Rahl’s attention was drawn back to his own force as a wave of lancers rode over the top of the hill and down the long and gentle slope toward the advancing Imperial troopers. Rather than charging forward, the Imperial forces remained in their traces, as if stopped dead.
Rahl winced. Against the long mirror lances, that was exactly the wrong tactic.
The lancers thundered closer, and close to half the Imperial troopers in the front ranks broke even before the lancers neared, and those remaining seemed to mill around aimlessly. Then, at the last moment, the remaining troopers wheeled to the sides, as if trying to outflank the lancers. Out of the grass rose other troopers—and they held long pikes, dug into the ground.
The first two lines of lancers spitted themselves on the pikes, or found themselves entangled with those mounts who had struck the pikes full on, and the Imperial troopers turned back and began to cut down the lancers.
From the hilltop came quick lines of firebolts, spaced just far enough apart so that, when they struck, the chaos-fire flared and spread, turning troopers, pikes, and pikemen into writhing flames that soon became ashes. Even before those fires died away, another line of lancers charged over the hill and down toward the next ranks of advancing troopers.
Once more, if farther down the slope, at the last moment, the troopers turned, and pikes and pikemen appeared. This time, most of the rebel lancers turned, with only a few getting caught in the pikes, but the Imperial troopers were quicker and more than a few lancers went down.
From the hilltop came more firebolts, if fewer and less intense, and only a comparative handful struck the Imperial forces.
The lancers—greatly diminished—charged once more. This time a hail of arrows rose from behind the first line of Imperial troopers and poured down into the lancers’ ranks. Even so, some of the lancers opened wide spaces in the Imperial formation before they retreated uphill under a hail of arrows.
Rahl hadn’t realized that Taryl had brought or found so many archers, but then, from his limited experience, he doubted that archers were all that helpful in mounted fast-moving battles. But…in a set battle like the one unfolding before him, they were most useful—and deadly.
Again, for a time, neither force moved, but it was far from silent, not with the smoldering patches of grass and low vegetation that occasionally crackled, the moaning and low cries of wounded mounts and men, and the orders barked by various commanders. While he could not see the sun, shrouded as it was by the heavy clouds, Rahl knew that it was well past midmorning, and that it was going to be a very long day.
Abruptly, from the southeast, came a flare of chaos, and then a series of explosions. Rahl turned and glanced toward the stone fort. Part of the wall had been blown out, as if a powder magazine had exploded, but lancers poured downhill.
Rahl turned back to Drakeyt. “What next?”
“Whatever they think will hurt us worse and them less, and I have no idea what that will be, except that I don’t think we’ll like it.”
Abruptly a large chaos-bolt arched from somewhere in the Imperial forces up and over the top of the hill. Rahl could see the flash of fire splashing off a shield of some sort, but he could also sense that troopers around the shield had been injured, and some had died.
A flurry of smaller chaos-bolts flashed from the rebel forces, striking almost at random among the Imperial troopers and archers, but, between a less-than-perfect aim and a number of shields, Rahl could feel few injuries.
Just as Rahl was congratulating himself, a pair of chaos-bolts arrowed straight down the hillside, directly at Third Company.
Rahl threw up shields, and the chaos-fire flared past and over the company. Rahl released the shields, but for a moment, had a flash of light-headedness. This time, he didn’t wait, but immediately dug out travel biscuits from his saddlebags.
“Eating, at a time like this?” asked Drakeyt.
“I don’t keep eating,” replied Rahl through mouthfuls of very stale and exceeding dry biscuits, “and I can’t keep using order.”
“Is that true of all mages?”
“So far as I know, but I don’t know for sure about the white wizards of Fairhaven.”
Drakeyt nodded slowly. “That explains a lot.”
Rahl was about to ask what it explained when another wave of lancers, seemingly as numerous as those in the charge that had opened the battle for Selyma, rode over the crest of the hill and started down toward the Imperial forces.
Another flight of arrows rose toward the lancers, but this time a wall of chaos-flame flared downhill, incinerating the majority of the shafts before they could reach their targets. A second wave of arrows, larger than the first, followed. Only two chaos-bolts flew toward the arrows, and one missed completely but fell toward the center of the Imperial force, where it was smothered by an order shield, possibly projected by Taryl.
Rahl nodded as the second flight of arrows dropped amid the lancers. He could see the tactics being used by Taryl—or Commander Muyr. As the lancers struggled to regain order, four companies of mounted troopers charged uphill into the mass of rebels.
“Companies! Forward!” came the orders.
“Third Company! Forward!” repeated Drakeyt.
Using the Imperial charge as a form of cover, the remainder of the force advanced uphill at a measured ride so that the rebel chaos-mages could not fling chaos-flame indiscriminately without inflicting even greater casualties on their own lancers.
By the time the lancers broke free and withdrew, it was clear that the majority of the most recent casualties were among the lancers, and the Imperial forces were a good third of the way up the slope in good order.
At that moment, thunder rumbled over the hillside. Then, a light misting rain began to drift downward.
“Companies! Forward!”
“Third Company! Forward!”
A single weak firebolt arched from the hilltop and flared into insignificance before reaching the advancing Imperial force.
From behind the earthworks came another group of mounted rebels in their maroon jackets—troopers with sabres, riding hard down toward the Imperial forces. One rebel company immediately swung eastward and broke toward Third Company.
Rahl drew his truncheon, then leaned toward Drakeyt. “I’ll try to stop them for just a moment.” He looked at the troopers in maroon, close to a twenty-man front rushing downhill with glittering sabres.
Rahl waited…and waited, then formed a quick shield but, against the weight and speed of the charging rebels, could only hold it long enough to stagger the first rank to a stop. The effort threw him back in the saddle and even halted the gelding. The rest of the company had already begun to cut into the stunned rebels.
That momentary advantage afforded Third Company faded as the following ranks of rebel troopers rode into the melee.
Rahl found himself with three rebels all trying to attack him, but he managed to stiffen his personal shields enough to deflect one slash that would have taken off his shoulder, then thrust the truncheon into the ribs of the second attacker with enough force—if order-boosted—to crack something and topple the trooper out of the saddle. His half parry, half thrust against the next rebel staggered the man enough that one of his troopers finished the man with a cut to the throat.
After that, Rahl lost track as he tried to keep himself in one piece while inflicting what damage he could without totally overextending himself. He had no idea if he’d been effective in reducing the number of rebels or if he’d just managed to survive.
Then, as the rebel troopers withdrew to regroup, a wedge of lancers appeared—coming around the side of the hill above the slope up from the highway—charging directly at the exposed flank of Third Company. Rahl turned in the saddle, then urged the gelding toward fifth squad, where the lancers would strike.
Two chaos-bolts preceded the lancers, and Rahl had to struggle to deflect them.
He barely managed to regain his composure and to focus his concentration on the
oncoming lancers before they overran fifth squad and Third Company. As he’d done before, Rahl waited until the tips of the lancers’ weapons were almost ready to strike before throwing up a shield broad enough to stop the lancers. Although he only held the shield briefly, three ranks of lancers piled into each other, and Lyrn and fifth squad immediately began attacking the tangled and fallen rebel lancers.
At that moment, Rahl could sense more chaos-bolts arcing toward him and Third Company, and he hastily threw up a shield.
Chaos flared around him, and light-knives stabbed at his eyes so fiercely he could hardly see. When he tried to shake his head to clear his vision, the pain was so great that his eyes watered, and he could see nothing at all.
In desperation, he tried to strengthen his personal shields, since he could see nothing.
He felt a lance slam into his shields, and he knew that the shields had held—but his seat on the gelding had not, and he could feel himself flying backward with such force that his boots yanked clear of the stirrups.
Then a wall of black stones fell on him and buried him.
LXVIII
Rahl woke to find himself lying on his back. Knife-flashes of light seared across his eyes. In between those light-knives he could see, dimly, two low ceilings. He closed one eye. It helped a little—one of the plank ceilings faded, but didn’t go away.
“Majer…you awake there?”
Rahl tried to speak, but his throat was so dry that he could barely croak, “Yes…mostly.” He turned his head slowly, very slowly. He was lying on a lumpy pallet set on the floor. Two images of a trooper with a bound arm sat on a stool beside him, looking down at him.
Rahl slowly rolled into a sitting position, then took the water bottle that had been set beside the pallet. After several swallows, he spoke again. “What day is it? Where am I?”
“It’s still eightday, ser, a little before sunset. Well…it’d be about then, except for the clouds. This here’s a shed. Mighta held sheep, ’cepting the rebs herded ’em all off afore we got here.”
“What happened?”
“We’re still at the bottom of the hill, and the rebs are at the top, but they lost a lot more ’n we have. I guess that means we’re winning.”
“What about First Army?”
“Same thing, except they got farther up their hill. Lost more troopers, too.”
Rahl took another swallow of water, thinking…or trying to.
A thin officer stepped into the shed—or rather two images of him did, and it took Rahl a moment to recognize Taryl, what with the two images and the light-knives that occluded his vision.
“Ser…” Rahl began.
Taryl looked at the trooper, who immediately left the shed, closing the door hastily. He surveyed Rahl with eyes and order-senses, then nodded. After a moment, he spoke. “I hope you realize that the only reason you’re alive is because you’re a mage-guard.” Taryl’s voice was dry and contained an edge of irritation.
Rahl understood that. Without his shields—
“No. It’s not that. You got yourself unhorsed in the middle of a battle, and several troopers were injured, and one was killed, recovering you. They don’t care about Rahl, the person. The reason they went after you is the same reason a trooper goes after a sabre knocked from his hand. You’re a weapon. But you do that again, and they might not choose to see if you’re alive, especially if there are chaos-bolts falling all around.”
Rahl wanted to wince, but even the thought sent light-knives slashing through the twin images that shifted in front of him.
“For a time your actions were solid, but then, when you rode out to stop that lancer attack…that was another example of foolhardiness. Rahl…you could have done the same thing without drawing attention to yourself. Why didn’t you?” Taryl didn’t wait for a response, but went on. “Golyat’s mages knew you were somewhere near Third Company, and the lancer attack was an attempt to draw you out and wear you down, then kill you and force us to retreat.”
Rahl wanted to protest that his failure couldn’t have been the only reason for the retreat.
“It wasn’t,” Taryl replied, “but it forced us to retreat earlier than would have been optimal, before we had inflicted as much damage on the defenders as we could have.” He paused and looked directly at Rahl. “Also, it wouldn’t hurt to practice your shields when you’re exhausted. Other mages certainly won’t respect your tiredness, and merely shielding your feelings and thoughts takes little energy if you do it right.”
“Yes, ser,” Rahl replied tiredly, making the effort.
“That’s better.”
So it was better. What difference did it make? All Taryl did any more when he met with Rahl was criticize, and that wasn’t exactly helpful.
The overcommander shook his head. “I can’t order-sense what you’re feeling, but shields don’t do much good if people can read your face.”
Rahl said nothing. He had the feeling that Taryl wasn’t even angry, but withdrawn, and perhaps tired.
“I could provide you with greater counsel, Rahl, but counsel does not develop independence and judgment. You must make enough mistakes, while trying your best, and while someone else can deflect the blame, in order to gain wisdom. Your magisters of Recluce did you no favors, nor did they do me any, either. I ask you this—would I spend so much time with you when so much is at stake if I did not care?” After the briefest of pauses, he went on. “Now…get some rest and eat as much as you can. And while you’re resting, try to think over the situations you might be in and the way to respond by using the least order-effort possible.”
With that, Taryl nodded, turned, and departed.
Rahl lay back on the straw pallet and looked up at the twin, last-flashed images of the rough plank ceiling of the shed, all too aware, especially now, that he was out of the cold and mist just because he was a useful weapon. Was that all Taryl had wanted? It couldn’t be, could it? Taryl had worked with him long before anyone knew about the revolt…and he said he cared, and Rahl had to admit that he was getting more attention than did most junior officers. Yet Taryl expected something of him. That, too, was clear.
Rahl took a deep breath. Whatever the reason, he hadn’t exactly pleased the overcommander.
LXIX
The double images remained with Rahl’s sight through the remainder of eightday but had vanished when he woke early on oneday. The dull aching in his head that he had not noticed because of the sharpness of the light-knives remained, as did occasional flashes. He also had bruises on his back and shoulders that were more than tender to the touch, or when he stretched, but he still managed to find and saddle the gelding.
Overhead, the same thick clouds that had darkened the sky on eightday remained, and beneath them, swirls of misty fog rose from the river, swathing Selyma and the lower part of the hillsides with thick white curtains that shifted with the barely perceptible breeze. With the fog came a damp and almost fetid odor, and a sense of decay that went beyond mere smell. Was that an effect created by the rebel mages? Or just what happened in Selyma when winter fogs rose off the Awhut River?
Once he mounted, even with his order-sensing, it took Rahl some effort to find where Third Company was forming up.
“Should you be out here?” asked Drakeyt, when Rahl rode up and joined him.
“As much as any officer,” replied Rahl with a wry smile, “but I won’t be able to do as much magery. I can still handle the truncheon.”
“You might as well call it a blunted blade.” Drakeyt shook his head. “If anyone had ever told me I’d serve with an officer who did more damage with a truncheon than most squads do with blades, I’d not have believed it. How…” He didn’t finish what he might have said.
“I was taught truncheon from the time I could hold one,” Rahl said slowly. “Then I worked with blade masters when I was older, and…well…I can add a little strength to the truncheon when I wield it.”
“You’re a mage-guard, but I’ve served with them before,
and most of them, even the ones who can handle blades, use a sabre more like an ax.” Drakeyt laughed softly, but the sound carried in the foggy air. “They couldn’t chop that hard, either.”
“I was fortunate. I’ve had good teachers.” Rahl looked up at the dark clouds. It seemed strange that he could see the clouds overhead more clearly than a trooper twenty cubits away.
“You think it will rain?” asked Drakeyt.
“Sooner or later, and it could be a downpour.”
“Maybe that’s why they’ve got us out early. The overcommander wants another try at the hill before it turns to slick mud.”
Rahl almost asked if that wouldn’t hurt the defenders as much as the Imperial forces before he realized one simple thing. The rebels only had to stop the attack, and if mud did the job…
“Would you like to ride out with fourth and fifth squads?”
“Of course.” Rahl realized that Drakeyt was suggesting where he ought to be, and that position made sense for many reasons. He inclined his head and eased his mount eastward.
Lyrn nodded as Rahl took position even with the first ranks and between fourth and fifth squads.
Rahl could see less than fifty cubits ahead through the foggy mist. Why was Taryl continuing the battle under such conditions? Because ordermages could sense better than chaos-mages? Or because all the water in the air reduced the power of the chaos-mages? Or just because he wanted to keep pressure on the rebel defenders? Or was there something else that Rahl was missing?
“Companies! Forward!”
“Third Company! Forward!” echoed Drakeyt.
As he rode forward, Rahl had to remind himself that his task was to use his truncheon to protect himself and the Third Company troopers, while being more aware of everything that was happening and learning from it.
Farther uphill, he could sense a concentration of chaos.
Whsst! The firebolt that flew from the earthworks at the top of the hill plowed into the damp and matted grass a good hundred cubits short of Third Company. The chaos-fire barely spread at all beyond the impact area before dying away.
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