"I have not seen your army, do not know its strength ..."
"I'm afraid you have seen our army. It's just that there isn't much to see."
"A confirmation of the rumor that your land forces were lost in the Realgar Marsh," the former Malachite Head said, nodding to himself. Leet pursed his lips. Used his left hand to lift his dead arm to the tabletop. "If, as it is believed, the pursuing Malachite Army did not go far into that sucking swamp, then our ...." He paused; corrected himself. "Then the Malachite Army is in tact."
"You would expect the army to attack, then?"
"It would seem to be the correct strategy."
"General Nator?"
"Agreed."
"Where is the Malachite Navy now?" John asked Coluth.
"Gone."
"Might they be lingering out there somewhere, just above the Claws?"
"I sent a ship. The report is, they have retreated further than the tie-up docks above the Claws."
"I wonder if retreated is the right word." John paused to think, tapping his compressed lips with a forefinger as he sometimes did. "They could have pulled back to Xanthin Harbor. Probably did, immediately after their defeat."
"And while we're playing hide-and-go-seek with the Malachite Navy ...," blank stares all around, "... where did the Malachite army go after its victory outside of Carotene?" John pointed at Leet, figuring that, as a Malachite, he would have the best idea of Malachite plans.
"I do not know," Leet said, shrugging his functional shoulder. The others also shook their heads.
"Gagar?" What were spy "masters" for, if not to ....
"It is my belief that the Malachite army stayed in Carotene," chirped the little bird man.
"Your belief?"
"Since all Stil-de-grain messenger birds were released during the rout -- to warn the navy away -- no birds can come from there. It is my belief the Malachites are still in Carotene because no messenger birds have come from other places, saying the Malachites are elsewhere."
"Yes. The case of the dog that didn't bark."
"Dog ...?" Coluth. At the end of the table.
"Just an expression," John replied, wincing. How did you explain Sherlock Holmes' rational approach to criminology to people with medieval minds?
"What seems certain is that, since their attack three days ago fizzled, it's a good bet that a Malachite messenger bird is on its way to Carotene with news of their naval defeat."
"They will not try again in the Claws," Coluth said positively.
"Not with their navy," John agreed. "But it would be my guess that their fleet -- we didn't destroy their ships, after all, just drove them off -- has disappeared because its on its way to Carotene to pick up the Malachite Army." John twisted around in his chair. Glanced about the room. "Where's a map? I need a blowup map of the area from Carotene to the Claws." Another of John's innovations -- the drawing of detailed maps -- had come to fruition.
Note: To view Golden's maps, visit: http://www.johnstockmyer.com/uts/
Nator pointed to an end table.
"Good! I was afraid you'd left the map behind when you evacuated Xanthin. Bowing his thanks, Nator had his Second rise from the main table, to stride to a small, overflowing stand, ruffling through the untidy pile of map "blow ups" there to find the one John had indicated.
Locating the right chart, he brought it to the large, central table, smoothing out the crackling, yard square, papyrus-like paper in front of John. "Yes," John said, standing, leaning forward, putting his forefinger on Carotene and tracing as he spoke. "If I were the Malachite commander, believing, as is the case, that the Stil-de-grain Army is at half-strength at best, I'd load my troops on ships here off Carotene. Transport them through Sea Throat past the Realgar March, around Xanthin Island, landing them in Realgar territory just to the 'east' of the Claws.
"Speaking of Xanthin," John said, looking up to see that the others were leaning toward the map, following along, Coluth standing at the table's far end, "it would be my guess that with the island captured some time ago, with our forces holed up here, they have only a token force on the island."
John sat down and waved the map away, the others settling in their chairs, young Forsk returning the map to the table before coming back quietly to sit at his place.
John looked down the center of the table at Coluth. "How few sailors would it take to handle your average merchant ship?" Not anticipating the question, the Admiral's light eyes took on a puzzled look, Coluth drumming the fingers of both, big hands on the table. Another agony of dealing with these people was that they didn't do well with sudden shifts of subject. "I know that aboard the Roamer, you had, maybe, 40 men." Coluth nodded solemnly. "But how many were really necessary on a trip from here to Xanthin Island."
"To reach the harbor?"
"No. To get to the backside of the island nearest the Claws."
Coluth frowned, trying to calculate. "That would require only one change-over."
One of the interesting features of this world were the looping swirls of water rotating on the surface of the sea. Rowing-steering from one of the whirls to a counter-rotating current was the way sailors traveled on this world's seas. "Here, the waters are calm .... I would say it would require, to be on the safe side, twenty men on the oars, one to steer. Ten on each oar bank."
From what John knew about rowing in this world, Coluth's figures seemed right.
"Half."
Coluth nodded, rubbing his flat nose with one finger as he sometimes did when puzzled.
"Here's the plan, then. Since the best defense is often a good offense, we're going on the attack."
"Attack!?" General Nator, sensible man that he was, was horrified. Had the Mage lost his mind? Attack with what? Those questions and others could be seen flashing behind the general's steely eyes.
"Failing to destroy us by sea, the Malachites will now try by land. The quickest way to do that, by converting their warships to troop transports in order to help bring their army from Carotene. Our response will be to transform our seamen into soldiers. As many as we can."
"But ..." Nator complained, practically sputtering, "a seaman cannot to be taught to be a ... a soldier!"
John knew about the feudal situation in this world, everyone locked into his father's occupation. "If I'm right, my new, seaman-soldiers won't have to fight. For my plan to work, it will be enough if they look like soldiers."
At that retraction, General Nator seemed less troubled ... though still confused.
"The right uniforms and a little drill should do it. What I want is a force that will overawe a much smaller army."
"But the Malachite Army is not smaller," the general countered, not at all happy with this line of thought. "Furthermore, each Malachite soldier being stronger because he is from a heavier band, the enemy is better than our troops, man for man." Unusual for this world, Nator didn't mince words -- even when talking to his Mage.
"I have no intention of taking on the Malachite Army in a fair fight," John said reassuringly. "What we're going to do is recapture Xanthin Island."
Dead quiet prevailed. What, after all, do you say to the insane?
"If we're correct about the most sensible course of action available to Malachite commanders, they'll use their navy to move their army from Carotene to the Claws. I see no reason to stay here and take the medicine they've prepared for us, do you?"
Silence.
"I propose an attack on a neglected Xanthin Island."
Silence.
Until Coluth spoke. "Even if few troops are holding Xanthin Island, that would be difficult. First, the enemy will see that only half the oars 'a our ships are manned, that our ships are helpless to defend themselves, even against what little remainin' naval forces are at Xanthin. And, won't they have barricaded the harbor by now?"
"I should think so." Never underestimate the enemy was the cardinal rule of war. "But I have no intention of attacking Xanthin Harbor."
"Around the rest 'a the island,"
Coluth said, not wishing to sound negative, but determined, like Nator, to tell the truth. "Our ships can't get close. Too shallow, as you know." In the past, John had soundings made to establish just that fact.
"No problem. I've got that figured out, too." John had considered these objections, of course. (Nothing like enforced bed rest to provide planning time.) "We hit 'em where they ain't."
John sighed.
Snappy patter got him nothing but puzzled frowns.
"We do to them what I was afraid they'd do to us when we were holed up on Xanthin Island."
John was thinking about the period after he'd become Mage on his last trip to this world, when, fearful that a Malachite strike force might land troops on the backside of the island, he'd had soundings taken around the island, those fathomings revealing that the only spot deep enough for military cruisers to approach the island was through the harbor itself. John had then ordered ships to be sunk in Xanthin Harbor to close the harbor mouth, a task that had fallen to Coluth, Coluth sinking the Roamer and another ship to plug the harbor against a Malachite attack. It was for Coluth's heroics in harbor defense that John had appointed him to the position of Navy Head -- unfortunately, Head of a much depleted navy.
"Here's the plan," John said, all eyes on him, the others waiting with rapt attention -- possibly with horror -- for him to speak. "If I'm right -- and the rest of you seem to think I am -- the Malachite Navy has gone to pick up their army in ...." John had almost said the north. "In the area near Carotene. If so, we control the sea in these parts by default. Even with half-crews manning the ships, we can get to the backside of Xanthin Island.
"What I propose is that we do three things. One. Rig our ships so that every other oar is manned, the oars wired so that, when a sailor pulls his oar, the untended oar next to his oar moves in the same pattern. We can even use dummies dressed as sailors at those non-functioning oars. Fix the dummies to the handles of the oars so that the mannequins will move when the oars move -- like they're living men.
"Two. Train the mariners we've relieved of their seaman's duties to at least look like soldiers. Some drill. Uniforms. Weapons or something that looks like weapons from a distance.
"Three. Load our troops on rafts, the rafts to be towed from the Claws to the backside of Xanthin. It's not far at all. We'll have to install just enough oarlocks on each raft so that, once cut free, the mariners on the rafts can row themselves across the shallows to land. In that way, we disembark an 'army' on the island.
"An attack from the rear combined with the sight of our navy off the harbor, the Malachites thinking themselves outmanned in every way possible, their skeleton force will surrender."
"It might ... work," Nator said. More and more, John was impressed with General Nator's perception.
"And if we take the island?" Coluth.
It was good to have men like Nator, whose every instinct was to obey. But it was vital to have a Coluth who questioned authority, however gently.
"Then we barricade Xanthin Harbor like before. Keep a watch around the island to make sure the Malachites don't pull the raft trick on us."
"And how are we ... benefited ... to have done this?" Coluth again, rubbing his nose thoughtfully.
"In a couple of ways. First, there is no substitute for victory." (John hoped that Douglas MacArthur wouldn't object to a fellow countryman "borrowing" his famous phrase. After all, that old soldier had ... faded away ... long ago.)
"Then, too," John continued, "while we're protected here from a naval assault, we're far from safe from overland attack. On the island, we're secure from both. And yes, I'm aware that Xanthin Island can't feed itself forever and is, therefore, vulnerable to siege. Which leads me to my third advantage to capturing the island. On the island are certain ... ingredients ... that I need for our defense."
That will clinch it, John thought.
A look around the table at hangdog faces told him otherwise. "Have you forgotten that if all else fails, I can work magic?"
Faces brightened.
Unexpectedly, there was a hammering on the door!
Startled, Nator's hand found the pommel of his sword, Forsk, Head Second, fingering his blade hilt as well.
Though just as surprised at the interruption as the others, John forced himself to remain calm. "Enter," John called.
The door cracked open, Whar's face sticking through apologetically. "Messenger bird, sirs. From the Claws, I'm told."
Gagar stood where he sat, then turned to receive John's permission.
John nodded.
Gagar motioning to Whar, Whar ushered in a boy carrying a large parrot in a cage, the shy young man shuffling forward with the orange bird. (Orange, because everything in this world was coded by color.)
Removing a thick leather glove from his tunic belt, slipping the glove over his left hand and forearm, stepping forward to open the cage, Gagar got the bird to climb on the glove, the parrot digging its claws into Gagar's gauntlet.
The bird "secured," Whar dismissed the youth, the young man scurrying across the room and out the door.
"I recognize this bird," Gagar trilled, running his hand down the bird's back, looking the bird over. "It is the newly trained bird consigned to Obolan. Since we're trapped here ... ah ... located here in the Claws, I have assigned Obolan to watch the sea at the Claw-mouth below the inn."
The bird and the man were now making the same bobbing motions with their heads.
Since the bird came from that close, John found himself wondering why someone didn't just walk the news up to the inn.
Odd.
Enough speculation. "Let's hear it," John said, waving his permission for Gagar to make the bird talk, Gagar always reluctant to "tap" his birds messages with so many people present. "We're all friends here." Which, John felt it prudent to remind himself, wasn't true. He was still convinced it was someone in his inner circle who'd stolen his fake crystal then stabbed him.
Granted permission, Gagar made the kind of jerky motion that caused the animal to speak its piece in the curious, unaccented fashion of all, basically brainless, talking birds.
"azare . ship . at . claws."
What?! An Azare ship? A ship from the legendary, black band? The unknown land of the ultimate enemy?
An intense buzz of worried whispering had begun around the table, men leaning this way and that to give or hear an opinion.
The bird having nothing else to say, John motioned for quiet. Got it as soon as the others realized his desire. "And what does that mean??"
Before Gagar spoke, Coluth answered. "It'd be my guess that an Azare ambassador is askin' entrance into this waterway."
John looked over at Gagar who was petting the bird, Gagar more interested in his birds than the messages they bore. "Only one ship?"
"One ship," Gagar affirmed.
"Because of one ship, this bird flew in from the harbor just down the slope? What is that, a mile away?"
"I would think," Gagar cocked his head to the side, one bright eye on the ceiling, the other on the bird, "two miles. Sending by bird is still the fastest way for Obolan to relay important information."
"I suppose," John conceded.
Reflecting on what John remembered about the tangled political situation here, the fact that a representative had arrived from Azare -- the evil, black band about whom this world's people were even hesitant to talk -- was not only important, but unprecedented!
The black band.
Everyone's oblique nickname for the band of Azare. The innermost of bands. The circular country with the heaviest gravity and a normally blue sky.
From what John had gleaned from reluctant informants, there had once been a revolution in Azare, that band's evil Mage, Auro, overthrowing the Azare King, Auro making himself both Mage and king. Not content with winning the coup, he'd attempted to conquer the other bands during the so called Mage War that followed. Malachite falling to Auro's forces, Malachite's Mage, Pfnaravin, had fled from Malachite to neighboring St
il-de-grain, after that, putting together a Mage alliance against Auro: Pfnaravin, Melcor (the Mage of Stil-de-grain), Helianthin (Mage of Realgar) and the Mage of the mysterious outer band of Cinnabar, Cryo. Combining their magical powers, these four Mages had darkened the sky over Azare until the blue band had become black.
Since magic was a product of this world's light, blacking out the sky above Azare had the effect of stopping the Sorcerous assault of the evil Mage.
On the other hand, shutting down the magic of Auro stopped the other four Mages from taking direct action against him. Since magic was a product of light, their magic would disappear as soon as they entered the blacked out band.
What it came down to was a supernatural stalemate. While Auro could no longer launch an incantational attack from his band, the men of the other bands could not move into Azare to eliminate him.
More recently, there was fear that the magic of the victorious Mages was breaking down, the Mage-magic keeping the sky blacked out over Azare, failing.
But back to the ship from the black band. Was the fact that this craft was "loose" another example of Auro breaking the magical restraints the other Mages had placed on him?
"Coluth? What do you think?" Coluth shrugged. "Nator?" A raise of eyebrows. "Do either of you see any harm in letting the enemy ambassador land? In hearing what he has to say?"
"If, by entering, he could learn where our barricades in the harbor have been placed, perhaps." Coluth. Always practical. "But since the ship-traps can be repositioned ...."
"Then let's do it."
While there was general mumbling and head nodding in apparent agreement with that decision, there was also disquiet around the table. Stil-de-grainers were used to fighting against men from the black band's ally -- Malachite. But to face someone from the black band itself ....?
"That's the end of today's meeting," John said quickly, as much to prevent opposition to his decision to face the Azare ambassador as for any other reason. "Will you arrange for the ambassador to enter the harbor, Coluth?"
"I will send a pilot boat to guide him past the defenses."
Back Under The Stairs - Book 2 in The Bandworld Series Page 19
