Lerial can order-sense shapes at the long pier, most likely ships, with the form of deep-sea vessels, suggesting very much what he fears—that Khesyn has used merchant vessels to transport troopers to the pier. But he cannot be certain, and he needs to have a better idea of what they might be facing. “We need to get closer. Keep riding.”
As he probes beyond the mist and fog, he can sense men forming up as only trained troopers would, and beginning to move southward. There must be at least a battalion forming up, since he can make out three separate formations and others moving into position. He immediately renews and strengthens his shields. While he can sense chaos-shields, the blurring effect means that he cannot tell how many wizards there might be or exactly where they are.
“There are armsmen in that fog,” he says quietly to Kusyl.
“Can you tell how many, ser?” asks Kusyl.
“At least a battalion. Likely more.” Lerial glances toward the mist, less than three hundred yards away, although he doesn’t think all of the shorter distance is because he and his men have covered it. The mist is also creeping toward them.. No sense in coming closer. “Company halt!”
Jhacub glances from Kusyl to Lerial and back to the undercaptain, but does not speak. Neither does Kusyl.
Lerial can sense horses being walked from one of the vessels down the long pier toward the shore. How long have they been transporting men and mounts? While he doesn’t know that much about shipping horses, he does know that even the largest merchanters can carry only fifty to a hundred mounts. Maybe a few more if they’re only going short distances. But still … to come up with enough mounts for a single battalion would require five or six ships, or a number of trips by fewer vessels.
Then out of the mist marches a shield wall, with pikemen immediately behind, the iron-tipped points of their pikes extending two to three yards in front of the shieldmen. Then comes a line of armsmen, with a smaller shields on one arm, and long blades. Behind them are archers.
“Ready arms! Now!”
“Arms ready!”
“Jhacub! Send two of your men to headquarters! Tell the arms-commander we’ve got several battalions of Heldyans here! They must have come by merchant ships, and they’ve got chaos-wizards who created the fog.” Lerial turns. “Kusyl! Send one man with them. He’s to tell the other two companies to be ready to ride upon further word.”
“Yes, ser!”
“Yes, ser!” Jhacub replies after Kusyl.
From out of the mist comes a midsized chaos-bolt, arching over the advancing Heldyans in their tan or light-brown uniforms.
With a triple fine-line order-coil, Lerial almost instinctively redirects the bolt back across the shield and pike front so that the chaos-fire turns close to fifty Heldyans into grayish ash … and the inevitable silvered death mist sweeps over Lerial. That has barely passed him when two more chaos-bolts flare directly toward him.
This time, he uses a stronger order-coil and merges the two and sends them back toward the nearest chaos-blurred shield. The shield shudders—that Lerial can sense—and then collapses as a pillar of fire rises above the mist. Another set of firebolts—this time three—streaks toward him and Twenty-third Company.
How many strong chaos-wizards do they have? Even as he merges and redirects the three toward another shielded Heldyan wizard, and senses that shield collapse and another pillar of fire rise, Lerial has strong doubts as to how long he can keep throwing back chaos-bolts.
There are no more chaos-bolts, but more shieldmen and pikemen appear, with more archers, and shafts begin to fly.
Lerial manages to throw up quick wide shields, but doing that will soon exhaust him. Expansive shields have always been difficult and tiring for him. He can also sense more Heldyans arriving, at least a company of Heldyan heavy cavalry, with long blades and round shields … if they’re the typical Heldyan cavalry, not that he has ever seen them except at a distance, but the majer had been clear on that.
He waits until the road and the shoulders on both sides are filled with Heldyans before he concentrates on order-chaos-separating small sections of ground almost under the feet of the front lines. As the deadly pattern of power crisscrosses the front line of the Heldyans, Lerial calls out, “Kusyl—there are at least three battalions forming up. Maybe more, and I can’t handle both the archers and the chaos-mages. Withdraw now!”
“Twenty-third Company! Withdraw now!”
The lancers execute a swift turn and ride back south, away from the Heldyan force. Lerial keeps looking over his shoulder, but all he sees is a narrow wasteland of blackened earth, ashes and bodies, possibly close to a battalion of fallen Heldyans. He can also see that the fog and mist is beginning to dissipate, most likely because the Heldyans see no point in maintaining it now that Afrit knows that they have landed a considerable force.