“‘Almost all’ were destroyed, sir? There are some left…?”
“A few. Cats, of course, and owls. Would you believe that the common hedgehog is magical?”
“Amazing. I assume that these creatures were only mildly magical and that is how they survived?”
“Probably, although in the case of cats, I think they were just smart enough not to use their powers.”
“I see.”
The conversation went on and on. Jarren found himself stifling yawn after yawn, in spite of his intense interest. He cursed himself for not sleeping on the voyage here as Gez had done.
“I understand that dear Lyni saved you from possible harm at the hands of the villagers,” said Stephanz, suddenly.
“Uh, yes, she did. I’m extremely grateful.” Stephanz frowned and turned to Dauros.
“My lord, surely it is time to discuss whether we should have dispatched Lyni to rescue Master Carabello.”
“The deed is done, Stephanz.”
“True. Then we need to discuss what is to become of him now that he is here.”
“I had hoped this to be a purely social gathering tonight. Such weighty matters could be left for another…”
“We are all gathered, my lord. I am sure Master Carabello is very interested in our intentions. It might be more rude to keep him in such suspense.”
Dauros was silent and the conversation in the room came to a halt. After a long while, he slowly nodded. “What Stephanz means, Master Jarren, is that there are those among us who believe the time is not yet ripe for direct contact with the mainland. I do not agree, but I am not prepared to make the decision on my own. It could be a great risk and, if we are wrong, it could be the end of us.”
“Surely you exaggerate the danger, sir,” said Jarren, now fully awake. “You are still hidden here where no one can find you.”
“Not so,” said Stephanz. “We may be safe from random discovery by passing cargo ships or fishermen, but if you were to report what you know, a systematic search by many ships would almost certainly find us.”
“Why would they do that if you asked to be left in peace?”
Stephanz made a rude noise. “Ha! You have separated yourself from the realities of the world more fully than we here, Master Carabello! Why would they seek us out? For wealth! For power! Or simply out of fear. The kings and princes would seek to control us for their own ends. Or, failing that, they would destroy us so that others could not succeed where they failed. There are still fanatics in the church who would condemn us as heretics. They would never simply ‘leave us in peace’!”
“They wouldn’t…!” began Jarren, but then he stopped when he realized that there were people who would. Ambitious rulers who would seek any advantage over their neighbors. Greedy men who would see wealth. Zealots who would see danger. Yes, there could be men who would not leave them in peace…
“There is a danger,” said Dauros nodding sadly. “But there could be great gains, too. We are cramped in this tiny place. Hindered in our research by lack of resources and lack of people. If we were welcome on the mainland again, we could accomplish a great deal.”
“And think of how much good we could do for the people!” exclaimed Idira. “Thousands die every day from diseases we know how to cure! I weep to think of how much suffering is going on that we could stop.”
“Ha!” said Stephanz. “Think of the suffering our magic could cause in the wrong hands! Their kings would think of us only as weapons—and treat us no better than the cannons in their arsenals!”
“I agree there is a danger,” said Prestan. “We would need certain guarantees…”
“Guarantees? What guarantees would they honor once they had hold of us? It is not as though we are the master wizards of yore! We are not magickers to make mere mortals tremble. If we had the powers of our ancestors, it would be one thing: we could protect ourselves. But our powers are weak. They would soon realize this and reduce us to slaves.”
“Stephanz, I’m hardly suggesting we simply get in a boat and sail to the mainland and declare ourselves openly!” said Dauros. “We would have to take slow steps and consider carefully at each one. My hope is that Master Jarren, here, can be that first, small step.”
“What do you mean, sir?” asked Jarren. He was alarmed by Stephanz’s words and his attitude. Would they actually kill or imprison him to keep their secrets safe?
“Your research has kindled a new interest in magic, Jarren. Only in very limited circles, it is true, but the interest is there and it is growing. And it is a sympathetic interest, not a fearful one. People want to know more about magic and why it has nearly disappeared. It is my hope that if you continue your work, the climate will slowly become more favorable to our return.”
“I would certainly do anything I could to help, sir! Your goal seems like a very noble one.”
“I am glad you see it that way. But this will be a slow process and I shall not live to see it reach fruition. For Stephanz is correct: there is a great danger. We must proceed with care. We will need your help, Jarren, and unfortunately, we will have to ask you to do something that no scholar ever wants to do.”
“Sir?”
“We will have to ask you to lie, Jarren. Or at the very least to hold back information.” Dauros peered at him from over his spectacles. His gaze seemed to go right through him. “Do you understand what I’m asking?”
“I…I think maybe I do, sir.”
“You cannot simply return home and tell one and all what you have learned. If you tell of what you found here and where you found us, then Stephanz is quite correct: a fleet of ships would soon search us out. No, I’m afraid you must lie about where you found us. Too many people know that you sailed to Erberus to lie about that, but you must fabricate a tale of taking another ship to another island far away. Then, you must not reveal all of what you have seen and learned here—certainly not all at once! A bit here and a bit there to generate interest, but you must not allow people to think that there is some treasure trove here to be plundered.”
“How can he prevent that, my lord?” demanded Stephanz. “People would come here just to steal Brother Prestan’s magical pumps! You have been away from the mainland too long. You have forgotten the limitless greed of those people!”
Dauros sighed. “Perhaps you are right, my friend. But perhaps there is a way to spark their interest and gain their trust—without inflaming their greed.”
“How?”
“I think that Idira had presented us with the solution: ease their suffering. If Master Jarren were to limit his initial findings to descriptions of her healing magic, that might do the trick. No one would fear a healer, and few would see healers as a means to acquiring wealth or power. No doubt some would still try, but it would be a lesser danger. Perhaps, with time, Idira might travel to the mainland and start a school to teach healers. Once magic has been accepted in that role, it might be possible to introduce other disciplines.” Idira was nodding her head eagerly, and many of the others were making favorable noises.
Stephanz turned and fixed his gaze upon Jarren. “It all depends on the honesty of this man, my lord. Can we trust him?” Everyone was looking at him now. He felt lightheaded. He’d had too little sleep to face such a situation.
“Well, Master Jarren,” said Dauros, “can we trust you?”
Jarren hesitated. It went against all of his instincts and training to conceal information. He tried to estimate how badly the restriction might cripple his work. What would it do to his reputation if he were found out? What will these people do to me if I refuse? That thought cut through the haze that was gripping him. If he did not agree, he might never get home again. And as he thought about it, he realized that he did want to help them. Bringing magic back to the world could be a very good thing, but only if it was done correctly. He could still do much of his basic research even if he restricted himself to the healing arts at first. Yes, it could be done…
“I…I would be honored
to be your ambassador to the world, my lord.” Dauros seemed to relax and then smiled broadly.
“Splendid! My friends, let us drink a toast to a grand new future where magic and science exist together in peace!” The assembly raised their glasses. Even Stephanz.
“To the future!”
* * * * *
The Kaifeng were in motion. A huge army of horsemen swept east out of the foothills. Atark looked on in satisfaction. As he had predicted, the other tribes had come. The stories of victory and the lure of booty had drawn them. Clan after clan, tribe after tribe, had ridden through the pass to join the army. Nearly four score of score of scores, thirty thousand as the Easterners would reckon it. An enormous force, far larger than any Kaifeng army since before the Dark Times. It was true that if the tales were to be believed, then this was still only a tiny force compared to the armies of old. But more warriors were coming. The word had spread far and wide on the plains. More tribes were answering the call and they would come.
More were coming, but the army would not wait for them. Scouts reported that the Berssians were finally moving. Their army, somewhat larger than the Kaifeng’s, if the scouts were correct, had left their capital and was marching against them. There would be a great battle very soon.
None too soon, as far as Atark was concerned. The multiplication of their numbers had also multiplied the problems. Feuds and rivalries between tribes and leaders threatened to tear the army apart before the enemy was even reached. Tradition dictated that each score of score of score of warriors, or helar as it was known, should have its own ka to lead it. The army had four helars and should, thus, have four kas—and a re-ka to command them all.
The clans and tribes had sorted themselves out along the lines of blood-ties, and after a lot of arguing and a small bit of violence, they had selected their kas. Zarruk had remained ka of the helar that had formed around the original gathering, but the position of re-ka was still empty. As had happened before, the newcomers would not submit to Zarruk until they had seen Atark’s powers with their own eyes.
Atark looked behind him to where his guards and assistants rode. They had the implements he would need to cast the spell. They had all the remaining captives taken at the forts.
Soon, very soon, the warriors of the Kaifeng—and the army of the Berssians—would see his power with their own eyes!
Chapter Ten
“Well, at least it’s not hot anymore,” said Mattin Krasner, as the driving rain poured off his hat.
“Yes, sir,” grumbled Sergeant Chenik. “But if this don’t stop soon, the damn Kaifeng won’t need their bloody fireflies. There won’t be a working musket in the whole blamed army.”
Matt nodded his head, bringing down another cascade of water. A really heavy rain could render a musket inoperable even with the covers over the pans. It had been known to happen in a few battles.
“Well, a heavy rain will muck up the Kaifs’ bows, too. And the gunners can usually fire their pieces no matter how hard it rains. If it comes to rain or fireflies, I’ll take the rain.”
“No argument there, sir.”
“Of course, if the roads get any worse, we probably won’t even be able to find the Kaifs, let alone fight them.”
Chenik grunted some reply that he could not catch. Matt let the conversation die and looked up at the clouds. It did not seem to be raining quite as hard as it had been earlier, and the sky to the northwest did seem a bit brighter. Maybe it would stop soon. The rain had begun the second day out from Berssenburg. The summer was nearly at an end and the autumn rains were beginning.
There was some commotion on the road up ahead and the column halted. This had been happening more and more frequently. After a while, the column started moving again and the brigade swung off the road into the field alongside it. Matt saw that there was an artillery battery stuck in the mud blocking the road. The cannons were sunk up to their hubs in the sticky goo. Better yet, it was one of the guards’ units. The gunners’ red leggings were now a chocolate brown. The dragoons all hooted and laughed at the cursing artillerymen. The regiment plodded through the fields, tramping the unharvested wheat into the mud. This might have been a disaster for the farmer who owned the land, except he had already fled and abandoned his farm—assuming the Kaifeng had not killed him. Matt could see the remains of the burnt-out farmhouse a few hundred yards away. That had been happening more and more frequently, too. They were about seventy miles west of the capital, and it was clear the Kaifeng had been here. They had passed hundreds of refugees on the first day or two, but there were no more now. Either they had fled—or they were dead.
They had seen a number of the latter on their march. Men, women, children, farm animals, the Kaifeng seemed to kill anything that could not get away from them. The mood of the army had become steadily grimmer. At first, for everyone except Matt and his survivors, this had seemed like some vast picnic excursion. No one had been terribly worried. There had been the initial fright, but then the troops began massing and the fear had gone. The Kaifeng savages could never stand up to the Army of Berssia! The regiments were so splendid, the cannons so powerful, surely the enemy would be driven back across the mountains in short order.
But now they were seeing firsthand what the enemy was capable of. And the old tales were being recalled. No Kaifeng might have set foot in Berssia for three hundred years, but people still remembered the last time they had. The hordes had swept over the mountains and scourged the land. Everything west of the Glovina River had been devastated. Even after the Kaifeng had been driven out, it had been generations before the wasteland they had left behind was repopulated. People were remembering those old tales. The soldiers in the army were now out for revenge—not a picnic excursion.
The confidence in the army was still high, despite their grim mood. They would win, and the enemy would pay. Matt had no doubt those Guard artillerymen would soon have their cannons free and rolling again. Everyone wanted to strike a blow.
Matt’s regiment rode on until mid-afternoon. The rain had stopped by then and it was getting unpleasantly warm again. He was expecting another long wait for the wagons with the tents to catch up and then another too short night before they set out in the morning. The column halted again, but this time a swarm of mud-spattered couriers went galloping by. One stopped with Matt’s brigade commander, and he could see a great deal of gesticulating and pointing.
“Looks like something’s happening,” he said.
“The general’s favorite poodle is probably missing,” grumbled Chenik. “We’ll spend half the night looking for it.”
But it was not the general’s poodle, it was the Kaifeng.
“It looks like the bulk of them are up ahead, maybe twenty miles,” explained Matt’s colonel a little while later. “Considering how fast the bastards can move, the general wants to deploy the army now so we’re ready for them in the morning. Our brigade will be on the right. Stay ready to move.”
Matt had never seen a whole army deploy from a column of march into a line of battle before. The process was excruciatingly slow and cumbersome. The infantry battalions, marching in columns by company, wheeled off the road one by one and marched off to the right or left. Mounted orderlies carefully measured the distances between each company, between each battalion, and between each brigade. If anyone wasn’t in the proper position, they were ordered to adjust their distance—which often meant that everyone else had to adjust as well. Once everything was exactly right—and the sun was getting quite near the horizon by then—a single cannon shot boomed out. All the companies of all the battalions slowly swung around like doors on hinges and the battle lines were formed.
There were two lines of infantry, each ‘line’ being three ranks deep, with artillery and cavalry spaced along them in carefully created gaps. The bulk of the cavalry was massed on both flanks, and Matt’s regiment was on the right, as he had been told it would be. Once the deployment was finished, bugles sounded, the infantry stacked their weapons
in neat rows, and the cavalry picketed their horses. They would sleep on their arms tonight. The enemy was nearby and there was no time for tents or any of their other meager comforts. The baggage trains were still well to the rear and would not catch up for hours yet. Details were sent back to fetch rations, but nothing more. The men settled down on the soggy ground, made what fires they could, and tried to be as comfortable as possible. There would be a battle the next day, everyone was sure of it.
Matt made certain his men and their horses were properly cared for and then sought out the fire the other officers of his regiment were at. He’d much rather spend what might be his last night on earth with Sergeant Chenik and the other survivors, but there might be useful information to be gleaned here, and he owed it to his men to be as well-informed as possible.
Plus there was much better wine to be had here.
The other officers had all been polite enough to Matt, in spite of him being a stranger. The fact that the general of the brigade had promoted him and assigned him here personally probably convinced them he had a powerful patron. He saw no reason to disabuse them of that notion.
“Well, the scouts report that they are coming right at us,” said the colonel. “One hell of a lot of them, too.”
“Good,” replied the major, who, like in many regiments, was a real professional while the colonel was not, “it would be an awful mess if they tried to swing around us and hit the baggage train. They can move so damn fast they could have us spinning in circles if they wanted to.”
“No, apparently they want to fight. But the general isn’t taking any chances. You can see he’s got us deployed in an arc. He’s going to tuck the baggage train right up tight, and if the savages go for our rear, we can just bend the line around and we’ll be practically in a circle.”
“Like as not, it will be up to the cavalry to do most of the bending,” said the major, scratching at his chin.
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