L. Modesitt - Cyador’s Heirs

Lerial scans the short sentences, then starts to hand the dispatch to Kusyl. The former squad leader shakes his head, and Lerial realizes that one of the reasons that the man was likely never promoted to undercaptain was that he cannot read or write-or not well. Lerial hands the paper back to the majer. “You said everything that he wrote.”

The majer turns to the messenger. “Tell me what you saw, if you would.”

“Ser…?”

“What you saw. The undercaptain only wrote what happened. We need to hear what you saw and went through.”

“Ser … we had trenches … good trenches … the Meroweyans threw firebolts … but the fire didn’t touch us. Our archers, they shot over the heads of the shields … into the men on foot. We ran out of shafts, and the shields came for us, and some of them got caught in the staked ditch. Their own wizards … they dropped fireballs into the ditch … killed some of their own to burn away the stakes … and then they charged. We pulled back and mounted … and the people they threw oil down on the attackers … that’s when they got to the center of town … the undercaptains had us charge one flank … They weren’t expecting it … we killed some … then there was fire everywhere. That’s what I saw … and there was this boy … and he was running, and he was all fire … and there were others … my mate, Fheric, there was a firebolt overhead, and it exploded and part of it went through his chest…”

Lerial swallows quietly and listens until the messenger finishes.

“Thank you,” Altyrn says quietly. “Just take care of your mount. Then go lie down in the main room. There’s water inside. We’ll wake you when it’s time for mess.”

“Thank you, ser. You sure, ser?”

“I’m very sure. You did well to get this here. There’s nothing else you need to do for now … except to get some rest.”

“Yes, ser. Thank you, ser.”

Once the messenger makes his way into the dwelling, Altyrn takes the dispatch, folds it, and slips it into the leather map folder, then looks to Kusyl. “Get Shaskyn. We need to go over the plan for tomorrow. Whenever they come, we’re likely to face firebolts first, rather than later.”

Will you be able to handle them? Any of them? Lerial doesn’t know. He can only hope.

Fiveday morning finds Lerial and second company packing up once more and readying for another ride, another tactical withdrawal, in the majer’s words. When Lerial is certain his squads are ready, he rides over to join the other company commanders, just in time to hear Shaskyn speak.

“We’re … just leaving, ser?” asks the fifth company acting undercaptain. “Now, ser, when…?”

“There’s nothing we can do here,” replies Altyrn. “There are no defensible positions, and we’re outnumbered. It’s better to spend the time to prepare our next line of defense.”

“Seems a shame,” murmurs Shaskyn.

Kusyl nods, but adds, “We didn’t start this.”

“Starting a war is always a bad idea,” replies Altyrn, “assuming you can ever figure out who really did.”

Puzzled expressions cross the faces of both Kusyl and Shaskyn, and for a moment, Lerial doesn’t understand. Then he does, and he nods.

In less than a third of a glass, second company is moving out, if slowly, because Altyrn has assigned Lerial as rearguard. The road, as before, is empty except for Altyrn’s forces, but there are enough fresh ruts and tracks to indicate that quite a few of the local people have fled, although Lerial suspects there may be many who live deeper in the woods and who are gambling that the Meroweyans will stay fairly close to the main road to Verdell. Lerial doesn’t doubt that, but he does think it will only be a matter of time before the fires set by the invaders will get out of control-if they haven’t already in the west where Juist and Denieryn are fighting. When that happens the fire will do to those who are in its path what the Meroweyans haven’t.

Lerial also briefly ponders why the Meroweyans have not set more fires after razing Nevnarnia and Truyver. He shakes his head when he realizes that those advancing toward Verdell don’t want to end up being trapped by any fire they set, and that they would have to answer to Duke Casseon if they fired every hamlet and town because that would destroy much of the reason for even occupying the Verd. In addition, it is clear that the Meroweyans have waited to march on Ironwood until the fires set at Nevnarnia have died away … or been damped down by the elders.

Once everyone is on the main road, the ride from Ironwood to the creek takes little more than a glass.

The bridge is constructed of heavy timbers that join two mortar and stone bases set into the bank on each side. It is wide enough only for a single large wagon, or two horses abreast, but does have sturdy timber posts and railings on each side. The stream is modest, no more than six or seven yards across the water itself, and as Lerial rides across he looks down. The water is clear enough, but he can only see little more than a yard down, suggesting it is deep enough that crossing would be harder than it first appears. He also notices that there are no trees near either bank, although there are more than a few stumps, and all of the stumps are small.

They cut back the trees often, every year possibly. Why? Lerial cannot conceive of what benefit that might convey, but he is certain that there must be one, because it is clear that the people of the Verd do nothing on whim or without a purpose that has been well considered.

Once all the companies are on the east side of the stream, Altyrn immediately sets fifth company to removing the bridge timbers. At Shaskyn’s look of questioning, he laughs softly and says, “You’re wondering about what will happen if the Meroweyans don’t come this way? Then they’ll have to go through the woods, and they’ll suffer losses there from the Verdyn … and they’ll still have to face us, but they’ll have fewer armsmen. If they don’t come at all, then they will have left to return to Yakaat or wherever, or they will find they have to before long. But they’re too stubborn and too convinced that they will triumph. They’ll be here, possibly tomorrow, probably by sevenday, and certainly by eightday.”

“Yes, ser.” Shaskyn moves off.

Altyrn turns to Lerial. “You and your company … I need you to dig trenches and revetments at the top of the bank. Make the trenches about a yard and a third deep and wide enough for two rankers to pass each other easily. That should give archers enough space. Pile the spoil into a revetment on the stream side of the trench. There should be enough shovels and mattocks in the second wagon.”

“How far do you want the trenches to go?”

“Start in the middle of the road and dig out. The farther the better.”

As Lerial turns to set his rankers to work, he cannot help but hear what the majer says to Kusyl.

“Once we have enough timbers from the bridge you use some of your men and mounts to drag them south one by one … so we’ll have a ford there … and a surprise…”

Lerial wonders what sort of surprise Altyrn has in mind, but smiles wryly, knowing that, whatever it is, it will not be pleasant for the Meroweyans. In the meantime, second company has to dig trenches and build up revetments, both to steepen the bank to make climbing it harder for any possible attackers and to provide greater protection against firebolts.

The Meroweyans do not attack on sixday, but smoke rising in lines just to the southwest by late afternoon shows that they have occupied Ironwood. When the lines of smoke are still rising at eighth glass on sevenday, Lerial knows that the earliest an attack will come is on eightday, and that is fine with him, given that his order-sensing is finally at least as strong as it had been before his last encounter with the chaos mages.