Night had just fallen when Garnuk heard a curt command outside of the pavilion, followed by the sound of the two guards trudging away into the night, their equipment clanking and jingling with each pace. A moment later, Tarq ducked into the small, enclosed space, carrying a platter of meat and bread, which he set on the corner of the table.
“I brought you something to eat,” he grunted unnecessarily, moving beside Garnuk to stare down at the map.
The Exile muttered something unintelligible in reply, but did not pause in his work. His eyes roamed across the eastern portion of the Fells, passing over Dun Carryl and the homes of several smaller clans and tribes. What was the Usurper planning, what were his options? What course was he most likely to take, with his armies insufficient and the Sthan charging southward?
“General.”
Garnuk blinked, confused, and looked up from the map, frowning distractedly. He realized then that Tarq was standing beside him, and a moment later noticed the food.
“Oh. Thanks,” he grunted, starting to turn back to the maps scattered across the table.
Tarq slammed a large hand against the table, threatening to destabilize it. “No. Stop your work for a moment and eat. You haven’t left this space all day.”
Garnuk stood up straighter and sighed. Now that Tarq had well and truly broken his train of thought, he noticed his back was rather stiff and his stomach empty. As he glanced at the simple fare his captain had brought, his insides rumbled traitorously and audibly.
Tarq grinned to himself, showing his fangs. “Eat,” he said again. “Before it gets cold.”
Garnuk sighed and moved closer to the platter, tearing at the meat with his clawed hands, popping a chunk into his mouth. The flavor was wonderful, and the morsel was tender and juicy. He crammed another hunk of meat into his mouth, chewing furiously, suddenly aware of how hungry he was and how long he had gone without food.
Tarq stepped to the edge of the pavilion and stood there, waiting for his general’s command, watching him critically as he did so. Garnuk caught him staring and swallowed quickly, clearing his mouth so he could speak.
“Still worrying about my health?” he grumbled, picking up the half loaf of bread that Tarq had brought.
Tarq shrugged. “Not so much as before, but a little, yes,” he admitted. “Wounds such as the ones you suffered against Hunon are not to be shrugged off in a matter of days or weeks.”
“What about months?”
Tarq chuckled. “Or months, though it has not been that long since you were injured.”
Garnuk ignored Tarq and went back to eating. For a long moment, the only sounds in the pavilion were those of dedicated eating.
“General,” Tarq said, shifting uncomfortably. “Do you intend to send me with one of the patrols?”
Garnuk shrugged. “I have considered it,” he said noncommittally.
“And the result of your . . . consideration?”
The Exile looked up, surprised. Tarq did not normally question him about his plans or motives in such a manner. “Not yet,” he said carefully. “Do you have something you wish to say on this matter?”
“It is not my place,” Tarq said deferentially. “You are our leader.”
“But I value your council,” Garnuk replied. “Speak, Tarq. Tell me what troubles you.”
“I feel you should keep me here,” Tarq said finally, “Even though it will weaken our forces in the field.”
Garnuk frowned. He had actually been leaning towards deploying Tarq, since the captain had been confined to operations headquarters and camps for so much of the recent months. “I thought you would be eager to have another mission after all of this time,” he said at last.
Tarq nodded. “I would be,” he admitted. “Part of me yearns for the freedom of roaming the mountains, the excitement of a battle with our enemies. But I know that my place is here, managing and organizing affairs.”
“And why is that?”
“Because, general, you need someone to watch your back,” Tarq replied calmly. “Someone you trust.”
“I trust every one of these vertaga,” Garnuk growled. “They have served us well, and been devoted warriors for the cause. Ever since the war ten years ago, they have been hunted by the Usurper, living a shadow of a life. Surviving by whatever means they could, with no hope for the future.”
“They are united by that experience, yes,” Tarq agreed, stepping closer to the table. “But it does not mean that you can fully trust them.”
Garnuk frowned, setting aside his dinner. “You suspect some of them of treachery?”
“Of course not!” Tarq said quickly. “But they do not necessarily serve you Garnuk. They serve the cause. They serve because it is a good way to survive, and to strike back at the Usurper if the opportunity arises. But if they decide you are a threat to their survival, or that you are putting them at risk and your plots have little chance of success, there is every chance some of them will turn.”
Garnuk considered Tarq’s words objectively, ignoring that they came from a ram he trusted, considering them purely based on his own experience, his own judgement of the warriors under his command.
“You are right,” he said, surprised at his own conclusion. “You wish to stay here to protect me, I assume?”
“I wish to stay here so that you have at least one friend you can count on,” Tarq replied. “Somebody you can trust to watch your back no matter what, to fight with you against any odds, and to stand with you when all hope seems lost.”
Garnuk nodded, glancing down at the map. “Then you may stay, my friend. Thank you.”
Tarq nodded, apparently relieved that the matter had been settled. “Now that we have discussed this matter, what is the plan for deploying the others?”
“Before that,” Garnuk said slowly, “Have we heard any more from our mysterious informant in the north?”
“The masked Sthan?” Tarq asked.
The Exile nodded in confirmation.
“We received one additional message from him,” Tarq said, shrugging. “Upon further deliberation, the Council of Masks is interested in a more stable alliance.”
Garnuk snorted derisively. “The who?”
“A fractious element of the Sthan,” Tarq explained. “Apparently, they have no love for their king. They assume you killed him, acting on the information they provided. They would like to provide more information, but are looking to see how committed we are.” He hesitated, then plunged on. “They offered substantial power and wealth, and great resources.”
The Exile scowled. “I don’t like the sound of this Tarq. These men sound like disgruntled nobles. Who else would have the means to provide what you speak of?”
“It is worth considering,” the captain prevaricated.
“I did consider it,” Garnuk grunted, “But I will consider it no longer. Men like that have their own agendas, and we don’t know enough about them to avoid being ensnared in their games. Have our spy learn what he can from them, but commit to nothing. There is too much at stake to bet on an unexpected and dubious ally such as this. For the time being, we survive on our own strength.”
“Perhaps more consideration – ”
“I have made up my mind!” Garnuk snapped. “I will not put our fates in the hands of others, Tarq. Not after the last time we were betrayed. Then, it was by our own people, who should have been loyal. These Sthan spies would turn on us even quicker than Hunon did.”
They stood in silence for several moments, Garnuk breathing heavily from his outburst. Tarq shifted uncertainly, then shrugged. “So, back to the matter at hand. How should we deploy our current resources to advance our cause?”
Garnuk sighed, gathering his thoughts. “I originally thought ten teams of three would be a good strategy, but I am starting to think teams of four could be more effective.”
“They would be able to cover less territory,” Tarq observed, frowning. “Depending on how they were deployed of course.”
“Th
at’s the trick,” Garnuk agreed. “I think I have found a way to solve that problem though, and another issue that we have had since the day that Shadow Squadron was deployed.”
“I think I know of what you speak,” Tarq said ruefully. “Communication.”
Garnuk nodded. “It is the lifeblood of a force such as ours. If we are not in constant contact or at least communicating regularly, we are at a disadvantage. We will always be one step behind our opponents, trying to catch up to events rather than dictating or controlling them.”
“And you have found a way to solve this problem?” Tarq asked eagerly.
Garnuk nodded. “I think so. I told you that I was thinking of teams of four, but for the most part those teams will be split into two groups of two. One team of two patrols the area they are assigned to, returning to a base point once every week or so. The other two constantly travel back and forth between that base point and our camp here.”
Tarq frowned. “So at any given time, we only have sixteen of our thirty six warriors scouting?”
“Not exactly,” Garnuk said, holding up a single clawed finger. “The two who are traveling back and forth will be patrolling the mountains along their path. The groups will all have their basepoint somewhere among the foothills between the mountains and the flatlands. They’ll be spread out enough that they are all taking different paths back to our camp and patrolling different parts of the mountains.”
“And the two teams will meet up each cycle,” Tarq said, understanding. “This may work, general.”
“It is simple in concept,” Garnuk said, shrugging. “And I believe it could work. However, delays or other unexpected problems could throw the timing of these meetings off.”
“It is a manageable risk,” Tarq said dismissively. “We will make it work.”
“Good,” Garnuk said, smiling to himself. “Based on what the others are saying, how strong would you expect this expanded fortress of the Sthan to be?”
“Relative to any force the Usurper could send to attack?”
“Yes.”
Tarq frowned thoughtfully, looking down at the map. “Stronger,” he said finally. “But how much stronger, I do not know. The Sthan have all the advantages, high walls, trained warriors, a dense population. In addition, the Usurper has lost many rams there already. These will be seasoned warriors, not surprised or scared off by their first sight of a vertaga soldier.”
“My thinking exactly,” Garnuk agreed. “So in addition to just patrolling the area, these groups will be assigned to kill any Sthan scouts they encounter. The Usurper’s spies we will leave alone for the time being.”
“You are attempting to create an opportunity for him to strike?” Tarq guessed.
“Yes,” Garnuk confirmed. “In order to create the dead zone I mentioned earlier, the West Bank and the city by the coast . . .” He groped for the name, scowling, until Tarq helpfully supplied it for him.
“Ishkabur.”
“Yes,” Garnuk grunted. “That. The West Bank and Ishkabur must fall. Hopefully in a spectacular manner. Such events would put fear and wariness into the hearts of men, and they may just back off if it appears that no more vertaga armies will attack.”
“Ah,” Tarq observed. “That could be a problem. The Usurper will be motivated to keep fighting if he wins these battles. We will have a hard time stopping our own.”
“No,” Garnuk said shaking his head. “As soon as Ishkabur and the West Bank fall, before his armies return, we will gather our forces at Dun Carryl. We will infiltrate the stronghold, capture and kill the Usurper, and call a conclave of clans to select a new leader.”
“Are you mad?” Tarq growled quietly.
“No,” Garnuk said flatly.
“It can’t be done!” Tarq protested. “To kill the Usurper surrounded by his servants? Not possible.”
“The killing couldn’t be connected with us either,” Garnuk mused. “Not if our candidate is to gain support among the other tribes.”
“Even more difficult,” Tarq observed. “Are you sure it is necessary?”
“Perhaps not,” Garnuk admitted. “We will have to see how the Usurper reacts to his victories. If he moves to push on, then we will have to stop his armies somehow.”
“With just thirty-six warriors of our own.”
Garnuk nodded solemnly, gripping each end of the table in his powerful hands. The boards creaked slightly as he gripped them, trying to relieve some of the tension building within.
“Do you think we can do it?” Tarq rumbled finally, scratching at his horns.
Garnuk looked up and met the captain’s gaze. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But I believe that we have to try.”
Tarq shrugged. “So do I,” he said at last, tapping the table thoughtfully. “I’ll prepare our warriors to march in the morning. You’ll have their assignments for them then?”
“Yes.”
“Then it will be done.”
The captain turned to go, then stopped, just inside the entrance.
“Get some rest, general. Remember, you still have not recovered your full strength.”
“There will be time to rest once the others have marched,” Garnuk murmured. “Until then, I must do what needs to be done.”
Tarq hesitated, then nodded to himself and left. The entrance flap swung shut behind him, the canvas sheets scraping together quietly.
Garnuk rubbed his eyes tiredly and continued his work, marking the locations that he wanted the groups to set up in, the paths he wanted them to patrol, the areas he wanted them to keep an eye on. With eight groups of four split into two smaller groups, he had the opportunity and the flexibility to cover most of the mountains and the flatlands. Neither the Usurper, nor the Sthan would be able to make a significant move without him knowing about it and having a chance to counter it.
By the time he was finished, the moon was well up and it was several hours after dark. The camp outside was quiet now, the only sounds coming from the sentries patrolling the camp and the occasional shifting of the warriors tending the fires. The fires themselves crackled and popped peacefully, their muted noises only occasionally piercing the quiet night.
His task completed, Garnuk stood straight, blinking as his vision swam a little. He shook himself, then peered blearily at the map again, trying to double check his work. The tiny lines and notes seemed to blur and cross each other, making no sense at all. He leaned over the table, trying to get a better look, and nearly fell, barely catching himself by grabbing the table with both hands. A profound weariness stole into his limbs, and he cursed his injuries and infirmities soundly.
How long would he remain in this weakened state? Would he be crippled forever, his usefulness and abilities permanently limited by the results of his fight with Hunon? Was the traitor watching him from the spirit world even now, laughing as he witnessed his final revenge?
With a savage snarl, Garnuk knocked the platter from the table with a powerful swipe of his left hand. The tray smacked against the side of the tent, then tumbled to the dirt floor in a series of muffled thumps. Garnuk waited for a moment, half expecting one of his guards or Tarq himself to come running, to see what the problem was. But nothing happened, and the night remained still and silent.
Garnuk bowed his head over the table, staring at his clawed hands. Such strength and endurance he had once possessed. And now it was all but gone.
Discouraged, the Exile stumbled from the pavilion to the tent which had been constructed for him. He crawled through the opening and bundled himself in the furs scattered on the ground within. In moments, he was asleep.
When he woke at dawn, his first impression was of a lingering weariness. It did not seem he had slept at all. His mind seemed fuzzy, his limbs heavier than they should have been. His vision was still blurred a little, and sounds and sensations were dull. He went to rise and fell back, lacking the strength and the will.
A few minutes later, Tarq poked his head into the tent, concerned.
Garnuk glared at him, and tried to sit up. “I’ll be fine. The orders are on the table, along with lists of who is to go where. Bring them to me and I’ll – ”
“You’ll do nothing,” Tarq snapped. “I told you not to wear yourself out, but you did it anyways. I’ll handle the warriors and get them marching. You rest.”
Before Garnuk could protest, Tarq withdrew, the front of the tent sliding shut.
The Exile snarled and lay back, cursing Tarq’s insubordination, wishing all manner of horrible punishments on him. Then, his feeble mind reasserted control over his body and he sighed with frustration and regret.
Tarq had been right. Again. This was becoming intolerable, almost as bad as the weakness plaguing him.
Outside the small, low tent, Garnuk could hear the sounds of the camp stirring. Fires were replenished, watches were changed, and a low murmur of voices rose as comrades woke and prepared to march. Every now and then, he heard Tarq’s voice among the others, giving orders or explaining something to the other warriors.
“Those of you who are leaving, march within the hour!” Garnuk heard him call. “Those of you who are to remain, see to it that – ”
The wind rose, gusting through the small camp, the canvas structures flapping and rustling, drowning out whatever else Tarq had to say. Or at least, Garnuk did not hear him. The other warriors likely did. Feeling isolated and alone, the Exile shrank back into his furs, trying to stay warm and recover his strength.
An hour passed. The sounds of the camp slowly dwindled. Tents and lean-tos were broken down and packed away, and one by one the squads of four departed. Garnuk heard each of them go, calling farewell to friends as they trudged off down the snowy mountainside. With each departure, the general noise and bustle of the camp decreased markedly. Finally, the eighth group left and the plateau was almost silent. Only the gusting wind and the remaining fires dared break the tranquility.
The Ramshuk (Heirs of Legacy Book 3) Page 36
