The White Order (The Saga of Recluce #8)(136)

“How many lancers are there?” asked Klybel. Jeslek glanced to Fydel. “I would judge twenty score, more or less.”

“Twenty-score Gallosian lancers,” Klybel said mildly. “We have less than four score.”

“Can you deploy your forces so that most of the Gallosians will be in one place? Or close to it?” asked Jeslek, massaging the back of his neck with his left hand.

“All I have to do is to leave us on the Great White Highway over there-where the ridge line from the south intersects the road. They'll have to come across the ridge. They won't take the road because it's too narrow, and you mages could pick them off a few at a time.”

“Good.”

“If you cannot stop them, of course,” Klybel added, “all of us will die.”

“We will do more than stop them.” Jeslek offered a yellow-toothed smile. “You will need to place your lancers before the road wall on the hill, to ensure we have time to use the chaos-fire against them as they advance.”

“We will do so.” Klybel inclined his head. “With your permission, I will place a company on the road-both to the east and west. They should be sufficient to protect the flanks-at least until your mages can react.”

“As you see fit, Captain. We will make ready.”

Klybel turned his mount and headed eastward to where the main body of white lancers had been breaking camp in the sheltered area beside the Highway and under a low bluff.

“Another day of hard work.” Jeslek stretched and glanced at Anya, then Fydel. “The Gallosians will attack. Stupidity... but they will attack.”

“You are convinced?” Fydel shook his head, glancing to the hills south of the Great Highway, hills not yet raised into mountains-unlike those to the east and north.

“They wanted only an excuse to attack the day before. Now that they know we have raised mountains, they have such.”

“But... raising mountains? Will they not think?”

“It has been many years since any have faced the true power of the Guild. A single aging mage in Fenard ... does not show such power.”. Jeslek shrugged. “They will demand something impossible-perhaps that we restore the land. Then they will threaten, and then they will attack.”

“But why?”

“Because they have been ordered to. Enough questions.” Jeslek pointed westward to the ridge line that intersected the south side of the Great White Highway. “Let us proceed. Leave your mounts.”

Cerryl took another swallow of water and walked behind Fydel, who carried his screeing glass and case. Lyasa and Kochar flanked Cerryl, and the three students walked quietly.

“Why would they be ordered to attack us?” Fydel asked in a low voice, looking to Anya.

“Jeslek is right.” Anya's voice was also low, but loud enough for the overmage to hear. “Fairhaven has not shown enough power in recent years, and so the prefect believes such power does not exist.”

Lyasa tapped Cerryl on the shoulder, and as he turned, rolled her eyes. Cerryl smiled ironically in return.

“They're stupid,” Kochar mumbled. “People are going to get killed.”

Stupidity usually got people killed, reflected Cerryl, but the ones who got killed weren't always the stupid ones.

The high and hazy autumn clouds had slowly thinned, and the south wind had risen, bringing a hot dry breeze that combined with the strengthening sun to warm the granite of the road.

Cerryl glanced across the empty ridge line, wondering how soon it would be rilled with mounted armsmen. He could feel the sweat collecting under his tunic as the day continued to warm.

Jeslek stopped and gestured. “Klybel says that the Gallosians will ride across the ridge. We will cast firebolts from the higher end here. Fydel-you and the students will be farther eastward, by that clump of brush there, just in case they try to use the road. If they do, use your first firebolts to bring down the lead mounts. That will slow everyone down, and even a student mage should be able to cast chaos-fire at an armsman who cannot get out of the way.” The overmage gestured to Anya, and the two sat down on the road wall, talking in low voices.

“This way. It's shady there anyway.” Fydel shrugged.

The three looked at one another, then turned and followed the square-bearded and broad-shouldered mage back along the white granite paving stones, back eastward, until they stood in the shade of the bluff.

“Now...” began Fydel, “Jeslek and Anya will certainly bring chaos-fire upon the mass of the Gallosians. None of you have their strength. So you must watch the battle and cast your firebolts at individual armsmen who may threaten them or you, or who look to be attacking places where our lancers are beleaguered.”

That made sense to Cerryl.

“That's all you can do.” The older mage nodded. “You wait here. I will be screeing for them to see where the Gallosians may be.” He turned and walked back down the road.

Klybel rode past Fydel, and then past the student mages, eastward to where the lancers waited, some mounted, others preparing weapons or mounts or both.

Cerryl offered his water bottle to Lyasa.

“Thank you.” She drank, then looked southward. “I didn't expect we'd get caught in a battle.”

“We might not,” suggested Kochar.

Lyasa and Cerryl looked at him.