I had some suspicions about the source of this Mimbrate policy. Over the centuries, many in the kingdoms of the west have viewed my family’s conviction that the Angaraks were behind most of the disruptions on our side of the Eastern Escarpment as an obsession. Perhaps we are a bit too quick to lay blame at Angarak doors, but when we’re talking about Arendia, our suspicions are fully justified. Arendia has always been the key to the Angarak design to disrupt the west. Ctuchik was absolutely convinced that if he set fire to Arendia, the entire west would soon go up in flames. Unfortunately, Arendia’s always been a tinder-box that’ll take fire if you so much as look at it.
Ontrose went north into my realm to oversee the mobilization of my people. Though I certainly realized the necessity for that, I sorely missed him. I dreamt about him every night and thought about him just about every moment while I was awake. I made frequent trips to my duchy – more than were necessary, actually – but I was the Duchess of Erat, after all. Wasn’t it my duty to keep an eye on things?
The armies of Wacune and Erat were not really separate, since the two duchies were so closely linked. Baron Lathan commanded Andrion’s forces, and Ontrose commanded mine, but all our major strategic decisions grew out of extended conferences in either Andrion’s palace or my manor house on Lake Erat. We were all very close anyway, so we moved as a unit.
By the summer of 2942, everything was in place. Our combined armies significantly outnumbered anything Garteon III could muster, and if he so much as stepped across either of our borders, we could easily crush him like an irritating bug.
‘All is now in readiness,’ Ontrose reported to Andrion and me when he made one of his all too infrequent journeys to Vo Wacune in the late summer of that year. The army of Erat doth stand poised on the north bank of the River Camaar within striking distance of Vo Astur itself. Should Garteon move his forces across the Wacite border, I will surely smash his capital. Barring the unforeseen, events have reached a stalemate. Methinks we and the Asturians will glare at each other across the various borders for some several seasons, and then we may confidently expect peace overtures from Vo Astur. The Oriman family is not wellliked by the other noble houses of Asturia, and I should not be at all surprised should Garteon III e’en as his grandfather, find his way to some high window in his palace and take flight from that vantage-point to the courtyard beneath.’
‘Nicely put, my Lord Ontrose,’ Andrion complimented him.
‘I am a poet after all, your Grace,’ Ontrose replied modestly. ‘Facility with language hath ever been a part of my nature.’
Following our conference with Andrion, my champion and I returned to my town house. At supper we discussed some rather obscure and difficult points of philosophy, and I was once again struck by the depth of this remarkable man’s understanding. I’d have very much liked to have introduced him to uncle Beldin and then sat back to watch the sparks fly. I knew that if my plans worked out, that day would eventually come, and the prospect of introducing this paragon to my family was pleasing. My father and my uncles all lack a certain polish, and Ontrose, poet, philosopher, courtly gentleman, and the mightiest knight alive, was so polished that he almost glowed in the dark. Of all our Master’s original disciples, only Belmakor could have matched his urbane civility – or so my father tells me.
After supper, we adjourned to my rose-garden as twilight descended over the glowing city of Vo Wacune. Ontrose played his lute and sang to me, and the cares of the day seemed to slip away. It was one of those perfect evenings that come all too infrequently. We talked of roses and only intermittently of the mobilization as the gentle evening slowly grew darker and the stars came out.
Then, when it was time for bed, my champion tenderly kissed me and bade me good night.
I didn’t sleep very much that night, but I did dream.
The following morning, my Ontrose left Vo Wacune to return to the north.
Autumn that year had a dusty, almost regretful quality about it that seemed to suit my mood perfectly. I’d devoted over six centuries to beating the Arends over the head with peace, hoping to so completely ingrain it in their nature that thoughts of war would never occur to them again. That dream, however, was beginning to crumble.
Winter came early that year, announced by endless fog, the curse that bedevils northern Arendia in the off season. Fog’s one of the more depressing weather conditions. It obliterates the sun and sky and lays a misty blanket of gloom over everything. We endured a kind of damp twilight for weeks on end, listening to the mournful dripping of water from the limbs of every tree while the stone faces of the buildings of Vo Wacune seemed to weep long strings of tears.
The spring that followed wasn’t really much better than the winter had been. One expects a certain amount of rain in the spring, but there are also supposed to be sunny days now and then. This spring seemed to have forgotten about sunshine, however. Dirty clouds hung over us for weeks on end, and somber gloom stalked the streets.
Baron Lathan had been away for several months, and Andrion and I hadn’t really paid all that much attention to his absence. Lathan, as commander of the Wacite army, was obliged to frequently visit military outposts, so his absence hadn’t really been that unusual. When the miserable weather broke, however, he returned to Vo Wacune with some alarming news. Duke Andrion immediately summoned me to the palace to hear his friend’s report. Lathan was still wearing his mud-spattered traveling clothes, and he looked positively exhausted. There were dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes, and he’d quite clearly gone without sleep for several days.
‘You need hot food and rest, Lathan,’ I delivered my professional opinion.
“There hath been scant time for that of late, your Grace,’ he replied in an oddly dead tone of voice. Then he sighed deeply, a strangely melancholy sigh. ‘I have but recently returned from Vo Astur –’
‘You what?’ I exclaimed.
“The reports of our agents in Asturia were conflicting, your Grace,’ he explained. ‘It seeméd to me essential that I see for myself what doth transpire in that hostile duchy. I have some facility with the uncouth speech of Asturia, and I thus experience no difficulty in passing myself off as a native. I shall not burden thee with tiresome details of my various subterfuges there. Suffice it to say that I was present when diverse members of the Asturian government and military did concoct a scheme which must needs concern thee greatly. In short, the intent of Duke Garteon is to attack thine own duchy, your Grace. Full well doth he realize that Wacune and Erat do stand poised on his eastern and northern frontiers, and at his first hostile gesture shall we move in concert to crush him.’
‘Like a rotten egg,’ Andrion added grimly.
Lathan smiled briefly. ‘Truly,’ he agreed. ‘Garteon doth realize that an assault upon the borders of Wacune would be disastrous for him, and thus hath he resolved to assault not Wacune, but Erat.’
‘Let him come,’ I said. ‘I’m as ready for him as Andrion is.
‘That doth lie at the core of his plan, your Grace,’ Lathan explained in a dead-sounding voice. ‘Garteon doth not propose a crossing of the River Camaar. Rather hath he assembled a fleet of diverse vessels at Vo Astur. I myself did personally witness the embarkation of his army aboard those ships, and I did also obtain by various means the ultimate destination of that fleet. In fine, your Grace, Garteon doth intend to sail down the Astur River and, well out of sight of land, doth he plan to sail northward, rounding the promontory which doth protrude from the northwestern coast of thy realm and to ultimately make landfall at the mouth of the Seline River. His initial goal, I do fear me, is the poorly-defended city of Seline, and with that base firmly in hand, doth he intend to ravage all of northern Erat and from thence to strike deep into the heart of thy duchy. The alliance of Wacune and Erat hath ever blocked his evil design, and he clearly doth intend to destroy Erat first and then to move ‘gainst Wacune.’
‘Have they sailed yet?’ I asked crisply.
‘Yea, your Grace. Ga
rteon’s fleet did depart from Vo Astur some three days ago.’
‘I need a map,’ I told Andrion.
Wordlessly, he reached inside his doublet and produced a folded sheet of parchment.
I opened the map and began measuring off distances. ‘A fleet can only move as fast as its slowest ship,’ I mused. ‘If you’re planning an invasion, you want all your troops in the same place at the same time. It’s about two hundred and seventy leagues from Vo Astur to the mouth of the Seline River. Let’s say that the best time that fleet can make will be about twenty-five leagues a day. That means eleven days – eight days from now.’ Then I measured off some more distances and did some more quick arithmetic. ‘We can make it!’ I said with some relief.
‘I do not follow thy meaning, Polgara,’ Andrion confessed.
‘My army’s poised on the north bank of the River Camaar – right at the juncture of the north and south forks. It’s seventy leagues from there to Seline. At a forced march, my army should reach Seline in seven days. It’ll take the Asturians a day or so to march to Seline from the coast and my army will be in place before they get there.’
‘Thou art remarkably well versed in military strategy, Polgara,’ Andrion noted.
‘For a woman, you mean? I’ve been in Arendia for six hundred years, Andrion, so I’ve had lots of experience with military matters.’
‘I will send mine own army to thine assistance,’ he said.
‘You’ve got your own borders to defend, Andrion.’
‘ ‘Gainst whom, dear lady?’ he said with a smile. ‘Garteon hath committed his entire army to the assault upon the northern reaches of thy realm. He hath no force to hurl at me.’ Then he gave me a boyish kind of grin. ‘Besides,’ he said in plain speech, ‘why should you have all the fun?’
‘Oh, dear,’ I sighed.
‘I do perceive some flaw in these computations of thine, my Lady Polgara,’ Lathan objected. ‘Thine army is encamped two day’s hard ride from here, and Ontrose himself is at thy manor house on the shore of Lake Erat. There will, methinks, be some delay ere thy force can begin the march to Seline.’
‘I have certain advantages, Lathan,’ I reminded him. ‘General Halbren’s my champion’s second in command, and he’s a solid, practical man who can surely march troops a scant seventy leagues. I’ll be talking with him before the day’s out, and with Ontrose not too much later.’ I squinted at the map again. ‘Halbren can handle the march,’ I decided. ‘I think I’ll have Ontrose go straight on to Seline to start reinforcing the city walls. Your army will arrive three days after mine, and I want to be sure that we’re still holding the city when you get there.’
‘And then will I fall upon Garteon’s unprotected rear and grind him into dog-meat ‘gainst the unyielding walls of thy city,’ Lathan promised in a bleak voice.
‘I’m sure the dogs will appreciate that,’ I said lightly. ‘You, however, are going directly from here to bed. His Grace here can order your army to start the march. You can catch up with them in a day or so.’
‘I command the army, your Grace,’ he objected. ‘It is my duty to lead them.’
‘They know which way north is, Baron. They don’t need you out in front to point the way. Get some sleep. You’re right on the verge of falling apart.’
‘But–’
‘No buts, Lathan! Go to your room! Now!’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he surrendered.
I had a strange, nagging feeling that something was seriously wrong with Baron Lathan. I knew that he was exhausted, but his behavior seemed somehow to be more dead than just tired. I didn’t have time to investigate that, however. I went out onto the balcony of the room where we’d just held our meeting and changed my form to that of the now-familiar falcon.
General Halbren was a blocky man who’d come up through the ranks rather than having had his rank bestowed upon him as an addendum to a noble title. He was a thorough-going professional, and I had a great deal of respect for him. He carefully considered the information Baron Lathan had dredged out of Asturia and politely suggested some slight modifications to my planned response to the impending invasion of the Asturians. ‘There’s always the possibility that Duke Garteon may send an advance force to take Seline before the bulk of his army arrives, your Grace,’ he pointed out. ‘Ten leagues a day is probably the most we can expect from our foot-soldiers, but our cavalry units can cover more ground. If it’s all right with you, I’ll detach the cavalry and send them on ahead – just to be on the safe side.’ He smiled briefly. ‘Count Ontrose is very good, but defending Seline all by himself might stretch him just a bit.’
‘We wouldn’t want that, would we, Halbren?’ I agreed. ‘I’ll be going on to my house now, and I’ll tell him to expect reinforcements in –’ I hesitated. ‘How many days?’
‘Four, your Grace. Five at the most. It’ll be a little hard on the horses, but they won’t be involved in the defense of Seline, so they’ll be able to rest after they get there.’
‘As it seemeth best to thee, esteemed General,’ I said with an extravagant curtsey.
‘Must you, my Lady?’ he sighed.
I laughed and then went a ways outside the orderly encampment and put my feathers back on.
All in all, I was somewhat pleased at the way this was turning out. Baron Lathan’s courage and enterprise had given us just enough warning of Garteon’s planned invasion that we’d be ready for him when he arrived. I had enough time to evacuate all the civilians in the area, so my casualties would be minimal, and once Duke Garteon’s army had been decimated, he’d have no choice but to capitulate. The Battle of Seline would most probably insure another generation of peace in Arendia.
It was evening when I settled in the garden of my manor house at Lake Erat. Then I resumed my own form and went looking for Ontrose. I found him in my library studying a map. It was childish, I know, but I hadn’t seen him for several weeks, so I slipped silently up behind him, reached around, and put my hands over his eyes. ‘Guess who,’ I murmured softly in his ear.
‘Lady Polgara?’ he replied, sounding startled.
‘You peeked,’ I accused. ‘That’s not fair.’ Then I kissed him – several times, actually.
And then he kissed me. It was only one kiss, but it lasted for quite some time. My senses were reeling and I was breathing hard at its conclusion. I began to have some improper thoughts about then, but I decided that it might be a good idea to advise him of the current situation – little things such as marching armies across the land, defending cities, and wiping out the Asturians – before we got down to the more serious matters.
My champion was startled by the news. ‘Art thou certain of this, Polgara?’ he asked. This was the first time he’d ever addressed me by my name, and that fitted in rather neatly with the plans I had for later in the evening.
“The information comes from Baron Lathan, dear heart,’ I assured him. ‘He slipped away and went to Asturia without telling Duke Andrion and me what he was up to. He personally heard Garteon and his underlings discussing their scheme, and he watched the embarkation of the Asturian army with his own eyes.’
‘I would trust Lathan with my life, Polgara,’ he said, ‘and his word is not open to question. I must to horse.’
‘Whatever for?’
‘I must ride to the south to rouse our forces to rush to the defense of Seline.’
‘Put your saddle away, dear,’ I told him. ‘I stopped by our army encampment on my way north. General Halbren will begin the march to Seline at dawn. He suggests that you go straight from here to Seline to prepare the city walls for the Asturian assault. He’s sending the cavalry units on ahead to give you enough manpower to resist any advance attacks by crack units of Garteon’s army.’
‘Halbren is most practical,’ Ontrose agreed. ‘We are most fortunate to have him.’
‘There’s a bit more, Ontrose,’ I told him. ‘Baron Lathan’s going to march the Wacite army north. He should arrive at Seline a day or so after
the initial Asturian assault.’
‘Dear, dear Lathan!’ Ontrose almost chortled.’ Tween us both, we shall surely obliterate Garteon’s army, and gentle peace shall re-emerge in poor Arendia.’
I loved Ontrose almost to the point of distraction, but the conjunction of ‘obliteration’ and ‘gentle peace’ seemed to clash just a bit. Ontrose was a poet, so he should have been a bit more careful with language than that.
‘Hast thou perchance assigned numbers to those sundry events, Pol?’ he asked.
‘Numbers of what?’
‘Of days, your Grace. When did Garteon’s fleet sail?’
‘Oh, now I understand. Garteon’s force left Vo Astur three days ago. My computations suggest that his fleet will be at sea for eleven days – that’s eight days from now. Halbren should arrive at Seline in seven days. Assuming that it’ll take a day for the Asturians to march to Seline, we’ll see him outside the city walls on the twelfth day. Lathan should arrive on the thirteenth day.’
‘And by the fifteenth day, Garteon’s army shall be no more,’ my champion added grimly. ‘Thy strategy is masterly, beloved.’
‘Better even than that, it appears,’ I said with a warm glow surging through my veins.
‘I do fear me that I do not take thy meaning, Pol,’ he confessed.
‘I’m not talking about this incidental war, my dear,’ I said rather smugly. ‘That “beloved” that just escaped you had some strong overtones of surrender to it. Why don’t we adjourn to some more suitable place and discuss that at greater length?’
You can’t get much more obvious than that, I suppose.
Belgarath the Sorcerer and Polgara the Sorceress Page 125
