Cerryl consulted his rough map, then nodded. There was a trail, not really a road, that angled toward the Elparta road. He suspected that Jeslek probably wouldn’t have paid that much attention to the trail. But he will if you allow the wagons to be taken or his flank to be attacked. Cerryl pursed his lips. Could there be another force joining them?
With a sigh, he turned back to the glass, squinting as his eyes watered and the inevitable headache began to build.
There was another force, smaller than the first, but still twice the size of what Cerryl had, angling in from the west. Both blue forces would reach the Axalt-Elparta road at about the same point. Unless you stop them.
But how? His eyes watering, Cerryl massaged his forehead. Using pure chaos-particularly firebolts-definitely limited how many armsmen he could take on, especially at once. He took a last swallow from the bottle, then stood and walked to the open door.
In the stillness, the air outside the cot was already warmer than inside the rough wooden building as Cerryl walked toward the cook fires. The aroma of roasted mutton drifted toward him.
Standing by the rough pole corral fence, Ferek lowered the chunk of greasy meat he was eating. “You’d not be looking all that pleased this morning, Mage Cerryl,” observed the subofficer. “Have the blues gone into the Easthorns now, trying to reach the road?”
“I think not.” Cerryl motioned to Hiser.
The blonde subofficer swallowed the last morsels of the hard bread he had been eating and walked toward the mage and the older subofficer.
Cerryl’s headache and watering eyes reminded him that he also needed to eat, and the mage stepped aside toward the plank propped on two tree sections that served as a provision board. Cerryl took almost half a small loaf of bread and used his white-bronze belt-knife to laboriously cut a chunk of the dry white cheese that seemed nearly as hard as the wood on which it rested.
The bread, though warm, was dry, and Cerryl had to struggle to swallow a mouthful. He wished he’d brought his water bottle from the cot, but he managed to gnaw off a corner of the cheese before he turned back to the subofficers and swallowed before speaking. “There are two forces now, the one we’ve been chasing and another one, maybe half the size of the first. They’re headed toward the Elparta road, maybe forty kays west of here.”
“That’d be a solid two-day ride,” said Hiser.
“It should be three for them.” You hope.
“Together…what? Fourfold our numbers?” asked Ferek.
“Could be more than that,” Cerryl admitted. “We have to keep them from getting to where they can attack Jeslek and the other lancers from behind.”
“Take some mighty good working to do that.” Ferek’s tone was bland.
Hiser just looked at Cerryl, his mouth expressionless but concern in his eyes.
“We’ll find a way.” Cerryl offered a smile he did not feel. “After you finish eating, get the men ready. We’ll need to start as soon as we can. I’d like them to have a chance to rest before we face the blues.”
The blonde Hiser nodded, then tugged at his short beard. “We leave anything here?”
Cerryl shook his head. If they beat back the Spidlarians, they’d need to stay closer to Jeslek’s force, and if they didn’t…
“One way or the other…no sense in that,” agreed Ferek, mumbling his words over another mouthful of the greasy mutton.
Cerryl took another mouthful of bread and a chunk of the hard white cheese, chewing carefully.
“They won’t ride away this time,” predicted Hiser.
“No, I don’t think so either.” Cerryl could feel some of the worst of the headache subsiding. You have to remember to eat…
“I’ll have them cook down the rest of the mutton.” Ferek turned toward the cook fires.
“I’ll pass the word,” Hiser answered. “Be a bit, still.”
“I know,” Cerryl mumbled through the last of the hard cheese. He turned and walked slowly back to the cot to pack his own gear, thinking about Hiser’s words. How could he deal with close to eightscore lancers who knew how to avoid firebolts?
He frowned as he paused inside the cot’s doorway, his eyes going to the glass he’d left on the table. What about rearranging order and chaos? Wouldn’t that be less tiring than extracting chaos and flinging it? How would that help you in a battle or skirmish?
Cerryl shrugged as he packed the glass and peered around the dusty room. You’d better find some way.
With a last glance at the empty trestle table, he turned and stepped back into the cool morning air, hoping that the day would remain pleasant, rather than turn sweltering.
XCVI
THE HAZY CLOUDS of morning had thickened and turned into heavy gray masses that filled most of the sky, with but occasional patches of blue-tinged green. Despite the clouds, the day was warm and sultry, without even a hint of a breeze. The light rain of the morning had given way first to mist and then to the damp heat that permeated everything.
Cerryl felt that if he so much as lifted an arm or shifted his grip on the gelding’s reins, he would burst into sudden sweat.
“Damp,” murmured Hiser. “Makes it seem hotter.”
“Get hotter yet ’fore summer’s over,” answered Ferek.
“This is where they join.” Cerryl reined up and surveyed the road and the draw that held the narrower way that the Spidlarians traveled from the north. He shook his head, thinking about how the narrow strip of clay actually curved eastward for several kays, around the hills, before swinging west and south to join the Axalt-Elparta road.
Behind him, the column slowed and stopped. The scouts had already vanished behind the woods a kay or so ahead, around which the main road curved.
“They won’t be coming that way,” suggested Ferek, spitting onto the patchy grass of the main road’s shoulder. One hand gestured toward the wooded hills to the right of the road and toward the defile that held the narrower road from the northwest.
“How would you come?” asked Cerryl.
“Those fields back a ways…they be a trace steep, but they be open. They slope to the main road. I’d bring the mounts up that way. Specially after knowing what you done to ’em in narrow places.”
From his mount to Cerryl’s left Hiser nodded.
What Ferek said made sense, but would the Spidlarians see it that way? And if they did, what could Cerryl do with an open field? As Cerryl recalled the meadows, the slope from the narrow road was uphill. Would any lancers advance uphill?
Cerryl dismounted and handed the gelding’s reins to one of the lancers drawn up behind Hiser. Then he extracted the glass and set it on an even patch of ground on top of its leather case. With the heavy clouds overhead, there was no direct sunshine to worry about.
Cerryl concentrated on the glass, trying to bring up the image of the Spidlarians, ignoring the perspiration that intensified when he attempted screeing or employing either order or chaos. Slowly, the silver mists cleared, and an image of lancers appeared. From what he could tell, they remained on the same road as before, heading in a generally southward direction, but at least a day north of where Cerryl and his forces were positioned.
You hope. Then, Cerryl had been screeing and hoping a great deal over the past several eight-days. Finally, he repacked the glass, pausing to massage his forehead for a moment.
“Ser?” asked Hiser.
“They’re still riding this way.” Cerryl remounted and looked eastward. “We should ride back to those fields,” he decided. “Not everyone, just a half-score or so. The others can stand down here.”