by Davis Ashura
Rukh straightened to address him. “Because the scouts have already been through here, and the herd of wild goats standing on the hillsides wouldn’t be lingering if there were armed men in their midst.”
William studied the goats. He hadn’t noticed them until now, and he grunted acceptance.
“What if they’re unformed?” Daniel.
“Then they’re poor scouts since all of them are busy chewing their cuds,” Rukh replied. “None of them have once looked our way.”
“What are we going to do when we catch the mahavans?” Jason asked. “Ward is headed back to the northern entrance of Janaki Valley—”
“He may be out of position, one way or another,” Rukh said, “especially if he’s right that the unformed have split off from the rest of the Sinskrill forces and taken to the air.”
“Then the Irregulars we left at Lilith will have to hold,” William said. He privately said a prayer for Serena and everyone else back in Lilith.
“They will hold,” Rukh said.
Jason cleared his throat. “Point is that without Ward, we’ll only outnumber the mahavans three hundred to two hundred—”
“We’ll outnumber them by even less if the unformed aren’t gone,” Daniel said.
“Right,” Jason said with a nod. “What do we do?”
Rukh pointed to the canyon he’d been studying. “What do you make of this?” he asked. “This is where the scouts say the mahavans have stopped their flight. The reports state that about one hundred warriors remain there behind a line of fortifications. Where are the others, then? We were told there were two hundred mahavans.”
Jason spoke. “Unless that number included the unformed.”
“It didn’t,” William said. “Remember, whenever the scouts saw the unformed in human form they were naked.”
Jason grunted.
“Could it be a trap?” Daniel asked, pointing at the map.
Rukh nodded. “It’s most definitely a trap, and we’re going to spring it. But before we do I want to know where the rest of the mahavans are. They have their own cannons as well as ours.”
Daniel frowned. “We can’t explode ours until we can actually see them.”
William peered at the map. “What about this hill? It’s steeper than the others but has a relatively flat top. Wouldn’t that be a good place to set up their cannons? It has clear lines of sight all the way to the canyon’s entrance.”
Rukh smiled briefly in apparent approval. “My thoughts as well.” He pointed to another spot on the map. “And a rockslide here could wipe us out as we penetrate the canyon. They likely have units there as well.”
“Unless we send a unit to wipe theirs out first,” Jason suggested.
“How many do you think would be needed to eliminate the forces on that hill?” Rukh asked.
“Fifteen,” Jason answered. “I’d guess the mahavans have four or five warriors over there. That’s all it would take to bring down that hill. Plus, I’m guessing they won’t use more men than they absolutely have to.”
“I agree,” Rukh said. “You’ll command that unit.”
William pointed to a streambed. “If we come through here it’ll be a tough approach, but we’ll be hidden from that flat-topped ridge.”
“What about their scouts?” Rukh asked.
“We’ll have to locate and neutralize them,” William answered, “but I don’t see them venturing too far from the main body of their forces. They’ll be needed in the battle.”
“Then what about the flat hill where they might have cannons?” Rukh asked.
Daniel leaned closer to the map and pointed. “This hill isn’t ideal, but it seems to be taller than that ridge,” he noted. “And there might boulders or outcroppings near the peak. We can set up our own cannons behind them and smash the mahavans the moment we see them.”
Rukh smiled. “I like that. How many warriors will you need?”
Daniel started. “You want me to command them?”
Rukh eyed him challengingly. “Do you think you can handle it?”
Daniel slowly smiled. “Leave it to me, sir. Give me twenty-five Irregulars, and I’ll wipe them out.”
“See that you do,” Rukh said. “The rest of us will be mincemeat otherwise.”
William noticed something else. “Once we take the scree slope and neutralize the mahavans’ cannons we can penetrate through the streambed and also this river valley—” he indicated the positions on the map “—and sweep down from the north and south and trap the remaining mahavans. We’ll destroy them en masse.”
Rukh slapped him on the shoulder. “Well done. You’ll command the northern elements. I’ll command the southern. Questions?”
“No, sir,” all three replied.
“Then gather the men you’ll need,” Rukh said to Jason and Daniel. “I want you ready for a swift march in a half-hour.” He turned to William. “Figure out which units you want with you.” He met each of their gazes. “Let’s roll.”
William saluted sharply, as did Jason and Daniel, and they left to carry out Rukh’s commands.
“This is it,” Jason said, his eyes bright and excited.
“It’s a good plan,” William said. “The cannons are the key, though.”
“I’ll take care of them,” Daniel said with a smile, “and after I take them out, I promise not to drop any rocks on you.”
William barked laughter. “Even if you did, they’d only break on Jason’s hard head.”
The other two chuckled, but the importance of what they intended quickly stole William’s humor. They were about to see battle and blood. Death as well. None of them might see another day. The other two had also stopped laughing. They probably realized the same thing.
“Stay safe,” William said and gave Jason and Daniel a quick hug. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”
Jason grinned. “So, don’t do anything stupid?”
William chuckled and watched them go. As he did, he once more considered the plan they’d come up with. It was a good plan, but the whole time they’d been discussing it, William had the sense that Rukh had already known it. Like he’d already come up with all those ideas and had been waiting for his lieutenants to figure them out, too. It was like Rukh had prescience—a word William first read in Dune—when it came to war. He only hoped they were as successful as Muad’Dib’s Fremen when it came to battle.
Brandon braced himself and held onto a line as Deathbringer swept across the bay. The sun had long since risen, but Lilith’s cliffs still shaded much of the bay. It left the area blessedly cool, which was unusual for the tropics. A stiff, onshore breeze blew, and it whipped Brandon’s hair and snapped taut Deathbringer’s sails.
Brandon squinted against the salt spray and silently urged the vessel to greater speed. He loved the rushing responsiveness of wood and wind and made a private promise to build his own ship when he returned to Sinskrill.
Shouts from Clifftop drew his attention. At this distance, the words were an indistinct blur of noise, except for a Walker. Brandon sourced his lorethasra, focused Air, and gathered those cries as a farmer did his crops. He listened as the magi shouted in consternation. Their cannons remained ineffectual against the Servitor’s fleet. Good. Let them fear.
Brandon eyed Deathbringer’s prow once again. The figurehead remained that of a demon with a horned head and glowing, red eyes, but below it had been mounted a plain, gray globe. It crackled whenever the magi shells reached the ship, and the shield it produced extended out and deflected any incoming blow. Another of the Servitor’s new weapons.
It made the attack on Lilith child’s play, but Brandon was conflicted about their success. Like all mahavans he hated the magi, but he also appreciated the culture they’d developed, the beauty of their village.
“Bring the ship about,” he shouted. “Rake them again with a full spread to starboard. Reduce that village to debris.” He winced internally at his words.
The drones aboard the ship carried out the orders, while th
e ten mahavans—two for each Element—moved to the starboard cannons and readied their next attack.
Brandon gazed upon Lilith, upon her proud terraces and lovely homes, upon her lacework bridges, and the glory of her cataracts. Thus far, the fleet hadn’t accomplished much damage. A building here and there had tumbled, but most of the attacks had been aimed at Clifftop. From far below in the bay, Brandon couldn’t tell how much destruction they’d managed. Part of him hoped it wasn’t too severe.
His satellite phone rang. The Servitor. Brandon shifted his attention to the fleet and quickly found Demolition several hundred yards away and deeper in the harbor. He answered the phone. “Yes, my liege.”
“There has been a change in plans,” the Servitor said. “Adam will arrive with the unformed later in the day.”
“What about his mahavans?”
The Servitor didn’t answer at once. “We underestimated the magi’s resolve. Their warriors vastly outnumber our own. Adam’s mahavans may not survive today’s engagement. They will battle for Sinskrill’s glory and retreat if they can.”
Brandon silently cursed. Once again, the magi might defeat the mahavans. How can such a weak people offer such resistance against their betters?
“Their sacrifices will not be forgotten,” the Servitor was saying.
Brandon spoke without thinking. “Is there no way to save them?” He immediately bit back an oath. His question too closely resembled a challenge of the Servitor’s judgment.
“No,” the Servitor replied.
Brandon exhaled softly in relief. The Servitor had chosen to discount his breach in decorum. “What are my orders, my liege?”
“Raze the village,” the Servitor replied. “Kill as many as possible and wreck what we can’t destroy.”
“Yes, my liege.” Brandon hung up the phone and gazed at Lilith again. In his mind’s eye he imagined the village ruined. He imagined smoke billowing from the village. Homes destroyed. Terraces wrecked, those lacy bridges shattered.
He couldn’t make himself believe such an occurrence was a good thing.
DECEPTIONS KILLED
October 1990
* * *
Jason crouched next to Tam Emond, an older member of the Irregulars. Tam possessed a hard-bitten, hard-eyed, calm presence, which was unsurprising since the gray-haired, gray-bearded magus had seen action in Korea and Vietnam as a leatherneck, a Marine. Sometime in the early seventies Mr. Zeus had found him and brought him to Arylyn, where he’d taken up the life of a farmer and a vintner. A few weeks ago he’d set aside his vineyards and joined the Irregulars. He could have—should have—been one of Rukh’s lieutenants, but Tam had declined. He’d told Rukh in a firm but polite tone that he had been a sergeant for twenty years in the Marines and had no desire to be anything else.
Jason huddled with Tam and the others who would take the rocky slope that loomed ahead. They waited in a copse of scruffy pine trees. While the foliage provided only minimal coverage, minimal was better than nothing. Fifty yards of empty plain stretched before them. It quickly rose into a set of sharply elevated stony hills. No grass or greenery marred the area past the trees, and the sun beat down, hot and humid. Jason ignored the sweat beading on his face and checked his watch.
Noon.
Someone nudged Jason’s shoulder. He glanced aside and saw Tam gesturing. He stared to where the older magus pointed, to the southern peak of the scree slope, their objective.
Jason sourced his lorethasra, ignored the aroma of dandelions—the scent of his Spirit—and quickly braided a weave. The air in front of his eyes hardened and invisible binoculars brought the slope into focus. He immediately saw what Tam had noticed and nodded understanding.
Silhouetted against the sky were a group of hunched figures. From the north side of the hill they could have passed for boulders, but Jason saw legs, arms, and heads. The mahavan ambush.
Tam shifted closer and whispered in his ear. “If we send the bulk of the men east, they can stay hidden in the trees. They get to the slope, regroup behind that large outcropping over yonder—” he pointed, “—and attack before the mahavans realize anything’s wrong.”
It was a good idea, but Jason saw a flaw. “During the last five yards of their ascent, they’ll be exposed,” he said. “The mahavans will hear them coming. They’ll be fragged.”
Tam whispered, “They have that projection they can hide behind.” He pointed again. “They wait there until—”
Jason saw the shape of Tam’s plan and he nodded excitedly. “—the warriors we send west get in position and distract the mahavans.”
Tam grunted. “It’s not the best notion I ever had. Be a lot better if we had air support to pin them down.”
“Be better if the fragging mahavans never showed up.”
“Fragged,” Tam mused. “Strange the way words carry across worlds and retain a bit of their meaning.”
Jason shrugged, not sure what Tam meant. Instead, he chewed the inside of his lip as he considered the numbers and the situation. From what he could tell, four mahavans crouched atop the hill. He had fifteen magi. “How many do you think we should send east and west?” he asked.
“Ten east, five west. You take the east, I’ll take the west.”
“Those going west are going to have it hard,” Jason warned.
Tam smiled. “Just be ready. We’ll probably beat you to the top anyway.”
Jason grinned, and the two of them shuffled back to where the rest of the Irregulars waited deeper in the copse.
After a quick explanation of what they intended, Jason led a group of ten magi skulking along the eastern face of the rocky slope. They passed out of the line of trees and sprinted for a large, blocky formation at the base of the hill. A scattering of stones and pebbles crunched as they ran. Jason prayed the mahavans wouldn’t turn around. Don’t look down. Don’t look down. His heart thumped the entire way, and he breathed relief when they reached the rise. He and the others—a mix of men and women—hunched low.
“Everyone drink some water,” he ordered. “We climb from here. Stay flat and low. Careful where you step. We don’t want loose rocks or whatever giving us way. I’ll lead, but you all know where we’re headed.” He pointed. “That knobby jut of stone. Once we get there, we wait for Tam’s signal.”
His Irregulars nodded, their faces trusting and alert but fearful.
Jason swallowed down a bolus of concern. What if I’m wrong about this? Fresh sweat beaded on his forehead, his chest, and lower back. His mouth went dry. He gulped down a final swig of water before shoving down his worries. Hope I’m not wrong.
A final series of deep breaths, and he shuffled out from behind the outcropping. The others followed on his heels, remaining hunched as they scuttled up the hill. Jason watched his steps, avoiding loose rocks and pebbles, and made sure the sword strapped to his back didn’t catch on anything. They soon reached their target, the knobby formation.
Jason silently exulted. The rest of the Irregulars huddled close, and he could sense their excitement as well. Now where’s Tam?
Seconds later, shouts arose from atop the hill. Elements raged. Braids of Fire crackled down the slope. They lit the air, causing a heat shimmer as they boomed. Threads of Earth growled. Bolts of Air hissed. Even Water susurrated. Answering Elements raged up the hill.
Jason gestured, and he and the other Irregulars left the protection of the rise. They sprinted for the top. Twenty yards. Fifteen. It might as well have been a thousand. Time slowed. Jason’s heart pounded. Each beat stretched out, endless. His heaving breath sounded like bellows. He took a peek upward. Halfway there. No one had seen them yet. The mahavans had their attention focused westward. They hurled coruscating braids, and Jason prayed for Tam’s group.
Movement in the sky caught his attention. A murder of crows—six of them—rode the currents. A warning bell pealed in his head. Arylyn doesn’t have crows. Unformed!
Jason sourced his lorethasra. He wove a sizzling line of Fire that
daggered upward. It branched into five reaching fingers. All of them touched a crow, and three fell to the ground dead. The other two seemed to inhale, expand, and absorb the Fire.
The mahavans noticed Jason’s attack. One of them barked a command and three of them spun about to confront Jason’s group.
The Irregulars pumped hard, but they still had yards to cover. Nothing for it but to fight.
“Attack!” Jason shouted. He wove Fire and Air, more to distract than anything else. The other Irregulars launched their own braids.
The crows plunged, transforming into large cats as they hit the ground. One went after an Irregular and swept her off the hill. Jason heard her cry out once, followed by a sickening crunch. He closed his ears to the sound and pounded up the hill, right to the top.
A crow darted at him, becoming a savage eagle. Jason ducked. The Irregular behind him wasn’t so lucky and screamed as he was ripped off the hill.
Jason drew his sword. The eagle came at him again. A swift slash, and the creature crashed to the ground, headless. More Irregulars reached the summit. The mahavans hurled spears of Air and arrows of Water. Stones blasted outward.
Jason pulled up a wall of rock. The braids shattered against it.
Another unformed in the shape of lion came at him. A frozen line of Water cut this one in half. One of the Irregulars had gotten the creature. The last unformed transformed into a falcon and winged west.
The mahavans gritted their teeth and sent everything they had.
Jason deflecting burning braids of Fire. He blunted shafts of Air and hurled bolts of Fire. One of his braids clipped a mahavan and sent him tumbling down the hill, off a sheer cliff. Another mahavan fell, punched through the chest by a rod of Earth.
Jason rolled beneath a scythe made of Water. He rose to his knees and faced a mahavan, a grizzled older man and thrust with his sword. The mahavan barely managed to slap it aside. Jason scrambled to his feet. He feinted with a diagonal slash transitioning into a vertical chop. The Sinskrill warrior tried to dodge and took a deep cut to his shoulder. Jason whipped his sword about and eviscerated the man.
