Erin spoke up from beside Gaelin. “The Mhor Gaelin and his company, sergeant.”
The sergeant hastily saluted. “I’ll send word to the count immediately, my lord.” He sent a young page running off toward the keep at once and called for the stablehands to help with their horses. While Gaelin and the others dismounted, stretching and kneading the kinks in their legs and backs, a crowd of off-duty soldiers and servants gathered, pointing and whispering.
A few moments later, the doors of the keep burst open across the courtyard, and Count Baesil appeared, striding purposefully across the bailey in his black armor. A dozen knights, officers, and lords flanked him, talking excitedly among themselves. Gaelin stepped out from behind Blackbrand and walked forward to greet the count. “Count Ceried.
It’s good to see you.”
“I thought you dead or captured, Gaelin,” Baesil rasped. “I certainly didn’t expect you to show up on my doorstep.” He looked past Gaelin at the curious spectators and barked, “Go on, get on with your business!” Reluctantly, the commoners and off-duty soldiers broke up and went their own way.
Gaelin looked around, frowning. “You didn’t have to do that on my account. Friendly faces have been hard to find lately.”
“Come with me, Gaelin. We’ve much to discuss.” Without waiting for Gaelin’s reply, Baesil turned on his heel and strode off through the gatehouse, dismissing his guards with a curt wave of his hand. Gaelin stared after him, glanced at Erin, and then hurried to catch up. The bard followed a respectful distance behind him. The count didn’t speak as they walked out of the castle’s gate and started toward the camp, skirting the moat.
“Well?” said Gaelin as he drew abreast of the count. Baesil’s long, shanky stride was difficult for Gaelin to match, and must have left shorter men in the dust. “How do things stand?”
“You have no idea how much harder you just made things for me,” Baesil snapped.
“What? What do you mean?”
“With you dead or captured, there was nothing for me to do but make the best terms I could with Tuorel. He’s beat us in the field, he cut out Mhoried’s heart when he took Shieldhaven and killed the Mhor, and he’s got half the southern lords bending their knees to him. Now I have to decide what I’m going to do with you.” The old lord didn’t even glance at Gaelin as he finished his declaration with a bitter stream of foul oaths.
Gaelin caught Baesil by the arm. “Stand still and talk to me, damn it! I didn’t spend the last ten days fighting my way through ambushes and skulking through the countryside to let you decide what you’re going to do with me!”
Erin touched Gaelin’s arm softly. “Gaelin, it may be wise to hold your temper in check.”
Baesil’s eyes bored holes in Gaelin, as he studied the prince. “I have no time to coddle a hotheaded young rake who has the gall to call himself Mhor. Your father was the Mhor, Gaelin. You will be treated as an honored guest until I decide where you should be, but you will not stray out of my sight until I figure out what to do.” Baesil jerked his arm from Gaelin’s grasp and turned his back on him.
Gaelin clenched his fists. “I swore the oaths before the Red Oak yesterday morning, Baesil. I’m the Mhor, whether you like it or not. You hold these lands from me, and that is my army camped in those fields. I’ll ride down there and tell them to storm your castle if that’s what it takes to get your attention.”
“I’m their commander. How many do you think would follow you?”
“I’m Daeric’s son, and I swore the oaths. I think most of them would.”
“You’d pick a fight with a Mhorien lord, while Ghoere’s army stands only three days’ march away?”
Gaelin returned his gaze evenly. “My father always spoke highly of you, count. He said that you were one of the three or four lords he’d trust with his life. I’m beginning to wonder what he saw in you.”
Baesil held Gaelin’s eye a moment longer. Then, slowly, his face split into a fierce grin, and his eyes flashed. “Good,” he said. “You’ve iron in you, boy. More than I remember. That’s good.”
Gaelin was still shaking with anger. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “All right. Let’s try this again. How do matters stand?”
“In a minute. First I want to hear how you found your way home from Endier.”
“Very well.” Gaelin related the entire tale, starting with the appearance of Lord Baehemon in Shieldhaven. Baesil constantly interrupted with curt questions, until Gaelin found himself growing furious.
“Well, it sounds as if you’re the Mhor.” Baesil inclined his head. “I’m afraid that Mhoried’s been gutted like a fish, my lord.”
“Go on.”
Baesil started walking toward the camp again, this time at a slower pace. “Ghoere sent damn near their whole strength against us, starting with Riumache. We’d always thought Tuorel would attack there, but we figured the town could hold out for a couple of weeks at least, time enough to muster the lords and relieve Lady Tenarien.”
“But the Maesil froze,” Erin said.
“I see you’ve heard the story. Tuorel took the town in an afternoon, and he was off and running.” Baesil swore under his breath. “The man knows how to run an army, I’ll grant him that. He caught us with our forces dispersed and drove straight up through Tenarien into Cwlldon on the Old Stoneway. Within two days of the fall of Riumache, I took the army of Bevaldruor south to meet him, trying to gather up as many of the lords’ musters as I could. But the northlords were busy with a horde of goblins that crossed over from Markazor at the same time that Tuorel invaded, and half the southlords decided to sit on their collective behind and watch Ghoere cut their rightful lord to pieces.”
“So you had to face Tuorel with half the army you should have had,” Gaelin said.
Baesil’s vitriolic scorn failed him, and he turned away.
“I met him at Cwlldon Field. That was a mistake,” he said. “I never should have engaged Baehemon there. I knew we didn’t have enough men, but I thought I might be able to out-maneuver him or fox him somehow. All I did was get a lot of good men killed and barely put a dent in Baehemon’s army.
And on top of that, I learned of Shieldhaven’s fall the next day. That was a week ago.”
“It’s in the past,” Gaelin said. “What’s left of the army?”
“I’ve about two thousand men,” Baesil replied. “Two hundred Knights Guardian, another two hundred knights and heavy cavalry – those are the retinues of the southlords, mostly – about three hundred light horse, four hundre d archers, three hundred pike, and a couple hundred infantry and skirmishers. We’ve also started to raise the levy of Byrnnor, so there’re five or six hundred farmers with pitchforks and bailing hooks scattered among the real troops.”
“How many more could we raise?”
Baesil glanced at him. “Oh, if we turned out the countryside, probably two or three thousand in the next week. But they wouldn’t be worth a damn. I’d be sending them to slaughter if I threw them into a battle without some equipment and a little training.”
“What do you know of Ghoere’s forces?” Erin asked.
Baesil looked at Gaelin and then the bard. Gaelin said, “Go ahead, Baesil. Erin’s been with us from the start in this thing, and she’s a White Hall bard, like Tiery. She’s had plenty of chances to betray me already.”
The general cleared his throat and nodded. “Well, after Cwlldon Field, Ghoere’s army dispersed to run down the scattered units we’ve got all over the place. They’ve kept a portion of their fighting strength together, maybe four thousand heavy troops, but the rest of their forces are engaged in securing the countryside.” He pointed across the rain-soaked fields toward the south. “The main body camped about twenty-five miles that way last night. They’re making for us with the best speed they can manage, but it’s getting a little harder for them.”
“When will they be here?”
“Three days, if they hurry, but if I were Baehemon, I’d get close and th
en camp a mile or two away.” Baesil gave Gaelin a dark look. “I’ll have to decide whether to retreat again.”
Gaelin weighed the information. They were in among the tents now. He was surprised by the number of units in the camp – there were standards and banners from dozens of different households, levies, and royal companies. But each was decimated, reduced to a fraction of its strength. This was an army that had been mauled.
“What do you want to do?” he asked the count.
“Well, I want to stand and bloody Baehemon’s nose. If we retreat, these are my lands he’ll be pillaging. But I don’t think we can beat him. We’ll need to fall back, up into the highlands, and try to rebuild our strength. There’s no sense taking him on until we know we can win.”
There was silence for a moment. Gaelin felt out of his depth in discussing strategy with Baesil. His own military experience was limited to a few years of raid and counterraid against the goblin marches.
“Here’s my suggestion,” he offered. “I don’t think we’re going to win this war in three days, no matter how badly we maul Baehemon, so let’s not try. We’ll fall back before he gets here, help the northlords chase the goblins from their lands, and try to build up an army strong enough to face Ghoere.”
Baesil nodded. “That’s my plan, but I’m leaving a few volunteers behind to hold Castle Ceried. No sense in letting Ghoere take it without a fight.”
“Good,” Gaelin said. “There’s one more thing: Before we go, I want to give Baehemon and Tuorel something to remember us by. We have seven hundred mounted troops?”
“That would be about right,” Count Baesil agreed.
“What if we visited their camp in a day or two, when Baehemon gets a little closer? The infantry can pull out beforehand to get a head start, and we’ll give them reason to sleep light at night.”
Baesil frowned, thinking. “We’re not likely to do them any lasting harm. No, I’m not going to do that.”
Gaelin stepped past Baesil, and scratched at his chin, looking out over the army’s camp. “Count Ceried, I know I only showed up on your doorstep a few minutes ago, and I appreciate the fact that you have a better grasp of the situation than I do. I will give your recommendations a great deal of con- sideration. I understand your advice, but think about a raid.”
“It’s a stupid idea, Gaelin. We’re outnumbered, and our chance of achieving surprise is negligible. Therefore, I won’t do it.”
“Count Ceried, that is not the Ceried muster out there. It’s the army of Mhoried, and it’s my concern as well as yours. I don’t need you to lead it. I need you to help me lead it.”
Baesil crossed his arms in front of his chest and stood his g round. “Who do you think you are, Gaelin? I built that army with my own hands, and they won’t march a mile until I say so.”
“Whom do you recommend as your relief?”
“What?”
Gaelin held Baesil’s eyes. “I asked, who else can run the army? I don’t know how, and you’re relieved of command.”
Erin drew in her breath. “Gaelin, have you lost your mind?”
“Aye,” Baesil agreed. “Have you lost your mind, boy? My men are nearly half of Mhoried’s army.”
“I didn’t say that I was releasing you from your feudal obligations, Baesil. Those men stay in my army. But I don’t need you to lead them if you don’t get it through your head that I am not your puppet, your spokesman, or your rallying cry. I am the Mhor, and, by Haelyn, that means I am going to lead the fight to free my country.” He advanced to stand nose-to-nose with the count and lowered his voice. “Well?
How do you want to handle this? I need you, Ceried.”
Baesil’s jaw hung open in surprise. Deliberately, he swallowed and scowled. “All right. We’ll do it your way. If you need my help, I will continue as the general of Mhoried’s army. But I still advise against a raid on Baehemon’s camp.”
Gaelin released his breath and nodded, keeping his face neutral.
“I will be honored to accept your service, Count Ceried.
N o w, let me ask you a question: A re you hesitant to attack Baehemon because you’re afraid of being defeated again?”
The general stiffened, his nostrils flaring. “That’s ridiculous!”
“Then, I want you to plan an attack of some kind against Baehemon before we withdraw.” Gaelin looked away, softening his stance. “It’ll make our troops feel good to throw a punch back at Ghoere after the pounding they’ve taken. And if we’re successful, we’ll take two or three hours away from Baehemon’s march every day, since he’ll be forced to fortify his camps.”
Grudgingly, Baesil nodded. “All right, then. We’ll mount a raid.”
“I’ll leave the details to you,” Gaelin said. “And I’ll need to talk to you at greater length about the military situation.”
Baesil nodded. “Give me a couple of hours to get the information together. Also, it would be a good idea for you to review the troops. They’ll be heartened to see the Mhor with their own eyes.” With that, he turned and left.
The moment he was out of earshot, Erin wheeled to face Gaelin. “What on earth were you thinking? You can’t show up out of the blue and expect to command the loyalty your father did. You almost drove him to revolt!”
Gaelin nodded shakily, trying not to show his fright. “If I’m going to do this, Erin, I’m not going to be a figurehead.
You asked me before if I was looking for someone to tell me what to do. Well, that’s exactly what Baesil had in mind from the moment he saw me. Mhoried can pull together to follow the Mhor – but I don’t think Mhoried would follow Baesil Ceried, who happens to have the Mhor’s heir stashed in his breast pocket.”
Erin rubbed her temples. “There must have been a better way to do that. And why did you insist on mounting an attack against his advice? Baesil Ceried knows more about fighting a war than you ever will.”
“The raid’s immaterial at this point. I asked him to do it, and he said no, so it turned into a demonstration of power.
He cornered me, so I stood my ground.”
“So? Find an excuse to cancel it in a day or two, and do what he suggests.”
“I don’t think I can, now.” Gaelin ran his hand through his hair and drew a deep breath. “I had really hoped to rest an hour or two once we got here.”
“Rest?” Erin laughed without humor. “There’s no such thing for the Mhor, Gaelin.”
*****
Gaelin learned the truth of Erin’s words over the next three days. Each day, he was up an hour before sunrise, and each night audiences and councils of war ran long after midnight.
He was certain he could find three or four more hours a day if he only had some idea of what he was doing – he’d never seen his father looking as tired as he did when he glanced into a mirror. After a day of utter chaos, Brother Superior Huire surprised him by requesting the privilege of serving as his appointment secretary. “As you can imagine, the high prefect is extremely busy, too,” he said. “I’ve served as her chamberlain for years, and I believe I could help you.”
“I’m concerned Lady Iviena may have orders for you that might cloud your allegiances,” Gaelin replied warily.
Huire nodded. “Of course, my first loyalty is to the Temple.
But the high prefect told me to give you counsel and aid, and it seems to me I can do both by acting as your secretary.”
“Will you swear before Haelyn to keep secret what I tell you in confidence?”
“I will, my lord Mhor.” Huire’s calm reserve slipped for a moment, and a note of anger crept into his voice. “You may forget that I, too, am a Mhorien. Lady Tenarien of Riumache is my first cousin. When Baehemon burned her keep to the ground, he murdered dozens of my kinfolk.”
Gaelin designated Huire as his secretary, and within hours a semblance of order crept back into his life. The monk was intelligent and thorough, carefully organizing appointments and recording Gaelin’s pledges and requests, helping him keep track
of what he said to whom. While Gaelin relied on Huire to help him manage his time and the day-to-day business of gaining control of Mhoried’s government, Erin helped him in his diplomatic correspondence and meetings with other nobles. She spent two days canvassing Mhoried’s counts and lesser lords, writing dozens of letters and dispatching messengers to all corners of the kingdom.
Late in their second night at Castle Ceried, she appeare d in Gaelin’s private chambers, dark circles under her eyes.
“I’ve dispatched letters to every lord worth writing and talked to every lord or envoy here,” she informed him. “Of the counts, Torien, Marloer, Ceried, and Hastaes acknowledge your coronation.”
“That means that I hold the counties of Torien, Marloer, Byrnnor, and Winoene,” Gaelin mused. “That’s only four out of ten. What of Tenarien, Cwlldon, and Bevaldruor itself?”
“I can’t say. They’re all occupied by Ghoeran troops, so their sympathies are probably of no matter.” Erin shrugged.
“Sir Vaerad Cwll is here with a company of sixty-odd Cwlldoners.
He may be the count, if old Count Cwll is dead. He’s on your side.”
“What of the lesser lords?” asked Gaelin. Just as the Mhor commanded the allegiance of the counts, each count had dozens of minor estates, titled peers, knights, and other such lesser nobles who owed him fealty.
“Almost all the lesser lords of the four counties you hold are with you,” Erin told him. “Asmall number from the overrun counties have joined your banner – like Vaerad Cwll – and a handful who didn’t shift their allegiance, though their counts turned their coats.”
“I have to find a way to bring more of these men to my side. Especially the ones who are backing Ghoere.” Gaelin buried his head in his hands and sighed. “How on earth do I do that?”
Erin only shrugged. “You knew this wasn’t going to be easy, Gaelin. It’s hard to convince people to join the losing side.”
When the army of Ghoere was two days away, Count Baesil sent footsoldiers north by tens and twenties, slipping out of the camp in small groups to maintain the illusion that all of Mhoried’s soldiers were still there. His men made a show of constructing earthen ramparts and fieldworks outside the castle, as if they were planning to engage Baehemon’s army from fortified positions. To add detail to the deception, Gaelin toured the defenses, pretending to inspect them.
The Falcon and The Wolf Page 18
