As the image swam into the glass, Cerryl could hear the lancer subofficer swallow. The Spidlarian lancers were still on the road headed toward Cerryl. They were not straining their mounts but moving at a good walking pace.
“Watching their mounts, they are,” observed Hiser.
“A cautious leader.” And that’s trouble. Cerryl released the image. “We might as well relax until Ferek and the others get here.”
“Stand down,” Hiser ordered the five lancers.
Cerryl sat down in the shade, leaning against a crooked oak root that had risen aboveground. He had the feeling he’d best rest while he could.
Well before midmorning, Ferek and the balance of Cerryl’s lancers arrived.
“The hill the last back is a better place,” Ferek offered brusquely as he reined up beside the oak, looking down at Cerryl, who had not remounted the gelding.
“You’re right,” Cerryl agreed amiably. “We won’t fight here. I don’t want them to see that, though. If they do, they might try something else.” That I wouldn’t be able to puzzle out quickly enough.
Ferek scratched his beard. “Tire the mounts some to ride back there if they’re chasing us.”
“They’ve ridden farther, much farther,” Cerryl pointed out, “and it will be a time before they arrive-at least midday.” He paused. “If you rest and water the mounts in the stream there, will they be ready?”
Ferek looked toward the stream that crossed the southeastern side of the long meadow. “Easy. Do it in squads, I would.”
“Then why don’t you start now?” Cerryl smiled.
Hiser covered his mouth and coughed to hide a smile.
Ferek swung his bay around and ordered, “Water time. Stand down in squads! Water. Be quick now.”
Cerryl rode the gelding back to the sole oak tree near the road on the crest of the rise and dismounted. He took out the glass and called up the image of the Spidlarians-who appeared nearer. Overhead, the leaves rustled briefly, then stilled again.
It was almost noon before the Spidlarian force appeared on the more distant hill-and reined up as the riders saw the short line of Cerryl’s lancers, all mounted and apparently ready to repulse any attack or to attack themselves.
“Mayhap they won’t come forward,” said Ferek, from Cerryl’s right. “Or they’ll let their mounts get their wind.”
“It could be. We’ll have to see.” Cerryl blotted more of the dampness from his forehead and the back of his neck and stood slightly in the stirrups, trying to loosen trousers that clung too tightly, welded to his body by heat and sweat.
As Ferek’s lancers had done, the Spidlarians cautiously watered their mounts in small groups, clearly not letting any horse drink much, before re-forming on the rise across the meadow from Cerryl’s forces.
Slightly before midafternoon, the larger Spidlarian force slowly began to move, taking the slightly lower sections of the long meadow, then moving up. A group of archers rode halfway up the meadow and started to dismount and string their bows.
“Don’t like that, ser,” Ferek said.
Cerryl concentrated.
Whhhssttt. A firebolt arched and fell on one side of the archers.
One man flared into flame, and the others fell back a good hundred cubits.
Cerryl frowned. The archers were at the edge of his range, especially for accuracy, but he didn’t want them getting too close.
Still more than a kay away, the blue lancers split into groups of perhaps four riders and spread from one another as they walked their mounts slowly uphill and across the gentle slope of the rise. The hot sun glinted from their bared blades.
“They be not together,” mumbled Ferek.
“I thought that might happen.” Cerryl nodded. The Spidlarians knew or suspected that the Fairhaven forces had a White wizard; so they would not charge in mass where a single firebolt could wreak damage on more than a handful. Still, they would have to mass at some point before they reached Cerryl’s force…but that could be almost at the last moment on the gentle meadow. They wouldn’t be able to keep that spread out once they reached the narrower section of the vale the road traveled between the hills to the southeast.
“There are a lot more of them…” ventured Ferek.
Cerryl smiled faintly. “When they get to those bushes, down by the dead tree, we’ll turn and ride back along the road.”
Ferek frowned. “Why’d we ride up this far?”
“So they wouldn’t see how the road goes through that narrow place behind us.” Cerryl repressed a sigh. He’d already told Ferek once. “All right, have the men follow me back to the second hill-all but the two squads with Hiser.” He paused. “You ready, Hiser?”
“Yes, ser.” The subofficer gave a quick nod, his eyes going to the lancers who flanked him.
Whhssst! Cerryl arched another fireball toward the Spidlarians. It fell well short, as he knew it would, but the lancers slowed as the green grass burned for a time, with a thick grayish smoke that quickly faded and then dissipated. “Let’s fall back.” Cerryl turned the gelding. “Hiser…have your group hold here as long as you can without losing anyone, then ride back to our position.”
That would spend the horses more than Cerryl would have liked, but he didn’t want a fallback to turn into a pell-mell retreat, and having two squads remaining to “hold” the lower rise might ensure a more orderly retreat. If you’re lucky.
“We’ll hold ’em long enough for you to re-form, ser,” Hiser promised.
“Don’t hold too long,” Cerryl answered. “The idea is to avoid losing men.”
Hiser nodded.
Cerryl wanted to wince. “I meant that.”
“Yes, ser.”
With a nod, Cerryl turned the chestnut and rode alongside Ferek, glancing over his shoulder. With the “retreat” of the White Lancers, the Spidlarian forces began to urge their mounts into a quick trot up the hillside.
Cerryl reined up, then cast a last firebolt. Whhsttt!
“Aeiii…”
More by luck than skill, the wobbly sphere of chaos fire enveloped a blue lancer more than twenty cubits in front of the others. Cerryl was gratified to note that the blues’ advance slowed.
Almost with each of the gelding’s hoofbeats on the road through the vale toward the higher hill to the southeast Cerryl looked back over his shoulder, nearly bouncing off the trotting mount. The dust burned his eyes, and his throat felt almost clogged with the reddish stuff.
After what seemed the entire afternoon, Ferek’s lancers turned and re-formed on the higher hillcrest, barely getting into formation before Hiser’s squad galloped back uphill, at least several men short.
“Lost a few, ser,” Hiser said as he wheeled and drew up beside Cerryl. “The blues are a-coming fast.”
“Let’s hope they’re coming fast enough.” Cerryl began to muster chaos around him, so much that he could feel the air tingle.
Although the quick-moving Spidlarians were still more than half a kay away from Cerryl’s position on a still relatively low crest, now more than twenty cubits higher than the road below, the first Spidlarian lancers found themselves riding closer and closer together, forced nearer and nearer to one another by the narrowing of the swale that wasn’t really even a true valley.
Whhsstt! The firebolt arced into the middle of the horsemen, flaring into a mushroom-shaped flame.
The screams were faint and quick, but the riders swerved around the blazing figures and the grass on either side of the road, and the Spidlarian advance slowed just slightly.
“Darkness…he got near on a score…”
More like half that. Cerryl concentrated and loosed a second firebolt. Whhssstt!
Some of the riders saw the chaos fire, and those at the edge of the Spidlarian formation split off and galloped up the lower hill to the south of Cerryl’s force, then turned back to the west.