“We’ll have to see what the scouts discover and report,” Lorn replies.
At the second kaystone, one that says-Berlitos, 5 k.-Lorn gathers the officers. They all dismount and he unrolls one of his maps to brief them under the shade of a tree that resembles an oak, but is not, while he waits for the scouts to return.
“There is a long gradual slope ahead, a giant ridge that ends in line of hills ahead, and the town is on the flat below the hills. There is but one bridge, and that goes over the North Branch of the river almost as soon as you ride down into the town. Esfayl, I’d like you and Second Company to hold the bridge. We’ll all be there to take it, if necessary. Then we’ll take the main road right to the town square and then to the warehouse and trade district. We’re not going to try to slay anyone who doesn’t attack us. Berlitos is far enough from Cyador that there aren’t that many barbarians from it who ride against us. Here, we have a different task.” He pauses. “We’re going to destroy the three traders’ warehouses behind the river piers, and then burn them and the piers.” He looks at Esfayl. “We’ll have to leave the bridge because we’ll need that to get to Jera.”
“We’re going on?” asks Rhalyt.
Esfayl winces.
Lorn looks around. “I wasn’t sure we could make it, but if we can take Berlitos without heavy losses, we’re going to Jera. That’s where all the blades are being ported, and on the way back we can follow the West Branch of the River Jeryna to within thirty kays of Inividra.” Lorn pauses. “If we’re in good shape we can even take out a few more raiders from behind on our way back home.”
“Ser,” says Cheryk, “here come the scouts.”
Lorn turns and waits.
The lancer scout reins up before Lorn. “Ser…on the end of the long ridge, mayhap four kays west-that’s where the road starts to go down into the town-there be a good fivescore barbarians formed up.”
“Did you see any others?” Lorn looks up at the lancer.
“No, ser.”
“What sort of arms?”
“Mostly the big blades-some with the poleaxes that have the hooks on ’em. And they’re wearing gray uniforms.”
Lorn nods, even though he likes the idea of uniforms not at all. “Is it open ground there?”
“Fields in front of them, but lots of trees on both sides of the road east and toward the hills.”
“So we can’t circle them?”
“Be hard, ser. Have to go through the trees.”
Lorn glances at the map, then frowns. He looks at the scout. “Is there enough room for a squad to ride by at an angle-say fifty cubits out, and then turn back westward?”
The scout frowns, and his eyes glaze, as if he is trying to visualize what he has seen. After a moment, he clears his throat. “Might be, ser.”
Lorn motions for the scout to move his mount back. He turns to the officers. “What do we have left in the firelances?”
“Maybe…three, four charges in each,” suggests Gyraet. “Some without any, some pretty close to fully charged.”
“We’ll form up…say a third of a kay back from them…and if they don’t charge, we send the squads in one at a time…have them ride in at an angle and discharge their lances across the front…”
Emsahl smiles. “And if they break ranks, the squad comes back, and we take the barbarians on the front?”
“If they charge,” Lorn says. “I don’t think they will at first. They’ve picked the best spot to defend the approach to the town. The road narrows into a pass of sorts behind them. There are trees, and we can’t bring all our lancers into the fight there. We’d get picked off if we try to go through the woods. But if our lancers ride by, at around forty cubits, they can blast the front rank of their armsmen. If they have those polished shields, then have them aim lower, and take out the mounts. We’ll keep sending a squad at a time, until they attack, retreat, or until we destroy them.”
“You think they’ll just stand there?” Cheryk frowns.
“They won’t know what we’re trying at first. I’d guess they won’t charge for the first squad or two.” Lorn shrugs. “Then, who knows? If we can pick off a score or so, if they charge, we can cut them up in wider fields beyond the trees. If they hold or retreat, we’ll keep using the firelances of a squad at a time. At some point, if we’re careful, they’ll either charge blindly or break.” He stops and studies the faces of his officers. “Any questions?”
“What sort of formation?”
“We’ll ride there in columns of two, and form up that way, each company beside the next starting on the right with First Company. Leave enough space so that, when they charge, if they do, you can shift into four-abreast before we meet the charge.”
After another glance around, Lorn shrugs. “We might as well mount up and see what we face.” With a wry smile that he feels he is wearing too often, he walks to the gelding and swings up into the saddle.
The officers also mount, and, shortly, the Cyadoran force rides eastward.
It is slightly before midday when the Cyadoran forces reach the eastern end of the open spaces and look westward along the road that is flanked by near-solid forest. The road itself is blocked by almost fivescore Jeranyi wearing grayish blue tunics-uniforms of sorts-and some bear long Hamorian blades. Others bear the long-handed billhooked axes that Captain Akytol had mentioned years before when he had relieved Lorn at Jakaafra. They are mounted in a line running from about twenty cubits from the woods on the north side of the road, to twenty cubits from those on the south side, a line almost seventy cubits wide and two riders deep.
Lorn watches as the Cyadoran forces form up by company, the squads side by side, so that each company presents a four-abreast front. The Jeranyi still do not move, but wait.
“First Company, first squad, forward and discharge lances at will!” orders Lorn.
Lorn can almost sense the Jeranyi puzzlement as a single squad rides out from the Cyadoran forces, then angles toward the center of the Jeranyi line.
Hsst! Hsst!..Perhaps twoscore firebolts rake the front riders of the Jeranyi. Lorn watches carefully, and he sees no more than half a score of those bolts hit before the first squad from Rhalyt’s company rides back to its position on the right flank.
“First Company, second squad!”
Lorn watches closely as more firebolts slash the Jeranyi. This time, close to a score hit the defenders, and he can sense the movement among the barbarian riders. “Emsahl…Cheryk…Third and Fourth Companies-squads to four-abreast. Stand ready to charge.”
“Third Company…”
“Fourth Company…
Esfayl’s voice rises above those of the senior captains. “Second Company, first squad, forward!”
“Fifth and Sixth Companies! Four-abreast! Stand ready to charge!” Lorn orders.
Esfayl’s first squad has no more than begun to discharge firebolts when the entire Jeranyi line begins to move forward, slowly, then into a full gallop. After but a few steps, the Jeranyi have become a ragged line with no cohesion.
Even before the movement is readily apparent, the veteran Cyadoran captains are issuing their orders. “Forward! Discharge at will!”
“Concentrate the firelances on the riders with the axes!” Lorn orders. “Firelances on the axes!”
“Firelances on the axes!”
Dust lifts from the road and from the recently-tilled narrow fields flanking it, as the larger Cyadoran force knifes toward the outnumbered Jeranyi.
Lorn forces himself to hold back slightly, not to be in the absolute front of the line, but he still drops two Jeranyi with his firelances, and easily ducks under a clumsy blade to dispatch a third Jeranyi with his Brystan sabre. As he wheels the gelding, he realizes that the battle, if it could be called such, is almost over.
Half the Jeranyi have been wounded or downed before they reached the Cyadoran lancers, and half of those remaining are felled by the more experienced Mirror Lancers within moments. The others are so outnumbered that is not long before they, too, lie across the road and fields.