“Like a good officer.”
Lerial laughs. “I think my father despaired of my ever being a decent officer, let alone a good one.”
“I’m afraid my father felt the same way,” Rhamuel says pleasantly.
When he finally leaves the study, more than a glass later, after more general conversation, what puzzles Lerial most is why Rhamuel hadn’t requested that Emerya come to Swartheld. Or had Atroyan forbidden him to do so? Or had Grandmere? Or is there more going on? He almost laughs at the last thought. One thing he has learned is that there is always more happening than is known by most.
He is halfway across the main hall and headed for the staircase to the north wing when a figure slips from the less well-lighted corner near the archway leading to the north wing.
“You’re carrying a concerned expression. After leaving the arms-commander’s study, that doesn’t bode well.” Drusyn smiles pleasantly.
“Does anything about what Khesyn may plan bode well?” Lerial replies dryly. “What I learned was that Khesyn will attack, probably sooner than later, and our success will depend almost entirely on how few casualties we take and how many we inflict on his forces.” He pauses for just an instant and adds sardonically, “Just as in any battle or war.”
Drusyn laughs. “That’s all?”
“Of course not. He detailed why most precisely, then asked about my family and how Cigoerne had changed since he visited it years ago. I told him what he seemed to want to know. Then he bid me good evening … and here I am.”
“He never does anything without a purpose.”
“I got that impression. One purpose was to impress on me the importance of quickly destroying any attacking force. Another purpose was likely to find out more about how Cigoerne has changed over the years, at least from my perspective, and he will doubtless compare what I said to what he has learned from traders, factors, and others.”
“That is the way he works.” Drusyn pauses. “Well … good evening.”
“Good evening to you. I’ll see you in the morning. As usual.” With a smile, Lerial turns and makes his way up the stairs to the second level.
XI
An insistent rapping on his door, well before dawn, awakes Lerial on twoday morning, the last twoday of winter, not that winter is that cold as far north as Lubana is, and he struggles out of bed. “Yes?”
“The arms-commander wants all senior officers in the salon in the next third of a glass, ser.”
“Thank you. I’ll be there.” The Heldyans must be attacking. Why else would he want us all there so far before dawn? Lerial’s ability to use his order-senses means he doesn’t have to light the lamp in order to dress, although he needs light to read something or locate a very small object. He does light the lamp, using a touch of chaos rather than fumbling for a striker, when it comes to washing and quickly shaving. He is ready fairly quickly and makes his way from his quarters toward the staircase.
There, he pauses to wait for Ascaar, who appears more discomfited and rumpled than usual in the morning, then says, “A Heldyan attack, you think?”
“If it’s anything worse, I don’t want to know,” growls the Afritan battalion commander as they descend to the main level of the so-called country home.
In the dimness of the main hall, its cavernous expanse lit but by two lamps, Lerial sees Drusyn waiting by the salon door.
The graying subcommander smiles cheerfully.
“Don’t say a word,” says Ascaar gruffly. “Too early for cheer.”
Drusyn just shakes his head and accompanies the two into the salon, where Majer Prenyl stands by the dark widow that overlooks the front plaza. Subcommander Klassyn waits by one of the settees, as does Valatyr. Before any can exchange greetings, the majer says, “Arms-Commander, ser!”
Lerial and the others remain standing as Sammyl and Rhamuel stride into the salon and past them. Sammyl stops beside Valatyr.
Rhamuel moves to the end of the chamber. “You all can sit down. Not that you’ll be here that long.” He waits for a moment, as Lerial and the officers who had been standing seat themselves, then continues. “The lookouts to the south have reported lamps and torches on the Vyada piers. It would appear that the Heldyans are loading many, if not all, of the flatboats. We can’t tell where they intend to go. For all we know, they could be headed all the way to Estheld or Swartheld … or they could land south of Lubana. My best judgment is that they will attempt to land the flatboats in a number of places near Luba in order to prevent us from massing our forces in any single spot. I could be wrong, but we will proceed on that assumption.” The dark-haired arms-commander pauses and his eyes sweep across the officers present. “Subcommander Drusyn, you will be responsible for stopping any incursion immediately south of Lubana. Subcommander Ascaar, you will deal with any landing north of Lubana. Overcaptain Lerial, for the moment, you will remain ready to reinforce either of the other forces … or to deal with a third possible point of attack, if there is such, once we can determine that. I will keep you informed as we know more. Because it will likely be a glass before the first flatboat leaves the piers, I’ve ordered the immediate dispatch of field rations to all companies, and officers’ rations are already in the dining room. Take a moment to eat something before you head out to your officers and men. It will likely be a long day.” He pauses again. “That is all.” With a quick nod that is just short of being brusque, Rhamuel turns and leaves the salon.
Lerial looks to Drusyn. “Do you think they’ll really land where you’re being dispatched?”
“Who knows? They’ll do their best to do what we don’t expect. Wouldn’t you? What do you think?”
“What the arms-commander does—that, if they attack, they’ll attack in more than one place.”
The two walk from the salon without saying more, through the hall and into the private dining room. “Officers’ rations” turn out to be a full breakfast set at each place, with a healthy helping of egg toast, ham strips, and a small loaf of bread for each officer. Lerial sits between Ascaar and Drusyn, since seating by rank is only at the evening mess, and pours himself a lager from one of the pitchers.
“What do you think?” Lerial asks Ascaar after taking several mouthfuls of the egg toast, sweetened by a dark berry syrup, followed by some lager.
“Duke Khesyn’s been wanting to conquer Afrit for years, if not longer. Figures he has to do it soon.”
“Why soon?” asks Drusyn.
“Duke Kiedron gets stronger every year. I’d wager Khesyn didn’t think that he’d send forces to support the arms-commander. Even if Khesyn did think that might happen, every year that passes means Cigoerne will be able to back Afrit more.” Ascaar looks to Lerial. “You don’t have a choice, do you?”
“No,” Lerial admits. “For all the trouble we’ve had between us and Afrit, it’s been nothing,” not since Ensenla, anyway, “compared to the difficulties we’ve had with Casseon and Khesyn.”
Drusyn frowns.
“Casseon sent more than forty companies against Verdheln, and there are usually close to a score of raids by Heldyans every year. Khesyn claims they’re raiders over whom he has no control, but we’ve captured arms that look like the same kind of blades used by his armsmen.” Lerial takes another bite of egg toast and then a ham strip, not quite as crisp as he would have preferred.
“Don’t hear much about that,” admits Ascaar. “And the bastard claims to follow the God of the Balance.”
“There’s no way we would, I imagine,” comments Drusyn. “And when did any ruler really follow faith if it wasn’t in his interest?”
Ascaar snorts.
“Just as there’s no way we’d hear about Khesyn building up armsmen in Estheld,” returns Lerial, before eating the last of the barely warm egg toast.
Drusyn rises. “Need to be off.”
Lerial nods. “Best of fortune.”
“Appreciate it.” Drusyn does not look back.
Lerial finishes the egg toast and the ham s
trips, then swallows more lager. He and Ascaar get up almost together, but the older officer just gives a quick smile and nods before he turns and heads for the door.
After slipping one of the small loaves left in the dining room into his riding jacket, Lerial also departs, hurrying back to his quarters, where he recovers his sabre and visor cap, then makes his way down to the main level and out the doors into a dimness barely lightened by faint glow on the eastern horizon. His gelding is saddled and tied to the railing outside. It is cool enough that when the gelding snorts, Lerial can make out his breath. He mounts quickly and turns the gelding south. As he rides toward his companies, he tries to sense any Heldyan forces beyond the walls of Lubana, but can find none within the range of his abilities.
He has no more than reined up and dismounted at the Cigoernean tents than Fheldar, Strauxyn, and Kusyl hurry toward him.
“Ser … there’s word…” begins Fheldar.
“That the Heldyans may be attacking. They’re loading flatboats with troopers. The Afritan Guards are being positioned to the south of the hunting park and closer to Luba. We’re being held back to see where else they may attack. The Afritans are sending rations. Have they arrived?”
“Not yet, ser.”
“We’re likely last because everyone else will be moving out before us. Have your men eat as soon as the rations arrive. Fheldar … we’ll send Vominen and Gherst out through the south gate. Have them take positions just south of the southeast corner tower of Lubana. That way, they can survey the river and the riverbank—and marshes—to the south, as well as the eastern wall of Lubana itself.”
“Yes, ser.”
“Do you know where we’ll be fighting?” asks Kusyl.
“No.” Lerial pauses. “Just an idea. We may not be going all that far.”
“Ser?”
“We’ll have to see. Just make sure everyone gets fed … and quickly.”
Less than a third of a glass later, the rankers are all eating bread, cold mutton slices, and cheese, washing it down with watered ale. Lerial is using his order-senses to scan the river, but can only discover a half score of flatboats barely leaving the piers at Vyada, although he has the feeling that more will be pushing off before long.
Another half glass passes, and the cloudless eastern sky has turned to greenish gray before the first group of flatboats nears the western shore of the river a good kay south of Lubana, where Drusyn’s forces are already marshaled and waiting. A second, and larger, group of boats has departed the piers and looks to be headed farther downstream. Lerial cannot tell exactly where that might be, but it is clear they are not reinforcing the boats beginning to ground on the shore south of the hunting park because they are almost even with those boats and remain in midriver.
“Ser…?” prompts Kusyl.
“There’s another group of boats headed downstream. I can’t tell where.” Lerial pauses. “I’m going to join the scouts.”
In little more than moments, Lerial and the fourth squad of Eighth Company ride through the south gate and then east toward the river. He can sense that there are more than twenty flatboats in the second Heldyan contingent. By the time he and Fourth Squad reach the southeast corner of the walls, where the graveled lane continues north at the foot of the east wall, and a similar lane continues southward between the hedgerow at the east edge of the hunting park and the marshes, the first rays of sunlight appear, almost directly in Lerial’s eyes. Lerial has to squint to make out the dark shapes of the flatboats against the low light. Still, from what he can tell from eyes and senses, the flatboats appear to be too close to the center of the river to land south of Lubana proper.
Even as he is thinking that, he can sense and see, if barely, that the lead boats are angling nearer to the shore. While Lerial has his doubts as to whether the approaching flatboats will actually attack Lubana itself, it is clear that they will at the very least pass close to the walls. He turns in the saddle. “Gherst, here are my orders to Fheldar and the undercaptains. All archers on the wall, on each side of the midwall tower. All other company elements to join us here immediately. All companies with lances, except for the archers.”
“Yes, ser.”
Another quarter glass passes, and Lerial’s archers are in position on the walls. Kusyl’s Twenty-third Company is riding north along the lane under the wall to take a position near the northeast corner of the walls. Lerial watches as the flatboats reach a point no more than two hundred yards south of him. They remain barely within accurate range of his archers, if definitely nearer the Afritan shore, clearly aiming for a landfall somewhere near Luba, most likely on the northern edge of the city, Lerial would guess. He can sense continuing activity on the Vyada piers, suggesting another force to come, but little beyond that.
The flatboats continue down the Swarth past Lubana.
“Now, what, ser?” asks Fheldar.
“We do what all good lancers have to do,” Lerial replies dryly. “We wait.”
He continues to monitor the pending attack to the south, because, from what he can tell, the flatboats have not actually landed, but appear to be standing offshore. From the occasional flash of muted silver he senses, it appears as though the Afritans and Heldyans are exchanging volleys of arrows. It could even be that the Heldyans are using heavy crossbows mounted on the flatboats.
Another and larger group of flatboats pulls away from the piers at Vyada, moving across the river more swiftly than the previous grouping. Within a fraction of a glass, it is clear to Lerial that the third group of flatboats is aimed at Lubana, or if not, at a point very close.
Lerial thinks about positioning Eighth Company along the midsection of the wall, then shakes his head. Too easy to be trapped with nowhere to go. At the same time, the ramparts at the top of the wall are barely wide enough for a single lancer, and there are only a few sets of steps to the top of the wall, those few on the inner side. At three yards in height, the walls were clearly built for privacy and to deter casual intruders, not to withstand any prolonged armed assault.
“Undercaptain Strauxyn!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take Eleventh Company back inside the wall. Take a position at least fifty yards back of the wall. Your task will be to deal with any intruders who might scale the wall and enter Lubana. Wait for them to clear the wall and then attack with lances.”
“Yes, ser.”
“It may not come to that,” Lerial adds after seeing a hint of puzzlement on the undercaptain’s face, “but I won’t put a company between a wall and the river with archers on flatboats approaching. If they have five or ten companies on those boats and ladders as well, some will likely get over the wall.”
Strauxyn nods. “Yes, ser.” He turns his mount.
Lerial continues to watch the oncoming flatboats, as well to sense what is happening at the southern end of the hunting park and farther downstream, where the flatboats that had passed Lubana are massing somewhere just offshore beyond the third canal. To the south, four or five flatboats have landed, and a Heldyan shield wall, with pikes protruding, has formed on a narrower spit of firm land that apparently mitigates against attacks from the side as it advances. You’ll definitely need lances against a shield wall.
The flatboats nearing Lubana are far closer to the shore, almost as if some plan to land in the marshes south of the walls. Of course they do. They’ve got archers that we can’t attack easily. While Lerial’s personal shields, those close to his body, will protect him against most weapons, at least those made of iron or iron-tipped, he has never been able to project that type of barrier shield more than a few yards—except momentarily, and that will not suffice against continuous volleys of arrows.
“Fheldar, pull the squads back to where the hedgerow and those trees provide some cover. I’m thinking the Heldyans will stop in the reeds and try to clear the area with archers. I’ll stay here.” Lerial is glad he doesn’t have to explain to the grizzled senior squad leader, who has politely suggested that he h
as no interest in being an undercaptain, even though he handles many of those duties.
“Yes, ser.”
For the moment, Lerial doesn’t have to worry about Twenty-third Company, since the Heldyan archers, if that is what the attackers have in mind, cannot reach the middle of the wall, let alone the northeast corner, beyond which Kusyl’s men are formed up.
He continues to watch, and before long the first of the flatboats halt in the marshes less than a hundred yards south of the wall tower and little more than a hundred and fifty yards from Eighth Company, although the hedgerow west of the lane assures that any archers cannot fire directly at the lancers, if indeed they even know Eighth Company is there.
Lerial pauses for just an instant to check what has happened to the south. He can’t help but frown, because the Heldyans appear to be withdrawing. They pushed their way ashore … and they’re withdrawing? There’s nothing he can do about that, and certainly Drusyn can send more accurate information to the arms-commander just as quickly as Lerial can.
While there might be archers on the flatboats, no arrows are loosed at Lerial, who is most likely the only visible target, and, after a time, the flatboats move away from the reeds, and let the current carry them toward the wall. Lerial watches as the first of the flatboats nears. In the front and on the shore side is a wall of shields. Below and behind the shields he can sense the archers he had felt would be there.
He can sense no chaos around the nearer flatboats, nor does he feel the chaotic mist that usually means a white wizard or chaos-mage hiding behind a shield of sorts. At the same time, he recalls something that Saltaryn had told him years ago—that water, especially large bodies of water, tends to mask concentrations of both order and chaos … and make using either more difficult. Still … shouldn’t he sense something?
The six flatboats with the archers swing away from the shore and the narrow lane in front of the wall, and another line of flatboats, a good seven or eight of them, begins to angle toward him.
Heritage of Cyador (saga of recluce Book 18) Page 11