The Drowning Dark (The War of Memory Cycle Book 4)

by H. Anthe Davis

  The news curdled at the pit of his stomach, but he felt no surprise. Between their lack of quality arcane support and their mandate of conscription and enslavement, the conquest of the Heretic Lands had always been doomed—either by enemy assault or by uprising and supply collapse. That their enemies had chosen to wait for that collapse was simply good strategy.

  Now I am part of the collapse. I am the destruction the Empire wrought upon itself.

  It didn't sit easily with him, but he could focus it on Rackmar. The Field Marshal was an acceptable target.

  “Good,” he said, and smiled faintly at the surprised quirk of her brows. “Contact your allies and return in a mark. We have battle-plans to make.”

  She nodded curtly, but he could swear there was a sparkle in her eyes.

  *****

  Assembling the meeting took far longer than mandated, but in Sarovy's experience that was typical of anything involving non-military personnel—not to mention the scrying and foreign politics that were suddenly involved. He was just glad they could reconvene on the same day that they had dispersed, even if they'd had no response from Kanrodi yet.

  “Magus Regna, Magus Lahngi, thank you for joining us,” he said, inclining his head to the two Gejarans who had just closed the circle around the meeting table. They couldn't be more different—Regna a sturdy dark woman clad in rune-etched scales rather than robes, Lahngi a thin energetic fellow covered in charms and beads—but according to Scryer Yrsian, they were both artificers. The baggage they had brought through Yrsian's portal stacked nearly to the ceiling.

  “Thank you for bringing trouble,” said Regna with a grin. She had a cheeky round face that would have been friendly if not framed by a bladed headpiece, its ends hooked into her thick dark hair like the skeleton of a helmet. A few of the runed scales clung to it as if waiting to assemble, but the rest were clasped across her embroidered surcoat and leggings, shifting independently and sometimes buzzing at each other like big flat insects.

  “We do not get much opportunity to test our combat constructs,” added Lahngi, patting one of the bone sigils stitched into his brick-red robe. More bone objects hung from his belt, some silver-clad, some painted, some carved; had he not been assured otherwise, Sarovy would have suspected a few of being human. Shaven-headed and bright-eyed, Lahngi did not give the appearance of a necromancer, but looks could be deceiving.

  “Except on each other—but I always win,” Regna commented with an arch look to her comrade.

  Lahngi clapped his hands to his chest. “Oh cousin, you know I could never truly battle you. It is not in my heart.”

  “No, I am just better.”

  “Truly, I am wounded.”

  “Yes, another victory for me!”

  Sarovy raised his brows and they subsided into smiles, though he caught them nudging each other when he started to look away. Fresh out of mage school? he thought to Scryer Yrsian, who stood off to the side with her own crew, hands on hips.

  'No, just rambunctious,' she sent back. 'But skilled professionals, according to Drakisa Snowfoot—and the quickest the Senivaten could send.'

  Sarovy chose to accept that. He certainly had worse among his ranks. And stranger too, when he looked to the metal elementals standing still and silent beside them. Like those he'd encountered in his first ill-fated incursion into Shadow territory, they were formed like statues of warriors, one bronze and two steel, in full armor with just the suggestion of faces beneath their visors.

  In front of them, gripped onto the table-edge by way of their prehensile feet, were two goblin ambassadors with names he couldn't begin to pronounce. The larger one—bald, near-naked, sleek and dark with luminous sigils on his brow and spine—watched everything in the room but Sarovy, head turning and pointed ears swiveling like they had a life of their own. The other, wispy-haired and possibly female, kept its huge-eyed gaze on him, its greyish body shrouded in some kind of strap-heavy ceremonial garment.

  Near at hand stood Lark, playing liaison. As Sarovy spoke, she clicked and chirruped softly, apparently translating for the goblins.

  Closer were the Shadow representatives—Enforcer Ardent and her two lieutenants—plus a Trifold contingent made up of Mother Matriarch Lirayen, an armored Forge Matron, and a weathered man who had been introduced as the new militia commander. And at Sarovy's back, as always, were his own subordinate officers, keeping their doubts to themselves. Sengith of the archers, Arlin of first infantry, Vrallek of second and specialists, and Linciard of third and lancers.

  “Well. Now that we are all here,” said Sarovy, “let us begin.”

  He indicated the largest map in the center of the table, with stones from several turnabout sets distributed to mark the forces. All participants moved in to see, even the goblins leaning forward.

  “We have surveilled our enemies' positions as best we can,” he said, tapping the location of the mansions on Old Crown. “While they have established a few outposts in other districts, those can be cut off and captured at our discretion; they are warded but sparsely staffed. Thus our efforts will be focused on the Seething Brigade units stationed on the Crown.

  “Until now, we have only taken units that ventured outside of their territory, as otherwise we would run up against their wards and countermeasures. This has limited our direct observation of them, and our captives have not given us precise intelligence on troop-numbers or types. Estimation is more than a thousand, less than two, likely bunked in companies or half-companies per mansion—I am told that this is all most mansions can hold comfortably.”

  “A hundred in decent quarters, two hundred or so with bedrolls just everywhere,” Mother Matriarch Lirayen confirmed. “I've visited most of these mansions in my tenure, and the serving staff can be immense.”

  “Unfortunately, we believe there are still civilian staff in most of these mansions,” Sarovy added, then tapped the black X on the map. “The governor's mansion is where I would expect the brigade leadership to be, but as I burnt it out, I am now at a loss as to which mansion would be next in line. This means we cannot strike directly at the head of the snake. Nor can we just ride in and fight them; our force is too irregular to go shield-to-shield.

  “However, Seething Brigade is not integrated. The human soldiers are kept separate from the specialists and know nothing of them—not even of the mass deaths at Midwinter. Nor are they connected to the mages. They do not act in concert. Additionally, their conditioning is nearly up-to-date, which means that it can be used against them. It reacts to specialists but also to the sight of other non-humans such as you metal-folk and goblins.

  “Our overarching strategy, then, is hit-and-run. Separate their forces with lures. Expose the humans to sights that trigger their conditioning, then grab them while they are in mind-shock. Use our specialists as outreach or assassins toward theirs, and you magic-proof metal-folk against their mages. Whittle them down until they barricade themselves in their mansions, then invade from below, either via tunnels—which I am informed already exist—or by the Shadow Realm if the wards have been breached.

  “Our ultimate goal is to neutralize all Crimson forces in the city and place a teleport-block on it so that they cannot send more in. Only then can we move on to the problem of the Crown Prince and the Field Marshal. Questions?”

  “What keeps them from barricading themselves in right now?” said the new militiaman.

  Sarovy inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Technically, nothing. They have raided most of the central city for supplies, and we assume they have more than enough to hold against a siege. But they have their flaws. In my experience, most officers can be lured onto the field by certain enemy behaviors—certain types of bait. Some are too bloodthirsty to let a fight escape them, some too proud to cut their losses, some with such great contempt for civilians that they will ride out simply to punish them. The Crimson Army is full of such hotheads. We will take advantage of this.”

  The militiaman frowned. “But you don't know this br
igade's leader. How he behaves.”

  “We will find out.”

  “By throwing our forces at him?”

  “By trial and error, yes. I can predict some of it; I commanded a fortress once myself, and was charged with keeping control of a hostile population. His predecessor, Colonel Wreth, chose to raid the populace rather than appeal to them, and we have seen no evidence of a policy change. Thus we start from the theory that he is contemptuous.”

  “And if he is not?”

  “Then we adjust. Our advantage is flexibility. We make best use of that by keeping our strategy open-ended and adapting our tactics on the fly. But once we start hitting them in earnest, we cannot let up, lest they replenish their ranks through portals before we can take Old Crown.”

  “What if they have portals open right now? What if there are thousands more of them than we think?”

  Sarovy glanced to Enforcer Ardent, who took up the question. “We would've seen troop movement if that were so. There's nowhere to house them, not in secret—not up there and not at any of their outposts. If a new place were to be suddenly warded off, the eiyets would report it to us; their eyes are everywhere. So what we see is, right now, what we have.”

  “And since it is not currently happening,” Sarovy resumed, “we can expect that it will not happen quickly. Pride and bureaucracy always stand in the way of swift mobilization. If we do this right, the commander will not feel threatened enough to call for aid until it is already too late.”

  “What about this teleport-block?” said Matriarch Lirayen. “Should that not be our first move?”

  Sarovy looked to Scryer Yrsian, who answered, “If we had enough mages, yes, or if they had none. Unfortunately we don't know their numbers and the mages we've caught aren't talking. With Regna and Lahngi, we're still only six—plus apprentices—and I'm the only experienced Scryer. Yes, we can cover the whole city, but it will take time and all our strength, and it can easily be disrupted during placement. We need to neutralize all of their mages before we can be sure it will work.”

  “And if we cannot place it?”

  “Then we'll have a much longer fight on our hands.”

  “Fortunately,” interjected Lahngi, “my cousin and I have come with arcane anchors to assist with the teleport-block. They will make it easier to set, and more difficult to assail once it is in place, but yes, it will still take some time.”

  Sarovy nodded his appreciation to the Gejaran mage, who beamed.

  “Meanwhile,” said Enforcer Ardent, leaning over the map, “we also need to concern ourselves with the defense of the citizens. The enemy is already inside our walls, so all we have to protect them with is the terrain. The central city has been evacuated, but we still have three places to cover: Rakut Center here—“ She tapped the city map at its lower left edge. “—Lakeshore Center just north, and Riverwatch Center west of the Shadowland. Rakut and Lakeshore are separated from Old Crown by the flood-zone of the Morass and the wide open spaces of Night Fields—neither a nice place to march an army. Riverwatch is obviously separated by the river. They all have Seether garrisons watching them, numbering about forty men each, which we haven't touched yet. At least one, the Riverwatch post, has a mage.

  “Our thought is to start the real offensive at the Riverwatch garrison. We'll send some of the captain's scouts in first to shadow the mage or mages, then assault the garrison physically. Ramp it up until they either surrender or send for help, wait for Old Crown to send troops across the river, then drop the Pebble and Stormline bridges behind them.

  “After that, our agents harry and confuse the reinforcements. Bombard them from the roofs with bricks and arrows, grab any stragglers, try to drive them into the buildings or the alleys or hit them with that mind-shock—break up their formation as much as possible without confronting them head-on. If more try to circle around and use the other bridges, we do the same, splitting them into bite-sized chunks spread over a large area.

  “Hopefully this will keep attention away from Rakut and Lakeshore, where most of the refugees are hidden. If not, we block the roads there and do the same to those two garrisons.”

  “You want your enemies taken alive?” rasped the steel elemental.

  Ardent handed command back to Sarovy with a look. “If possible,” he said smoothly. “I do not ask any of you to take unnecessary risks, but our larger campaign is to roust Field Marshal Rackmar from the Kanrodi camp. Whether or not the Prince is there, the Field Marshal cannot be allowed to retain command. With no way to pen him in and no idea how many troops he can call to his service, we must take all the help we can get, no matter where it comes from.”

  “The Seethers ain't bad,” Houndmaster-Lieutenant Vrallek interjected roughly. “The specialists neither. We've all been lied to by the high command. Some of 'em probably know it already, they just have no way out. We'll be sending the scouts in to give them options. With luck, we can take Old Crown from the inside by way of defectors.”

  And without luck, we'll lose all our scouts, thought Sarovy. But that was the way of war.

  “You would have us hunt mages,” grated the bronze elemental. “Where?”

  “On the battlefield,” said Sarovy, “with the aid of the Shadows. I've seen your kind strike through wards and shake off spells like water. We need you there for if they come out to fight. If they do not, we may send you after certain specialists—the controllers. They should be killed on sight.”

  The Mother Matriarch frowned, but others in the crowd nodded, including grim-faced Vrallek. “Controllers would be a problem even with our inoculations. No way around it.”

  “And us mages?” asked Lahngi, hand raised as if he were in class. “You do not want us fighting theirs?”

  Sarovy shook his head. “I would use you better than that. Scryer Yrsian will anchor our communication network with her apprentices and Warder Tanvolthene in support, which leaves four of you to throw your weight behind the rest of us. Lahngi, Regna, since you are here to fight, we will start you at the Riverwatch assault. Presh and Voorkei will stand guard at Rakut and Lakeshore Centers.”

  The mages nodded, the two newcomers eyeing each other competitively. “We will terrorize that garrison, do not worry,” said Regna. “They will surrender in moments.”

  “You are not allowed to mash them,” Lahngi reminded her. “As that puts you at a clear disadvantage, I shall spot you...let us say a dozen captives to start.”

  “Oh, you ask for a punching!”

  “Now, now...”

  Sarovy cleared his throat, and the Gejarans fell silent. It relieved him that they could take a cue. As he looked around at the varied faces, checking for confusion, he felt a sudden stab of nostalgia; this wasn't so different from those first few meetings with Blaze Company. Everyone with their private skills, their quiet agendas, yet all bound together for one purpose.

  It made his heart ache. This wasn't the future he'd envisioned—wasn't a path he'd ever have chosen. Against the army, against his commander, against the Empire itself…

  No going back, though. No desire for it. He'd seen the truth and let it break him, only to be reforged. Perhaps this was where he belonged.

  “Next question?” he said, and looked to Lark when she raised her hand. “Yes?”

  “The goblins...they want to know if all you need is their tunnels. They have other tricks...”

  “Go on.”

  As the young woman launched into an oration on underground cities, exploding fungus and captive lightning, Sarovy found himself nodding and recalibrating his plans. If he could say nothing else about the world beyond the Empire, it was certainly fascinating.

  *****

  In the flurry of activity that followed the meeting, Lieutenant Linciard barely found time to think. He had his fellow lieutenants to confer with, his men to brief, and the remaining captured Seethers to consider for placement among their ranks.

  Though he had done most of the interviews, he didn't feel good about integrating more
Seethers with the team. With only a hundred and thirty-three proper Blaze soldiers, there had already been too much dilution from the first round of recruits. The captain might believe that their mingling was a strength, but to Linciard it looked like a potential mutiny.

  Still, he supported the captain's plan. The Seethers were just Crimson Army men, the same as Blaze Company. They hadn't asked for this assignment, hadn't pledged themselves to Field Marshal Rackmar. The Crown Prince had been replaced less than a month ago, so unless Rackmar had immediately flooded the ranks with his own loyalists, there was no more reason to be suspicious of them than of their own. In fact, Scryer Mako had delved into their heads more than she ever had with the Blaze men, so technically they were safer.

  The whole thing gave him a headache. In a way, he was glad for it, because it reminded him that he was no longer on paincease and samarlit for his lingering concussion symptoms, but he still felt stressed, nervous—and not just for himself.

  'The controllers. They should be killed on sight.'

  It was a logical mandate. Senvraka and lagalaina could influence everyone in range, friend or foe; letting the Seether controllers get their claws into the Trifolders or civilians or Shadow Folk slated to aid them could only end in disaster. Ilia, Blaze's one remaining controller, had sniffed out some lingering influence in all the captured Seethers, so even if they did march out on Blaze's side, they could easily be turned.

  Blaze's soldiers could only be repulsed by an enemy controller, not commanded; they'd all been inoculated against it. Still, any kind of push from a hostile source was to be avoided, and 'repulsion' could apparently range from queasiness to confusion to panic. Having been through withdrawals from the controllers' venom, Linciard knew those feelings all too well.