Lerial strengthens his shields, which have faded, and barely manages another redirection of chaos into the Heldyans ahead, just before the lances of Eighth Company rip into the remainder of those defenders. You should have sent that back at the mages.
With that thought, he immediately struggles to create a massive diversion pattern, suspecting that he will see more chaos focused on him. He almost does not finish the thought or the pattern before another intense blast of fused chaos strikes at him—one line from not quite directly behind him and another from ahead of him and slightly to his left. Sensing that the control must come from the wizard ahead, Lerial narrows the redirected chaos into a point.
Whhhsstt!!
The resulting chaos pillar is far narrower, but rises much higher than the previous one … and the silver mist is fainter.
Lerial sways in the saddle, realizing that he is most light-headed … and unlikely to survive another chaos-blast. Although he does not immediately sense a chaos buildup, he looks forward to the shore road, still almost half a kay away, then again tries to sense the concentrations of chaos. He can find only two, both somewhat diminished, at least for the moment. Did you manage to take out two?
Still concentrating on staying in the saddle, he sees that the shore road is nearing, so much closer that he wonders if he has lost awareness for a time … or is it that he is so exhausted that even trying to sense chaos takes so much longer than he realizes?
As the Heldyans in front of Eighth Company scatter, Lerial calls out, “Battalions! Forward and withdraw!” The command is possibly unnecessary, but he knows he cannot parry, redirect, or even shield much more chaos. He also worries that he will not be able to issue commands for much longer, and he wants his force away from the Heldyans before the enemy mages recover enough to throw more chaos.
As the gelding reaches the road, and Lerial turns onto it, heading southeast and back toward the Harbor Post, Lerial remains so unsteady that it takes most of his concentration just to keep riding, but he does sense that, behind them, the Heldyans have rushed to reinforce the gap in their defenses, but that they do not keep pursuing. Thank the Rational Stars for that.
Finally, after the entire force is clear and has slowed to a fast walk, with Paelwyr’s last company several hundred yards from the nearest Heldyan defenders, Lerial manages to fumble out his water bottle and take several swallows of watered lager.
He is still light-headed, with flashes of light and accompanying daggers of pain across his eyes, when he and the first ranks rein up in the courtyard of the Harbor Post. After a longer swallow that empties the water bottle, he lowers it, corks it, and turns to Fheldar. “Did you tell me how many we lost? If you did, I didn’t hear.”
“No, ser. I thought I’d wait until I could check again.”
Lerial almost asks, “Why not?,” but manages not to utter the words. “Let’s find out.” He can only hope that the casualties are not too high. He also wishes he’d taken some bread from the mess and stuffed it in his saddlebags. That would have helped with the light-headedness.
He isn’t certain just how much time passes before Fheldar rides back to report, but doubts it could be much more than a tenth of a glass.
“Eighth Company, three killed, two missing, and likely dead, eight wounded, two seriously. Eleventh Company, six dead, eleven wounded. Twenty-third Company, four dead, seven wounded. Fourteenth Battalion is still determining their casualties, but Majer Paelwyr does not think that they were especially high, except possibly with his Fifth Company.”
“Thank you.” Why would the last company have higher casualties … unless they lagged too far behind? “Dismiss the men to quarters, the wounded to the healers. I’ll see them shortly. Once the officers are through with their companies, and I hear more, I’ll meet with them. If you’d convey to Majer Paelwyr that I’d like to meet with him in the senior officers’ mess when he’s available…”
“Yes, ser.”
Lerial rides slowly to the stables, untouched by the earlier explosions, where he dismounts and turns the gelding over to an ostler, patting his mount on the shoulder before he walks back toward the makeshift senior officers’ mess. Once there, even though it is not mealtime, he asks for lager, bread, and cheese. The sole ranker on duty does not question him.
Then he eats and drinks, deliberately. After a third of a glass, he begins to feel some strength returning, and the throbbing in his head and eyes begins to diminish. At the sound of a door opening, he turns his head to see Majer Paelwyr step into the mess.
“You requested to see me, Overcaptain?”
Lerial gestures to the table. “I did. I apologize for leaving, but … there was no help for it.” He pauses only for a moment, not enough for Paelwyr to say anything, before going on. “How did your battalion fare?”