The Order War

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  This time, the remaining lancers circled back, regrouped, and joined by a third group of fresh cavalry, charged the Sarronnese once more.

  Although the arrows still fell among the lancers, some of those hit continued to ride forward. Others fell, but they fell like ordinary men, and the weight of the charge, the sheer numbers of more than five hundred remaining lancers, pushed at the thin line of blue-coated Sarronnese.

  The bodies of white-clad men and their horses piled into a line less than a hundred cubits from the shallow Sarronnese earthworks.

  The heavy drum rolled, and the lancers peeled away to reveal the Fairhaven foot, carrying light, white shields, almost upon the Sarronnese lines and marching forward. Behind them, White archers appeared, and a flight of white shafts arced toward the Sarronnese.

  “Now!” snapped Firbek.

  Click…

  Justen flattened himself just before the rocket passed through where he had been standing. He shivered on the ground, not really understanding why he’d had enough sense to drop out of the way, or had he been dodging from the arrows?

  “I told .you to be careful!” Firbek’s massive hand slammed into Deryn, throwing her to the ground, where she lay cradling her arm.

  The big marine turned the launcher and nodded at Fesek, who clicked the striker to light off the first rocket.

  Justen climbed to his feet, trying to brush away the dirt and a glob of manure that had stuck to his tunic. Sweat oozed from his forehead as he thought about how close to him the rocket had come. He turned toward the Fairhaven forces.

  The black iron missile plowed into the ground to the left of the center of the green-bannered forces. A low, growling sound accompanied the White advance, part murmurs, part yells, part the sound of booted feet on hard ground as the foot-sloggers stormed.over the bodies and charged toward the thin blue line behind the low stones.

  Another wave of white arrows flew, and Justen dropped behind his stone wall. Deryn scrabbled awkwardly behind the cart.

  Standing behind the black iron frame, Firbek racheted up the launcher and nodded. Fesek struck the fuse, and this time, Justen tried to order the initial airflow. The combined effort succeeded, and the rocket slammed through the center of the White foot, creating a fireball and strewing charred bodies for a dozen cubits.

  Another ragged cheer rose from the Sarronnese even as the wave of destruction rocked Justen. He steadied himself on the topmost rock of the wall he had built, fighting the nausea and dizziness created by the havoc. He glanced over at Deryn, who was trying to fasten some sort of makeshift splint on her forearm; he sensed not anger, but sadness in her.

  Arrows fell on both sides, slashing into white-clad and blue-clad forms alike. Justen dropped onto his knees; so he could see the field without presenting a target for some archer.

  “Another.” Firbek lifted the rocket into the launcher.

  The second rocket widened the hole in the White center. Justen leaned against the stones and groaned.

  Hhsstt… The answering firebolt fell short, almost charring some of the White foot.

  “Another. The White Wizard’s getting tired.”

  “Again…”

  Somehow, the engineer infused some order into each launch, trying to stay out of view of the White archers, fighting the recoil of chaos and dizziness.

  “Hold.”

  The remaining handful of the Fairhaven assault forces, those under the green banner of Certis, crept back behind makeshift barricades of bodies and brush and stones. For a time, a low sighing swept the valley, composed of the wind and the moans and cries of the wounded and dying.

  Then a heavy drum-roll thundered from the west, and a wave of troops under the crimson banner started forward.

  Once more the White archers lifted their bows, as did the Sarronnese, and the late morning sky was filled with death.

  Hhstt… hssttt…

  “We need to stop them! Strike it!” Right after the rocket left, Firbek was lifting another into place in the launcher,

  After a deep breath, Justen added a touch of order, enough so that the rocket hit just left of the center of the new assault.

  Hsssttt… This time, the wizard’s firebolt splashed in front of the launcher.

  Firbek cranked up the launcher. “There. He’s on that low hill. Strike!”

  The second rocket splashed flame before the White Wizard, who dropped from sight. Firbek readjusted the launcher. “Strike!”

  The next rocket widened the hole in the Whites’ center.

  Hhssttt… The answering firebolt again fell short.

  “Another. Keep them coming. They’re getting tired.” Firbek changed the launcher angle, and the rocket seared the hilltop where the wizard had stood.

  “Again.”

  “Strike again…”

  The engineer kept infusing order into each launch.

  Despite the rockets, the White foot reached the Sarronnese line, and the clash of metal joined the smell of charred bodies, the odor of burning rocket powder, and the screams and moans of soldiers and horses. Sarronnese archers loosed shafts at ranges so close that at times, one shaft transfixed two Fairhaven troops… hssttt… hsstt…

  The firebolts alternated between the Sarronnese and the Recluce positions, but Firbek and Justen now concentrated on the White foot troops.

  “Strike!”

  Then the three men in black stood in a lull as the shattered White foot fell back even as another set of heavy drum-rolls started and the gray banners were lifted and dipped.

  Three short double blasts sounded over the isolated shouts, the screams, and the hissing of the occasional firebolt. The ensign swirled and dipped three times.

  “That’s the fall-back order!” yelled Fesek.

  “We’ve still got rockets!” Firbek protested.

  Justen pointed to the comparative handful of blue-clad Sarronnese. “Zerlana doesn’t have much in the way of troops left. And they’re calling in the Iron Guard.”

  Firbek stared for a moment, then dropped his hands.

  Justen yanked the marine’s arm and pulled him to the ground.

  “Dumb bastard-”

  Hhhssttt… hsstt. Nearly a score of arrows followed the firebolt above Justen’s head.

  “We’re the target!”

  “Let’s get moving!” Justen crouched behind the launcher, pulling the brace pins while Fesek and Justen carted the dozen and a half remaining rockets, wrapped in a canvas, to the mule. Then they placed the launcher on the cart. Deryn pulled the fuses one-handedly and put them in a leather bag strapped next to the canvas on the mule.

  Justen nodded at the safety precaution, then mounted the gray.

  A firebolt flared around the mule, which tottered forward three steps before collapsing.

  Arrows arched over the hilltop.

  “Keep moving!” ordered Firbek.

  “You move!” Justen flung himself off the gray and tried to remove the canvas from the dead mule. As if he were moving through deep snow, he untied the rockets, one by one, until he could lift the canvas off and then get it over the gray’s back.

  Hssttt…

  He re-tied one rocket, then another…

  … hsssttt…

  … and another…

  White arrows flew by his shoulder.

  … and another…

  … hssttt…

  With a sigh more like a sob, the engineer grabbed the gray’s reins and began to run, using the hillock as shelter from the direct attack of the White Wizard.

  Behind him, the drum-rolls mounted. Beside him trotted three blue-clad soldiers. Ahead, he could barely make out the cart and the two marines riding into the canyon between two lines of archers and troops waiting to cover the retreat, if necessary.

  Another wave of arrows dropped around them. One slammed into the woman beside Justen, pinning her arm to the dirt. Justen reached down and absently snapped the arrow, then lifted her onto the gray, right on top of the rockets, even as he pulled out the sh
aft and handed her a scrap of canvas.

  “Bind it with this.”

  The soldier looked at him blankly.

  “Wrap it if you want to live!” he ordered, flicking the reins to keep the gray moving.

  “Tough little bastard…” muttered the soldier to his left.

  Tough? Justen hadn’t even lifted a blade or his staff, and he felt like chopped meat. The ground seemed to sway underfoot, and his head ached as if it had been beaten with a truncheon. He coughed and kept walking until he, the gray, and the wounded soldier were in the canyon.

  There, since the bedraggled column was still moving, he kept walking, leading the gray.

  “Engineer!”

  Justen looked up at the sound of the voice. A Sarronnese officer whom he did not know was leading a riderless horse, a dapple.

  “Mount up!”

  Mechanically, he climbed into the empty saddle, still holding the gray’s reins.

  “Thanks… fellow. But I’ll walk with mine.” The wounded soldier slipped off the gray, shivering as her fingers touched the black iron. She trudged slowly downhill.

  Justen eased the dapple around them, still leading the gray. Making his way down the canyon, his head cleared slightly and after a time, he looked back at the winding column.

  What could he do to stop the Whites? It would not be that long before they wiped out the wounded, took their arms and supplies, and looted the dead.

  What Gunnar could do with wizardry, perhaps he could accomplish with order-mastery and the powder in the rockets, since his senses indicated that the Whites were not immediately upon the heels of the remaining Sarronnese.

  On the way in, he had studied at least a handful of places in the narrow canyon where a rough dam might be erected, especially the place where the stream had turned abruptly at the granite face-if he recalled the spot correctly.

  Less than half a kay into the canyon, Justen paused at a narrowing in the walls and studied the first outcropping. A frown followed as he noted the depth of the pooled water below. While the deep water stored order, it was also likely to swallow the amount of rock that might be forced loose.

  As he rode, he discovered that either he had caught up with the marines or they had slowed to wait for him. They rode on silently.

  Once Justen reached the narrow granite wall that he recalled, he guided the dapple and the gray off the road and onto the narrow streambank, where he studied the canyon walls again. What he had in mind still seemed possible.

  “Why are you stopping, Engineer?” Firbek circled back.

  “I’m going to build a dam.”

  “With what? Magic?”

  “Hardly. The rockets, for one thing.”

  “I need those rockets.” Firbek put his hand on his blade. Farther downhill, Deryn had reined up the cart. Beside her, Fesek sat on his mount. Both looked impassively over the intermittent flow of soldiers, most of them wounded, at Jus-ten and Firbek.

  “So do I.” Justen smiled, and his fingers closed around the black staff. “And I saved them. I also helped forge them.”

  Firbek glanced from Deryn, still cradling her shattered left arm, to the gray and the canvas holding the rockets. Then he laughed. “Fine! Do what you will.” He looked at Deryn. “It’s his decision.”

  Justen watched for a moment as the three turned their mounts and the cart back onto the dusty mountain road to follow the Justen forces back down to the foothills and the river. Then he tied the horses to a scrubby root protruding from the loose rock. If he used the tree…

  “Engineer… what are you doing?” Zerlana, surrounded by a half-squad of heavily armed cavalry, reined up beside him. “We’ll need those rockets on the plains.”

  “Begging your pardon, Commander. They will do more good here.”

  “Would you explain?”

  Justen shrugged, then pointed to the boulder-strewn slope to the right of the road. “Most of those stones are fairly loose.”

  “We all know that. Every spring we have to clear the road. But the White Wizards will just blast apart those few boulders you can bring down here.”

  “Not if I can get enough of them in the streambed.”

  The commander studied the road. “You can’t raise the stream more than three cubits, I’d guess. How would that help?”

  “Would you want to bring your forces through three cubits of icy water?”

  “Can you do this?”

  “I don’t know.” Justen shrugged. “It’s worth a try. If it works, they’ll have to use the road that leads from their highway, and that goes to Cerlyn, which puts the Whites a lot farther from Sarron.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “You lose some rockets and one engineer-at most.”

  “How much help could you use?”

  “Three people. Any more would just get in the way.”

  Zerlana rode downhill toward a group of light horse that had reined up just at the turn when she had stopped next to Justen.

  The engineer stood by the dapple, absently stroking the gelding’s neck, while his perceptions ranged across the sides of the canyon, seeking out weaknesses in the rock and the thin soil cover.

  Before he had finished sensing the rock and soil faults, three mounted soldiers rode up, two in blue leathers, one in gray.

  “The commander said you needed help.” The hard-faced blonde with a razor-thin, blood-edged cut along the right side of her jaw reined her chestnut in, almost on top of Jus-ten. “What are you doing?”

  “Blowing up the hillside to make a dam once our people get downstream.”

  “Our people?” asked the brunette. The woman in gray said nothing.

  “Anyone I fight for is my people.” Justen held in a sigh.

  “How long will this take?” asked the hard-faced blonde.

  “Most of the afternoon.”

  “That’s too long. The Whites will be here before you’re done.”

  Justen shook his head. “Hardly. They haven’t left the battlefield. They’ve got some cleaning up to do.”

  The brunette snorted. “Didn’t like those black arrows, they didn’t. Wish we’d had more.”

  “When the commander reports to the chief engineer, there will be more forged.”

  “Not enough.”

  “That’s what we’re here for. This buys more time to forge weapons and gather troops,” Justen reminded the three. “What I need from you are boulders from up there that look and feel not too steady, like they might move with a huge push. We need some way to mark them…”

  “Here’s some white cloth. It’ll last for a while, anyhow.” The blonde’s laugh was nearly a cackle.

  Justen nodded. “While you’re doing that, I’ll be moving the rockets into place.”

  He thrust a small iron pry-bar, taken from the canvas that held the rockets, into his belt, then unloaded four rockets from the gray. Using the tree root, he levered himself onto the lower ledge, from where he scrambled onto the sparsely grassy rocky incline. Cubit by cubit, he struggled up as far as he could go.

  “This one looks like it might move, ser,” offered the brunette.

  Justen put a hand on the boulder, a time-smoothed monolith that protruded from the hillside, letting his senses surround the granite. He shook his head. “This is still attached to the ridge below. Let’s try that one over there.”

  “It’s not as big.”

  “They have to be able to move.”

  After three tries, Justen found two boulders that seemed to fit his needs. After using the pry-bar to gouge out a long hole on the upslope side of the larger boulder, he placed two rockets inside and gently tamped in the sandy soil as well as he could, leaving only the twisted fuses exposed.

  “Get up behind that rock! All of you!”

  He used the striker, then scrambled for cover, slipping and scraping the side of his face as he clawed his way behind the ridge rock that the brunette had thought would move.

  Crummppp… uumpp…

  Sand exploded f
rom the boulder, and the stone rocked, then settled.

  “Darkness…”Justen eased over to the boulder, ignoring the blood on his cheek, and touched the granite, then shoved. The blonde’s shoulder joined his, and the boulder groaned forward… and began bouncing downhill, carrying several smaller rocks and some sand with it.

  The next boulder also took two rockets, but it fell onto the road itself, although one of the smaller rocks tumbled into the stream.

  By the time he had returned for more rockets and carted them up the steep slope, falling only twice and scraping his face once again, Justen’s blacks were soaked from his waist up. A quick look at the sky confirmed that the hazy clouds remained in place.

  More rocks, more holes, and more rockets resulted in a growing pile of stone in the narrow gap where the canyon turned.

  After splashing their faces clean, the four sat by the stream to rest. Shortly, Justen stood.

  “Let’s get the horses around the bend. Then we’ll muscle these rocks into some sense of order.”

  “This is worse than fighting. You can only die there. Here, you get tortured.” The blonde shook her head.

  Justen shrugged. “It hurts me, too.”

  The replacement mount-more heavily muscled than the gray-a pulley, the three soldiers, and Justen managed to wrestle the larger boulders into a line across the narrow point in the canyon before the sharp bend. With the stones in its bed, the stream had risen enough that it lapped at the edge of the road.

  “Now we’ll drop some more stones. Smaller ones.”

  The three exchanged looks. The blonde shrugged. So did the woman in gray.

  After a moment, the brunette grinned. “All right, Engineer. We’ll help you drop more stones.”

  When there were only four rockets left and the sun had dropped well below the canyon rim, Justen straightened up. “Let’s go down and finish.”

  The four waded through calf-deep water before they could climb over the makeshift berm, or dam. The three climbed onto perches above the road, since water was flowing across the roadbed.

  “Shit. No wonder no one ever took Recluce… takes too much friggin‘ work.”