A quick study of the image in the gla.s.s rea.s.sured him that the Spidlarians continued on their track, with a handful of scouts out ahead, and he released the image as quickly as he could, trying not to stagger as he collected the gla.s.s and straightened.

His tunic was damp through, and the headache remained. Behind him he could hear the murmurs of the lancers and the breathing of their mounts, at least those nearby. The horses probably needed water, but he dared not let them seek the stream farther back along the road, not when the Spidlarians were approaching.

From where he stood on the road Cerryl glanced up at the two subofficers.

"Ferek ... have the men stay down on that side of the hill-just below the crest. I don't want the Spidlarians to see them."

Ferek's salt - and - pepper eyebrows lifted.

"I want to give them a little surprise. I can't if they see our lancers."

After a moment the older subofficer nodded, then turned his mount.

"The same for your company, Hiser."

"Yes, ser."

Cerryl rubbed his forehead, then stepped toward the gelding to repack the gla.s.s.

He found his hands trembling. When had he last eaten? He tended to forget that mustering either order or chaos-or using the gla.s.s to spy out the enemy-required that he eat more often.

Tiredly he pulled a stale, hard biscuit from his saddlebag and chewed slowly, moistening his mouth with occasional swallows from his water bottle, his eyes on the trail road. Abruptly he shook his head and remounted, turning the gelding back down the road, just far enough that he could barely see the trail on which he hoped the Spidlarians continued to ride toward him.

He fumbled out another road biscuit and crunched on it, until all that remained were crumbs. Unhappily, the headache remained also, if slightly diminished.

A whispering sound intruded on Cerryl, the faintest of whispers, and he pulled himself more erect in the saddle. No longer was he sore each evening from riding, but even all his recent riding experience hadn't made him any less susceptible to fatigue.

Cerryl motioned to the subofficers for quiet, watching the trail road, waiting as the lead Spidlarian scouts appeared, followed by a vanguard of perhaps half a squad. Shortly, as the scouts disappeared from view under the short bluff, Cerryl began to gather chaos to himself as he eased the gelding uphill.

Whhhstt! A firebolt arched out toward the angled trail, splashing across the damp clay well back of the lead Spidlarian scouts, but short of the main body of riders. Cerryl eased the gelding back downhill a few dozen cubits and flattened himself against his mount's neck and mane, trusting that the opposing lancers would ride a few dozen cubits farther.

As the sounds of mounts grew louder, and as Hiser and Ferek glanced worriedly at him, Cerryl rode back uphill and out onto the downslope that led to the narrow bluff overlooking the trail-just in time to see several scouts point in his direction.

A half-score mounted archers spurred their mounts along the gentle slopes that flanked the bluff overlook, angling their mounts in toward him.

You waited too long. Cerryl mustered chaos once more and focused it on the two leading lancers-into a narrow beam of lance fire.

Both archers went down, vanishing into ashes, leaving a thin line of black smoke rising into the clear afternoon sky.

Whhsttt! Cerryl followed the light lancer with another firebolt, one that sprayed across the lancers behind and downslope of the archers.

Greasy black smoke seemed to puddle around the front lines of the blue-clad lancers, swirling back upon itself in the damp and still air.

An arrow hissed past the mage's shoulder, and Cerryl jerked around in the saddle to see another pair of archers renocking their bows from mounts less than a hundred cubits to his right-almost as high on the gra.s.sy inclines to the west of the bluff as he was on the center.

His mind felt as clumsy as frozen hands had on cold mornings at the mill as he struggled to raise more chaos and fling it against the two bowmen.

Whhstt! Small as the firebolt was, the White mage's aim was good enough to turn one archer into flames and ash and send the second spurring his mount down the gra.s.sy slope. The retreating archer tried to beat flames out with one hand and guide his careening mount with the other.

Squinting into the afternoon sun, Cerryl ignored the smell of burned flesh and focused on the blue-clad lancers nearly half a kay away on the trail road, lancers who seemed to be turning.

After a deep breath, Cerryl launched another large firebolt.

Wwhhhssttt! The globe of fire arched sedately over the gra.s.sy slope and dropped, splashing chaos fire across the second line of Spidlarians and their mounts.

Cerryl reeled in the saddle, points of light flashing before his eyes and his head throbbing. When he could see, he found that Hiser had ridden up beside him.

"They've turned, ser. You killed another half-score."

Only another jive score to go. Cerryl nodded slowly. "Send a scout to watch the trail on the far side. We need to make sure that they're actually moving back."

"Yes, ser." Hiser rode back toward where his company had been mustered, waiting.

The gray-eyed mage struggled to get to his water bottle, his fingers trembling so much that he had to concentrate totally on unstoppering the bottle. He drank slowly, and the water seemed to reduce his shakiness and the frequency of the flashes before his eyes, but not the headache or the bone-weariness he felt.

The sun was clearly nearing late afternoon, hanging over the low hills to the west, when Hiser returned.

Cerryl glanced up, taking in the sun and the shadows cast by the scattered trees and bushes. Had that much of the day gone?

"They're going," announced Hiser. "One of the scouts says they're heading back along the road to Kleth."

"For now," Cerryl said. For now. He took a long and deep breath. One thing was becoming increasingly clear. Chaos fire was far more suited to either ambush or defense, not to direct-on attacks, not unless he could count on the enemy remaining ma.s.sed in one place, and that seemed unlikely, to say the least.

The constant use of chaos, even on a small scale, seemed to be close to unworkable-at least for him-no matter how much order or chaos he could handle at longer intervals. He didn't even want to think about why he was out in the backlands, fighting off Spidlarian armsmen with far too few White Lancers for the task, needing to muster chaos all too often-or about the lengthening separation from Leyladin.

XCV.

In the orange-tinged light that followed dawn, Cerryl looked down at the gla.s.s on the rough-planked trestle table, rubbing his eyes. Over the past three eight-days, he hadn't slept that well, not with the constant tracking of the Spidlarian forces and his efforts to keep them away from the supply road, especially with another set of Certan wagons moving out of the Easthorns and toward Elparta.

Because he knew he would never get back to it with all the screeing facing him, he permitted himself the luxury of a quick look in the gla.s.s for Leyladin, seeking that distant focus of order somehow faintly gray, rather than the pure black of Dorrin the smith. Was that because she lived amidst chaos? Or for some other reason? Why is there no mention of gray anywhere, not in any of the books or by any of the senior mages? Even as a warning?

The mists cleared from the gla.s.s, and, almost as if she had been waiting, the red-golden-haired healer smiled from where she sat in a green dressing gown at the writing table in her silk-hung room. The room still amazed Cerryl, but he smiled as well, even knowing that she could not sense his expression, but because he was cheered by her smile. After a long look, he let the image go and looked at the blank gla.s.s on the table for a moment.

Finally, after taking a swig of water from his nearly empty bottle, he began to concentrate, scanning one by one the hamlets that bordered the supply road. All were vacant, as they had been since spring.

Cerryl rubbed his forehead once more, again wondering where the Spidlarians had gone. He stood and walked to the hearth, where he took a water bottle off the shelf and took a deep swallow. After that, he went back to the table and the screeing gla.s.s.

In time, he found the Spidlarian force, breaking camp in a higher meadow amid leaved trees, rather than evergreens. From what he could tell, they had doubled back north and west, midway between Fydel's patrols and those of Cerryl, but more than forty kays north of the Elparta - Axalt road.

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 gla.s.s, 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 ma.s.saged 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 blond 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 hack 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 blond 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 pa.s.s 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?

Hr frowned as he paused inside the cot's doorway, his eyes going to the gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s 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 ma.s.ses 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 Elparta - Axalt 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 gra.s.s 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 gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s, 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 gla.s.s, pausing to ma.s.sage 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."

"Now?" asked Hiser.

"The blues won't be here for almost another day, not at the pace they're making."

"What if they go across the hills to cut off distance? They could do that,"

suggested Hiser.

"Don't think so," offered Ferek. "From what the mage has shown in the gla.s.s, that north way be open. Till the last few kays, leastwise. Cross the hills, and too many places there for a mage to hide and throw fire."