Legacies (56 page)

“Late for them…and only one wagon…wonder why they didn't stop at the compound?”

“…tell the auxiliary commander in the morning…no one could do anything now, anyway…”

While Alucius didn't like their words, anything he did would make things worse, and doubtless by morning the family that they had raided would have gotten word to Arwyn in any case. He and his troopers would have to travel until close to midnight and do with a short night's sleep, in order to keep ahead of any possible pursuit.

They were also traveling a high road Alucius knew little about, except its destination—Iron Stem—and they'd have to ride with a parley banner of some sort once they reached the border—if they made the border without incident. Or he'd have to come up with a better plan.

The last thing he wanted was to have escaped Madrien and then get shot by his own folk.

By midmorning on Quattri, two and a half days after slipping through Arwyn, Alucius was certain that at least two Matrite companies were following them, although the Matrites were at least two or three vingts behind Alucius's small force. The sun was beating down, and Alucius was blotting his forehead all too often as he turned in the saddle, trying to check the terrain, and then looking forward to see what lay ahead as they neared the Westerhills. The well-kept Madrien hamlets were farther apart, and the few inhabitants scarcely even looked at the troopers as they headed eastward—presumably toward the outposts near the border—or because they had been warned, although Alucius thought that unlikely, since he sensed neither fear nor worry.

His Talent had given him a vague sense of forces ahead, but so far, his scouts had not reported anything. Alucius had no doubts that they were there—somewhere beyond the clear reach of his Talent. What he had to balance was the speed his force could make on the high road against the maneuverability—but slowness and danger of being trapped—afforded by leaving the high road.

More than once, he wished they were on the midroad that ran from Harmony to Soulend, where he had a far better understanding of the ground, but his force would have run even more risks and dangers by trying to move that far north because they would have had to ride more than another two hundred vingts to reach Iron Valley territory.

After blotting his forehead yet again, Alucius glanced back in the direction of Arwyn. The Matrites weren't any closer—yet. Then he looked forward, where he could see a scout moving quickly toward them. That could only mean that there were Matrite forces ahead, and probably that they'd used a fast messenger to take the back roads that Alucius did not know.

He turned in the saddle. “Zerdial! Anslym!”

As he waited for the two squad leaders to join him, he studied the hills to the east, hills that were slowly becoming more rugged—and more heavily forested—as they neared the true Westerhills and the traditional border between Madrien and the Iron Valleys. He concentrated harder. His Talent-senses revealed that the Matrite forces held the road and a line running from the road northward, and that there was a larger concentration of troopers even farther to the north.

The scout and the two squad leaders arrived at almost the same time.

“Sir!” the scout began. “They've got two full companies on the road, and on the hills to the north. There's a swamp on the south side.”

“How far ahead?”

“Two vingts, a little more maybe.”

Alucius could sense the companies from Arwyn moving up their pace, as if they knew that they had the inexperienced troopers—and their very inexperienced commander—in a tight position. He studied the ground to the north. It was totally exposed, except for a slight ridge that ran mostly north, but slightly northeast. The ground looked firm. The high road dropped ahead, not much, but a good three yards over perhaps a hundred, then ran level for a half vingt through a stream valley, crossing the stream about six hundred yards ahead. The stream was probably what drained the swamp that lay ahead on the right side of the road.

He concentrated on trying to find a gap in the Matrite lines. From what he could tell there wasn't such a way. Was there another way, a way around, or a means to exploit the Matrite formation?

“Could they see us from where they are when we reach that bridge there?”

“No, sir.”

Alucius could have created an illusion that his squad was moving north along the ridge, but then everyone would know that he had Talent—a lot of Talent, and what sort of life would that lead to when—and if—he returned to the Iron Valleys?

“What about the trees—the forest—on the hills to the north, short of where they are?”

“They're scattered, like in the Westerhills. Easy to ride through, not much undergrowth. Hard to shoot through, though.”

“How much of their force is on the north side of the road?”

“Maybe like half, spread out in a line.”

Alucius thought.

“What do you want us to do, sir?” asked Zerdial.

“For now…we keep moving, on the high road. There might just be a way to do this, if they handle their troopers the way they usually do.”

As they began to ride up the gentle and long incline, behind which the Matrite troops waited, Alucius turned to the squad leaders. “I want your squads in as close as possible. You see that bush up ahead, about a hundred yards below the crest there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“They're bunched to protect the road, but they're over the crest where they can't see us. They'll probably have a scout watching, but it will take a few moments for him to report. When we reach that clump of bushes up there on the right, we'll make a column turn and move at a fast trot to the north. They'll leave some of their force to hold the road. You can be sure of that.”

Zerdial and Anslym looked puzzled.

“We're going to look like we're making for that hill, to run around them…but once they're moving, we'll cut back between their forces. That's why I want the troopers close together in each of your squads.”

“What if they don't follow?” asked Zerdial.

“What about the wagon?” That was Anslym.

“If they don't follow, then we ride north until we're clear and then head west.” Alucius doubted that would happen, but it could. “Have the wagon come with us, but have the drivers ready to switch to their mounts, if they have to.” They were close enough to the Westerhills that Alucius wasn't about to deny the drivers the same chance at escape as the others. “This will work,” Alucius promised. “We'll get shot at, and we'll have to shoot at them while we're moving, but…it's far better than trying a stand-up battle.” And what his men would not see would be the illusion that would make the difference—he hoped.

Anslym and Zerdial exchanged brief looks, expressions conveying extreme doubt.

“Could either of you gotten us this far?” asked Alucius quietly.

“Ah…no, sir.”

“Have I gotten anyone killed yet?”

“No, sir.”

“Then, let's get on with it. Go and form your squads into tight formations. Once we make the turn, I'll call for a fast trot. I'd guess we'll travel almost a vingt, and then we'll make a sudden right turn, and drive through the weakest spot in their lines. We'll keep moving until we're well clear and back on the high road. They may pursue for a time, but they won't go too far. There are bound to be militia troopers along the high road somewhere in the Westerhills—or farther east.” Alucius added a touch of command assurance, boosted ever so slightly with a touch of Talent.

“Yes, sir.”

The two turned their mounts to head back to their squads.

Alucius sent forth a Talent-probe. As before, and as he had suspected, the Matrite forces were concentrated across the road, with a thinner line running northward to another concentration at the base of the hill a vingt to the north of the high road. He intended to give the impression of trying to ride around the Matrite line to the north.

He reached up and massaged his forehead, then blotted the sweat off his brow to keep it from oozing into the corners of his eyes. He glanced at the road head. Less than two hundred yards to go to the turning point—the decision point.

Looking back over his shoulder, he could see, that whatever their doubts, his squad leaders had tightened up the formation of each of their squads. Ahead, the Matrite forces remained out of sight over the gentle rise. Slowly, he eased Wildebeast forward so that he was riding with the first rank of the van, studying the road ahead, and, occasionally, the troopers behind.

Finally, after much less time than seemed to have passed, Wildebeast carried Alucius abreast of the clump of bushes. He moistened his lips, then half-turned and ordered, “Column right!”

Then he turned Wildebeast into the hock-high grass beside the road, heading parallel to the rise, slightly eastward, but mostly north. As he did, he did his best to create his first Talent-illusion—that of a full squad forming into battle order and remaining on the high road, while the other two squads moved northward and away from the high road.

The two squads rode a hundred yards northward, and nothing happened. Two hundred yards, and still there was no movement from the Matrite troopers.

Juggling the illusions and trying to sense where the Matrites and their auxiliaries were creating a growing headache for Alucius. He just hoped he could hold all the illusions together long enough.

His two actual squads were almost halfway to the hill when Alucius could sense movement among the Matrites—but only in the company holding the hill.

“Sir?” asked Zerdial.

“Not yet.” Alucius barely managed not to snap. Riding, keeping track of where forces were with his Talent, and holding the illusion—all at once—were taking their toll on him. He was already tired. And now he needed yet another illusion.

He concentrated, trying to create the images of another few squads moving out of the trees to the north, flanking the Matrite company holding the base of the hill—but squads in the black of the Iron Valleys Militia.

Abruptly, the Matrites on the hill wheeled to the north, and about half of the Matrite troopers in the line between the high road and the hill—those closer to the hill—began to move northward.

Alucius—his concentration split in three directions—waited, only for a bit, until he could sense the break in the Matrite line.

“Column right. Rifles ready! Prepare to fire! Follow me! Charge!”

Alucius brought Wildebeast around to the right and then a shade farther to the southeast. At the same time, he tried to throw another illusion—this one just one of empty grasslands, in place of his outnumbered two squads.

His head was splitting, and with each stride Wildebeast took, it pounded more, almost in rhythm to his mount's hoofs hitting the dry ground.

The two squads reached the top of the gentle incline, thundering toward a thin line of Matrite troopers, who looked westward, squinting, as if they could see something, and then could not. Alucius could sense his control of the illusions slipping, and he dropped the concealment illusion.

He was less than a hundred yards from the startled Matrites.

“Hold your fire! Fire at my command!”

At fifty yards, he ordered, “Fire at will!”

The sound of rifles—from both ranks—merged with the muted thunder of hoofs. Alucius aimed and fired as quickly as possible, using his knees and his thoughts to guide Wildebeast. He tried to focus on the point where his squad would strike the thin Matrite line. He could sense the voids of death, but had no idea how many came from his shots at the Matrites and how many from those of his own trainee troopers—knowing only that some of his shots had been accurate.

At less than thirty yards, Alucius holstered his own rifle and called out, “Sabres out! Stay in formation!” He could see the nearest Matrite squad leader trying to move to intercept them.

As Alucius brought his sabre up, he tried to project an image of death and destruction sweeping along with him. At least one Matrite trooper winced, and that was enough for Alucius to get in a cut that disabled the man—at the very least.

Almost as soon as they had begun, the charge and skirmish were over.

Alucius looked back. It looked as though almost all of the trainees had made it through, including, incredibly, the wagon. He realized also that, somewhere along the way, he had lost or released his Talent-illusions, yet no one was chasing them.

Ignoring the pain that stabbed through his skull, and the waves of intermittent dizziness, he pressed out his senses ahead, but he could feel no troopers—Matrite or militia—ahead to the east. He slowed Wildebeast to a walk, and gestured for the others to do the same. After another half vingt they rejoined the high road—empty as far to the east as Alucius could see.

Before long, he knew, they would have to stop to rest the mounts, but he waited until they had covered another half vingt. Then he signaled for a halt. “Stand down for a quarter glass!” He dismounted.

Zerdial and Anslym rode up and joined him.

“How many did we lose?” Alucius asked.

“First squad lost three, sir,” Zerdial answered.

“Four, sir,” Anslym replied.

Alucius nodded. “I'm sorry for them, but that was about the best we could do.”

“How many of theirs, do you think?” Zerdial glanced back westward.

“I'd guess close to twice our losses, but I don't know.” Alucius did know that he personally had killed at least five men, and probably a few more.

“How did you know that they'd set their squads like that?” asked Anslym.

“I didn't. If they'd set them differently, we would have had to use another tactic. You just have to do what they don't expect.”

Zerdial and Anslym nodded, but Alucius wasn't certain that they really understood.

After the stand-down, which Alucius extended to a half glass because he didn't sense anyone coming from the west, he had the column resume its progress eastward at a slow walk. He didn't want to pressure the mounts too much, but he also didn't want to remain too close to any Matrite force.

It was late afternoon, a glass after the squads had stopped by a stream for water for men and mounts, when Alucius began to sense a rider behind them, a rider with a spare mount. Before long, Anslym rode forward from the rear.

“Sir, there is a rider behind us. He has a spare mount, and he's riding with a white banner.”

Tiredly, Alucius cast back his Talent-perceptions, well beyond the rider. There were more riders, indeed, a squad or more.

“Column halt!” Alucius turned to Anslym. “Have your squad wheel and stand ready with rifles.”

“Yes, sir.”

Alucius could sense his puzzlement.

“There's a good chance that they're also former militia who've realized that the torques don't work and who've deserted and want to go home. But there's no point in taking chances.”