Disciple of War Disciple of War (Art of the Adept #4) - Michael G. Manning Page 0,168

formation had tightened into two defensive lines, on either side, defending against both their real foes and the ones they couldn’t see.

Midday came and went, and Will began to wish he had some way to truly hurt the enemy. He was getting an ever better feel for what he could and couldn’t do as he repeated his tactics over and over. Creating sounds that would be painful or deafening was definitely possible, but he simply didn’t have the concentrated turyn necessary to do so. His own personal energies were a tiny drop in the bucket compared to what lay in the air and ground around them, but that turyn was too diffuse, too spread out, to be used offensively.

Despite what Arrogan had said, he didn’t think there was a practical way to make his talent destructive. But obviously it has a lot of potential as a distraction, he admitted silently.

Eventually the Darrowans decided to ignore the sounds, and as they reordered their lines, Will did one last check on Janice and Tiny. Tiny was no longer where he had been. Instead, he was standing by Captain Barrentine, as the knight looked over Thunderturnip. Janice appeared to be with Emory and Bug, giving instructions to a gathering of the sorcerer-soldiers.

Will returned to his own body, wishing he could send his voice far enough to signal his friends. They were roughly twice as far away as his simulated army had been, a distance of six or seven miles. Although he thought the distance might be doable, he had no way of targeting them closely.

He’d just have to make sure they heard something when the time came. That time appeared to be just minutes away. Will turned to Subcommander Terrell and nodded. “Give the orders.”

Seconds later, horns sounded, and sergeants began yelling up and down the line. The men of First and Third Divisions straightened up, then abruptly turned to face right. In mere seconds, the long shield wall facing the Darrowans transformed into part of a column marching directly south, perpendicular to the direction their foes would be approaching from. Though the Darrowan units were also beginning to move, they still had more than half a mile of ground to cover.

Will’s army marched into the rougher terrain to the south of the road, not because they thought they could avoid the enemy, but rather because he knew the Shimerans were planning to hit them from the south if they simply followed the road west. By marching into the semi-wooded area, they could turn east after a short march and come directly at the mercenaries who were planning to ambush them.

If things went to plan, then the Second and Sixth would be moving along a similar course to meet them—with the Shimerans caught in between. Will made a small effort to amplify the sound of their horns, alerting their allies, and probably the Shimerans as well.

Of course, the fly in the ointment was the large Darrowan army following them. Timing would be key; otherwise, they’d be the ones being ground down in the middle, rather than the reverse. Will briefly tried another round of auditory distractions, but the Darrowans continued to head straight for them, shifting to march on a diagonal to adjust for the Terabinians’ new route.

They won’t be able to close on us quickly enough, unless they switch to a charge. At least that’s what Will hoped. A half mile was too far for a sensible charge. The enemy would risk losing cohesion and organization. The Terabinians could easily close ranks, and turn to face them in tight formation. It might still be a win for the Darrowans, but it would be a costly one, even if the mercenaries then moved up to attack their flanks. They won’t risk it, Will reassured himself. We aren’t following their plan, but as long as we keep moving toward the Shimerans, they know we face disaster. They’ll wait, so they can spring the trap when it’s most effective.

They finished their southerly march and then switched formation again, turning to face eastward. The shield men moved through the other lines, and the spearmen, skirmishers, and reserves fell into position behind them. Horns blew and orders rang out, “First and Third, double-time march! Shields up, spears at the ready!”

Will couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride at the precision and cohesion of their lines. The soldiers of the First had recently taken a terrible beating. Nearly half their number were gone, as many of those