“Yes, now! Go!”
He grabbed the flare, and Yserria watched his back as he cut his way to the front line. He activated the purple orb that propelled itself into the sky, setting phase two of their plan into motion. Yserria’s troops descended the hill, leaving a gap in the line to the west. She was depending on Deshari’s duplicity, certain the echelon had been feeding her opponent information. Orina would know that Yserria had little experience and would expect her to make novice mistakes. Sacrificing the high ground enticed Orina’s troops, and the poorly placed line gave them an opening. Orina’s champion took the advantage, his troops filing into the gap, segregating Yserria’s men and acquiring a pathway to summit.
Balen’s men did not appear. No charge from the rear, no final rout. He had abandoned her. Yserria’s heart plummeted into her stomach, and she looked for Malcius. He was there in the fray, deep in the thick of it, determined to drive the enemy into the rear forces that were not coming. She hurried to the crest of the hill and scanned the other hill to see how Ifigen’s troops fared and was shocked. His hill had been overrun, and Orina’s forces had been diverted to her field.
Dolinar ran up to her, breathing heavily as he leaned on his knees. He was bleeding from several gashes, and his armor was hanging from one shoulder.
“Echelon Orina has broken the terms of the challenge. She was not satisfied to wait and see if you would fail. She seeks to overthrow Echelon Deshari.”
“I see that. Where is Balen?”
He pointed toward the base of the rise along the river. “There, Echelon Orina’s troops are now nearly double, and he was forced to engage much farther back. If he had not been there, though, we would already have been overrun.”
Yserria had to think fast. What would Rezkin do? Something unimaginable, she was sure. “Gather the mages,” she said. “Move the river.”
He looked at her as if she were mad. “You wish for us to do what? That is impossible.”
“No,” she said, pointing to the gentle slope of the ridge along the hill’s elongated western flank. “The saddle there is low, and the rock beds dip away. You can see where they have already slumped. With a bit of power, you can force them to slide on their own. It will dam the river and open a passage through here. The field below will be flooded. Orina’s troops will be decimated.”
“And some of our own,” said Dolinar.
“We will sound a retreat right before you act. We will save as many as we can, but if we do nothing, all of them will die.”
“I am an earth mage. I know this land. What you ask—I do not believe it can be done.”
“We cannot know until we try; and, if we do not try, we will never have another chance.”
Dolinar nodded and then sprinted off to gather the few mages at their disposal. Yserria gripped her sword, whispered a prayer to the Maker, and then descended into the turmoil, fighting her way toward Malcius. The grass on the slope had been ripped and churned, and the topsoil had become loose. With every precarious step, Yserria slashed and ducked. She used her body weight to send more than one enemy tumbling down the hill and tried to catch a few of her own men who might have shared the same fate. She finally caught up with Malcius, and without discussion, the two fell into the partnered combat they had been taught. Guarding each other’s backs, they fought until those in their immediate vicinity were dead, then moved farther along the line.
After what felt like years, Yserria heard a resounding crack followed by a massive rumble. The ground shook beneath their feet, and soldiers on both sides paused in fear of what was to come. She looked for the signal, but there was no sign for retreat, so she kept fighting. Several minutes later, there was another blast, this one louder. This time, the ground’s trembling was accompanied by the roar of rushing water.
Yserria screamed, “Retreat! Retreat!”
She grabbed Malcius and began dragging him up the hill as they swatted away those in pursuit. The water blasted past, only paces below their position. As it tore through the hill, it took with it chunks of soil. The slope on which they sought refuge began to fall into the churning muck. With masses of earth eroding beneath them, Yserria and Malcius ran for the steeper high ground of the eastern flank. As they gripped an outcrop for support, Yserria looked over the battleground. Most, but not all, of her troops had made it to higher ground. The lowland was a swath of churning, grey water seeking its way back toward the riverbed. Across the river, on the other side of what had been the western flank of her hill, Balen and his men fought the last of their enemies on a low rise over the empty tract where the river had previously flowed.
Yserria breathed heavily and motioned for Malcius to follow. They crested the hill and found the mages lying in the grass in varying states of well-being. Yserria slid down the slope that had once been slight and came to a stop next to Dolinar, who lay back staring at the sky. She looked up at the life mage whose name she could not remember. “Good job with the horses.”
The woman waved her hand in dismissal. “It was nothing compared to this,” she said with a wave toward the cliff that fell into the new path of the river.
Looking down at Dolinar, Yserria said, “What is wrong with him?”
The woman said, “He overextended his power. He will be ill and disoriented for some time, but he will be fine once he regains his power—if he regains his power.”
“This could be permanent?”
The woman shrugged. “Sometimes. At least he is not dead.”
Malcius said, “Death might be preferable to this.”
The woman smiled faintly and stroked the braid at Dolinar’s temple. “I am sure he will recover. Dolinar is strong.”
“You are his matria?”
With a nod, the woman said, “We are members of the echelon’s household. She will not be pleased that we fought for you.”
Yserria stood and said, “You need not worry about that. Deshari is no longer echelon. I have won the challenge. Now, I must issue another.”
She mounted the rise and then stalked down the hill with determination, skirting the water to the east. As she marched, those of her troops who could stand gathered in her wake. Malcius hurried beside her.
“What are you doing?” he said.
“I must challenge Orina.”
“For what? We have won. We can go now!”
“She broke the terms of the challenge against the Third Echelon, which is now me. If I do not challenge her, I will appear weak and lose standing.”
“What do you care?” said Malcius. “We. Can. Leave.”
Yserria stopped to face him and pointed back to the men and woman who had followed her into combat. “They fought for nothing more than a respect for my motives and the promise of a better echelon. Orina has proven to be without honor. If I leave the echelon in disarray, she will claim it and place one of her ilk in the position. If I abandon these people now, they will have fought for nothing.” Yserria began walking again toward Orina’s encampment on the other side of the valley. “Right now, Orina is weak. Her forces are destroyed. She cannot defend herself against a challenge.”
When they arrived, Orina’s servants were rushing to pack her belongings. Yserria stopped outside the echelon’s tent and called to her. “Orina Goldren of the Fourth Echelon, I am Yserria Rey of the Third Echelon. You have violated the covenant of challenge against the Third Echelon. On behalf of my people, I challenge you for your seat!”
A blonde woman in a slinky green dress and beige sandals stepped out of the tent. She carried a folding fan that she used to cool herself as she stood nonchalantly looking at the crowd.
“I am Echelon Orina Goldren. You cannot challenge me. My arrangement was made with Echelon Deshari Brigalsi.”