question. “So why are we-”

“Building a barrier instead of attacking them from the woods? That’s because they’re still too close to the edge of the Verd.”

Abruptly … Lerial understands. “This is only to give them the impression that we will stand and fight.”

“Not exactly. This is likely to be one of the last times we can inflict large numbers of casualties at one time … and we need to do it in a way that will anger their commanders to the point that they will vow to destroy us to the last Lancer and officer.”

That takes Lerial aback.

“We can’t afford to fight Merowey more than once in a generation.” Altyrn’s smile is both sad and weary. “That’s also why you are not-under any circumstances-to attempt to use order until the healer says you can. We will need that skill far more in the eightdays to come than we will now. Your task as captain is to inflict what casualties you can while losing as few rankers as possible. If you and the others can do that, in the end we will win. Now … here’s what you’ll be doing tomorrow…” The majer goes on to explain. When he is finished, he says, “I’ll give you your final orders tomorrow morning, once we know more about what the Meroweyans plan.”

“Yes, ser.”

“Eat what you can, and get some sleep. See that your rankers do, too.”

By the time the sun has set and darkness has crept across Nevnarnia, the defenses that Altyrn has designed are in place … and all the Lancers are tired, but not tired enough that all the companies except second and fifth company mount up and depart, leaving Lerial and Shaskyn and their companies to hold the road and bar the Meroweyans from the hamlet.

A barricade two yards high and woven out of branches and greenish thorns, as well as anchored to sturdy posts at regular intervals, runs across the road and into the trees, extending a good fifty yards beyond the road on each side until it is lost in the thick underbrush, much of it gray-leafed and thinner than would have been the case later in the year. The branches and thorns are of the greenest vegetation available so that the chaos-fire will not spread easily or quickly.

Behind the barricade is an open ditch some three yards wide running from the trees on the east to those on the west. It is only a yard deep, but is filled with sharpened stakes protruding a third of a yard from the base of the trench. Little more than a yard behind the first trench is a second, and deeper trench, also staked, but covered with branches and leaves and then with road clay where the road would have been and grass from the shoulders to the trees. The earth dug from the trenches is piled and packed behind the barricade, more than a yard high. South of the barricade, exactly one hundred yards out, the upper limbs have been stripped from the road side of two tall trees, one east of the road, and one west.

Even though the evening meal is more cold ghano-acorn hash, Lerial is glad for it. He also has no trouble falling asleep.

He is more than surprised not to be awakened early on threeday, although he does wake before sunrise. He washes up from a bucket of water … and wishes he could shave. He and second company eat quickly and are making ready when Altyrn strolls from somewhere.

“There’s not that much hurry. They’re still a kay and a half away, and they’re still breaking camp. They’ve sent scouts this way, and that’s suggesting that they’ll march on Nevnarnia. If they do, you’re to follow the battle plan we went over last night. Second and fifth company will form up about fifty yards back of the barricade. Once the Meroweyans are in range, you’re to start shooting the fire arrows into them…”

Lerial understands the reason for fire arrows. They don’t require the iron heads of war arrows, but the flame can cause damage and often can spook mounts.

“… there’s still always the possibility that the Meroweyans will decide not to attack, but continue on the main road, looking for a back lane to take you from the rear. If that happens, I’ll send a messenger with a wayguide who will show you the other lane that will allow you to rejoin the other companies. There will be more than enough time if they try that. We have a few more surprises if they head that way. We’ll have other surprises if they don’t.” With that, Altyrn turns and heads in the direction of fifth company.

Lerial can’t help but wonder if his father knows that the majer would be forced to fight a war in the Verd … or if he even thought it would come to an all-out fight. Was that why he picked the majer? But then, if he’d known or suspected that training Verdyn Lancers would cause a fight, why would he have said what he did to Lerial, and Lerial had known his father had not been either lying or withholding information. Besides, Casseon had to have made plans before Lerial’s father had even decided to send Altyrn and the two squads of Mirror Lancers. Or was the majer supposed to have withdrawn once he knew the Meroweyans were sending so large a force?

The more Lerial experiences in dealing with the majer and the Meroweyans, the more questions he has. He has only pondered matters for a few moments before Altyrn returns.