As she waited, she extended her senses, beginning to link the junctures and nodes in the air into a chevron-shaped pattern, with her at the apex, and with the same knife-edge of chaos she had created before, cradled in unyielding order. She worked to extend that unseen blade far enough to both sides so that it would cover the flanks of the Cardarans.
At a hundred yards from Saryn, the attackers began a full gallop toward the regency force. Saryn waited until they were close to eighty yards away. Then she finally ordered, “Charge! Forward! On me!”
She urged the gelding into a full canter, linking the chaos-knife to her short sword and knowing that she needed as much momentum as possible to increase the force of her blade. She searched for the leading rider in the center company, her eyes sweeping the attacking force, nodding as she sensed that the attackers had fallen into a rough, if barely perceptible, wedge, with the middle of the center company at the point.
Less than twenty yards from the leading rider, Saryn finally released her blade, strengthening the links and flattening herself against the neck and mane of the gelding as the unseen black-framed whitish knife blade slashed through men and mounts, cutting them down and scattering them away from the Westwind squads.
Even before Saryn reached the shattered rear of the Cardaran force, black voids filled with cold whiteness arrowed into her, pulling and hammering at her, so much that her entire body felt as though it had been penetrated by hundreds, if not thousands, of unseen needles.
Her fingers clutched at the gelding’s mane.
She started to lift her head, but she could not see through the assault of shimmering lightknives that stabbed through her eyes. She reined in the gelding, conscious of riders around her, hoping they were Westwind guards, before the needles, the lightknives, and another black void all slammed into her.
Hot darkness and chill icy white engulfed her…then she felt nothing.
As if emerging from an unseen drizzle, Saryn felt the dampness running down her forehead, water that was neither hot nor cold, and she shook her head, trying to speak, to get out of the rain.
“Commander?”
She tried to speak again, but her throat was so dry that her “yes” was more like a croak. “Water…please.”
Someone placed a water bottle at her lips. She lifted her head, ignoring the pounding inside her skull, and drank.
Hate being weak…passing out in the saddle isn’t a good example. She struggled into a sitting position on the shoulder of the road.
Although she could barely see between the lightknives and the pain they created, she could make out that the high, hazy clouds had been replaced by lower and darker ones. A flash of lightning flickered brightly just to the east, followed immediately by a loud crash of thunder.
Her body didn’t feel bruised. Finally, she looked at Shalya. “I didn’t fall…?”
“We had to pry your fingers out of the horse’s mane.”
“What happened?”
“Your black blades scythed through the main body of both the Jeranyi and the Lornians. It looked like some thirty armsmen on the fringes escaped. We captured ten or so.”
Even with her vision almost nonexistent because of the flashing lightknives, Saryn could see the gravity on Shalya’s face and in her words. “How long was I out? What’s the problem? What were our losses?”
“You’ve been out a half glass or so. We had three wounded. I don’t think one will make it.”
Saryn didn’t see that as insurmountable, given what they’d faced.
“We found several bodies attired…like lords. The captives identified them as Lord Orsynn and two of his sons.”
“I don’t see a problem there. He, or his envoy, admitted rebelling against the regency. They attacked a force bearing the regency banner without any hesitation. They paid the price.”
“Some of the captives complained that you used sorcery.”
Saryn wanted to snort. “None of them thought it was unfair to attack us with six times our numbers. There is no fairness in battle. You win or lose. Did we capture many mounts?”
“A score and a half. The others…”
Saryn understood. Her dark scythe didn’t distinguish between men and mounts. “Blades? Weapons?”
“We recovered hundreds of blades, enough that most of the captured mounts are heavily laden. More than a bit of coins as well. I haven’t counted it, but I’d guess close to sixty golds. More than half came from Lord Orsynn.” Shalya’s face bore an expression Saryn couldn’t decipher, and her light-blurred vision and pounding head kept her from sensing anything.
“What else?” asked Saryn.
“Your blade…it was molten when it hit, and there was a dark fire.”
Saryn was vaguely amused that she wasn’t surprised. “It mixes order and chaos flows.” After a moment, she asked, “Did the fire upset the guards?”
“Most of them didn’t see it.”
“The stragglers?”
“A few were Jeranyi. I think they were breaking away even before you acted. They might have been those who were at Suedara.”
That certainly made sense.
Saryn slowly rose to her feet, looking for the gelding. They needed to get back to Lornth before matters got even worse…if they hadn’t already.
Rain began to fall out of the still-darkening sky.
LXXII
The departure of the Westwind guards from the lands of the late Lord Orsynn required a glass of riding through rain that fell in sheets, soaking through everything. There had been no help for it, since there was no shelter from the storm, a storm that Saryn was more than certain her use of order and chaos had either created or exacerbated. Once they had cleared the deluge, she occasionally looked back, but the sky remained black, suggesting that most of Cardara was being thoroughly drenched. Had she done Orsynn’s people a favor or washed out their harvest?
With as much riding as they had earlier pressed on their mounts, it was late afternoon on oneday when Saryn ordered the regency banner unfurled again, and they rode back through the streets of Lornth from the southwest. While the main square and byways were not deserted, Saryn felt that there were noticeably fewer people out than she’d seen before, and that bothered her. The feeling engendered by the semideserted appearance of Lornth was scarcely improved as she rode toward the palace gates…and found them closed.
The Lornian armsmen quickly opened the ironbound and timbered relics, and just as quickly closed them behind the returning Westwind forces.
Saryn rode directly to the rear stables and reined up. There, Hryessa was waiting.
“You brought back more mounts and plunder,” said the captain. “Who else did you fight?”
Saryn swung down out of the saddle before replying. “Three companies mounted by Lord Orsynn. He and the southern lords declared rebellion against the regency. They didn’t say it that way. They claimed to be out to restore the rightful ways of Lornth. Lord Orsynn won’t be restoring anything. Neither will two of his sons or his companies.”
The guard captain nodded, as if such were to be expected. That chilled Saryn in a way she couldn’t have described. “Undercaptain Maerkyn told me about the rebellion. Lord Kelthyn demanded that Lord Henstrenn replace Lord Gethen as regent. When the Lady Regent refused, Lord Kelthyn vowed she would regret her failure to return Lornth to the old ways.”
“Sometimes the old ways are best. Sometimes, they’re not. In changing times, those who prevail are the ones who understand which ways work best for the times.” Saryn paused, then asked, “Speaking of new ways, do you have any more recruits?”
“Close to two squads. Some walked days to get here. They are all willing and work hard, but they have so much to learn.” Hryessa shook her head sadly. “Lornth needs new ways.”
“The Lady Regent seems to be one of the few who thinks so.” Saryn stretched, then shook her shoulders, trying to loosen tight muscles. “After I take care of the gelding, I need to talk to the Lady Regent. Once I’ve heard what she has to say, we need to go over things. It’s going to be a long harvest and winter.”