L. Modesitt - Cyador’s Heirs

With that information, Lerial hurries along the ground behind the trenches, glancing to the east as he hears a mount whinny. He can sense but not see where the Lancer mounts are tied, in the trees adjoining the road, but a good fifty yards from the back of the trenches. He sees Altyrn in the shade just south of the road and behind the earthworks. Lerial also notices Donnael and Ruethana of the elders walking away from the majer.

Lerial glances up at the clouds once more, wondering if Ruethana is a weather mage as well as Donnael … and what they may be able to do, if anything, when the Meroweyans attack. A few yards away from Altyrn, he stops and says, “They’re chopping down trees, and they have at least an armed squad protecting them. They’re staying off the road and out of sight.”

“That makes sense. How long before they have enough trees to create a bridge, do you think?”

“They’re working fast, but they’ll have to trim the trunks as well. At least a glass.”

“More like two.”

“We could slow them down with arrows,” suggests Lerial.

“How many shafts would it take? Could they even get through the brush and trees? If you were successful, how many arrows would it cost us? And to what result?”

Lerial understands. “Yes, ser.”

“Let me know what else you find.”

“Yes, ser.”

Lerial returns to second company and keeps watching. Before long, the three loggers have felled two more trees of the same size. Other men have joined the first three, but the new arrivals work at cutting away limbs and branches, while the three initial loggers move on to another pair of trees.

Somewhere farther to the southwest, Lerial can vaguely sense both riders and a faint chaos mist, a good indication that the Meroweyans have left Ironwood and are approaching on the main road. There is no smoke rising from the woods, suggesting that the attackers have not put the hamlet to the torch. But then, no one opposed them there. So far, they have only fired the hamlets and towns where they were opposed. Lerial shakes his head. The Meroweyan force more to the west fired two hamlets. Then he reconsiders. You don’t know if the people there opposed or attacked them.

He takes a slow deep breath. There is so much he does not know, and he wonders if war is always like this … never knowing everything, and sometimes almost nothing about the enemy, and trying to outthink and anticipate what one’s enemy might do.

A glass later, the loggers have stopped felling trees. As well as he can determine from order-sensing, they have cut about ten trees, none of them particularly large, but all moderately tall and straight, and all of those around the trees are trimming them. In time, the men begin to move the tree trunks, all cut to the same length, until they are within a few yards of the grass and low brush flanking the road. By now, Lerial can sense the main body far more clearly, although they are still indistinct to his eyes, over a kay to the west on the road. The shadows come and go as the clouds pass over, seemingly closer together and larger as the morning draws on.

There are few woodland sounds, except for the traitor birds, several of whom apparently are taking delight in flying around the loggers in the woods, alighting on branches and offering their irritatingly cheerful and loud chirps. Only one of the traitor birds come near enough to Lerial so that he can see its yellow-banded black wings, but the calls that sound like twirrpp are identification enough.

Lerial senses someone approaching from behind, and he turns to see Altyrn walking toward him.

“Two glasses,” says Lerial. “You were right. The shieldmen are half a kay down the road, and they’ve got ten small to moderate tree trunks cut and ready to go.”

Altyrn nods. “They’ll bring up the shieldmen to give cover to the men who will carry the trunks toward the stream. Your Lancers and archers are not to fire at them. First company will. Unless something changes, you’re to target the main body, but not until they attack and I give you the order.”

“Yes, ser.”

Once the majer leaves, Lerial turns and tells Korlyn, “I need to talk to the head archer. I’ll be back in a few moments.” Keeping his head low, Lerial hurries northward along the trench until he reaches fourth squad, about thirty yards north of where the bridge had been.

“Squad Leader! Head Archer!” Lerial waits for Moraris and Alaynara to join him, then relays the majer’s instructions.

“The main body is out of range,” Moraris points out.

“That’s right,” says Lerial. “If all of second company looses shafts at a handful of men, what will we have left when two thousand of them storm down the road? The Lancers can use their blades on the handful that might get across the stream now.”

“Oh … yes, sir.”

Alaynara nods. “We’ll wait for your order to shoot.”

Lerial then hurries to Fhentaar, and then back to Bhurl and Korlyn to relay the majer’s orders.

Almost another half glass passes before a horn sounds and the shieldmen start forward, advancing until they reach a position just east of where the shaped trunks lie. They halt and raise their shields. Lerial can sense other armsmen coming forward and picking up the first two trunks, more than a half score to each. Even with that many men, the trees have to be pines of some sort. Oak or lorken would be far too heavy.

Once the two teams are in position behind the shieldmen, the shieldwall begins to advance toward the stream, steadily and stolidly. The main Meroweyan force has now moved up, but has halted on the road behind the point where the tree trunks lie, clearly waiting to see if the shieldwall and the armsmen lugging the trunks can create their own bridge.

Before long, the shieldwall closes on the western bank of the stream, less than fifty yards from the bridge abutment, when it edges toward the upstream side of the bridge foundations, and more toward second company, apparently trying to position the armsmen with the trunks so that the logs will be anchored not only into the earth of the stream banks but rest against the foundation on one side.

First company’s archers do not even begin to release shafts until the first shieldmen are no more than a score of yards from the bridge abutments-except Lerial suddenly realizes that the shafts are not arrows but javelins hurled from spear-throwers with surprising force, enough in one case for the javelin to go through the upper part of a shield and into the chest of the shieldman. More than a few shieldmen go down, and the shieldwall slows almost to a halt before others step forward, and even more slowly, the shields advance, then stop a good five yards back from the abutments. Those shieldmen in the center swing out, opening the way for those carrying the tree trunk.

The armsmen carrying the first trunk charge full speed toward the stream, but a hail of mixed javelins and arrows takes down enough of them that they lose control of the log and it slips away and skids partway down the bank before burying itself in the softer earth just above the water. Lerial can see that the end of the tree trunk has been hewn into a rough point, and that means that the rankers intend to drive each of the trunks into the eastern riverbank, but he cannot see at first how they had planned to get it over the water-until he realizes that the armsmen at the front were trying to plant the point while those behind, with the help of the ropes tied to the far end would heave it upright and then let it fall forward onto the eastern stream bank. The simplicity of it strikes Lerial, but he also realizes that simplicity rests on the ability to lose armsmen in the process.

Then a second group of armsmen charge forward with their trunk. Although several fall to javelins and arrows, with great effort the end of the log goes up and slowly reaches a point straight up, and then drops, almost not moving, before speeding up enough that the end that had been at the rear comes down with a thump on the eastern bank, perhaps half a yard above the water and a yard and a half back from the edge of the stream proper. The trunk is angled slightly, but not much.