“Eighth Company! Halt!” Lerial order-boosts his voice. “Twenty-third Company! Withdraw! Withdraw now!”
The moment that Kusyl’s men effect a separation of more than ten yards, Lerial acts, although he can only create a small line of order-chaos separations along the river road. Still, separating the underlying chaos and order in the stone is far easier than doing so in wood surrounded by water. The lightnings that crisscross the area are enough to take out or injure perhaps half of the Heldyans, and leave pikes and shields strewn here and there.
“Lancers! Charge!”
Lerial, sabre out, leads Eighth Company into an attack from the south, although he holds back just enough to let the points of the lances of the first rank strike the shields before he reaches them. One of the shieldmen pushed off balance by a lance tries to thrust his shield, but Lerial lets the gelding turn the shield, and then slashes a backcut across the man’s neck. Then he is among footmen with small shields and blades. After that, he loses track of exactly what he does with the sabre, except that his head throbs more and more with each use of the blade.
A quarter of a glass later, he has trouble seeing, between the flashes of light in his eyes and the throbbing in his head, but by then almost all of the disoriented Heldyans are either dead, disarmed, or surrendering. Lerial just takes a position on the river road, flanked by two rankers, doubtless detailed by Fheldar, and watches as the two companies round up the few handfuls of able-bodied captives. For a stretch of over a hundred yards the paved road is cracked and crazed with black lines, and more than a hundred bodies lie scattered, all wearing the bluish-gray and black of Heldya.
He has to squint to make out what has happened to the north, but it appears, again, that the Heldyans have withdrawn, since the flatboats are all in the river away from the shore. Either that or they have abandoned their armsmen, but Lerial feels that is unlikely, although he could not prove that, and, at the moment, he cannot order-sense farther than a score of yards.
In time, Fheldar and Kusyl approach and rein up. Kusyl gestures to the senior squad leader.
“Ser,” reports Fheldar, “two dead, five wounded. That doesn’t include the archers in Third Squad. What about the prisoners?”
“We’ll march them back to Lubana. The arms-commander can decide what to do with them.” Lerial looks to Kusyl.
“Three dead, eight wounded.”
“Very well handled, both of you.”
Kusyl glances down at the black marks and cracks in the paving. “The duke may have a few repairs to make.”
“Better his repairs than our rankers.” Lerial clears his throat. “Get the prisoners moving. We don’t want to stay here. Oh … and send another messenger to the arms-commander or Commander Sammyl. Inform him that we’re returning with Heldyan prisoners.”
“Yes, ser.”
Lerial hopes that the Afritan forces have fared better, or at least not too much worse, but he has doubts about that. He also worries about the purpose of the attacks. If they weren’t that serious about attacking, why attack at all? Except … the Heldyans had seemed most intent on attacking Luba proper. Why? To show weakness in Afrit? Or to make sure that Rhamuel has to keep forces in the south?
Before he turns the gelding, he takes a last look at the remaining Heldyan flatboats, all continuing downstream.
XII
Once the Eighth and Twenty-third Companies enter the grounds at Lubana, and Lerial’s recovering order-senses tell him that there are no other Heldyan forces near, he immediately rides to where Strauxyn’s Eleventh Company waits.
“Ser! No other attacks here,” Strauxyn immediately reports.
“Casualties?”
“We lost three archers, and had five wounded when the wall collapsed. Eighth Company’s Third Squad lost two and had four wounded.”
Ten men dead, and twenty-two wounded. That is the most Mirror Lancers lost on a single day in more than five years. And those numbers will seem like nothing if Afrit and Cigoerne end up in a full war with Heldya.
“The wounded?”
“One likely won’t make it; the others should.”
Lerial understands—some will not make it without healing aid. “Where are they?”
“In one of the tents in our area, ser.”
“Thank you.”
Lerial is turning his mount from Strauxyn to return to the tent area where Eighth and Twenty-third Companies are returning when he sees Commander Sammyl riding toward him. He looks back to the undercaptain. “Wait for a moment, until I see what the commander has to say.”
“Yes, ser.”
Lerial reins up once and waits.