Arcanist

by Terry Mancour

  Sandoval looked at Terleman carefully, as if he was debating whether or not to react with disgust or regret. “Fine. I might be able to scrape up a few more militia companies, too. Especially if you are planning on deploying the Tower reserves.”

  “Every additional troop adds to our chances of success,” Terleman promised. “Shakathet came prepared for siege. Let us get him into the field and see how well he adapts.” He tried to sound confident and defiant. Sandoval wasn’t convinced.

  “And we’ll just march our troops footsore and wave their bums in the air to make it that much more compelling!” he snorted.

  “It could work,” Bendonal ventured. “If we have adequate intelligence on where the enemy is. Relieving the pressure on Megelin would be welcome.”

  “Adequate intelligence is always good. Superior intelligence is better,” I suggested. “Where is Mavone? He’s the master of battlefield intelligence – I haven’t seen him in days!”

  “Ask him yourself,” shrugged Terleman. “He’s making reports and gathering dispatches and conducting important operations in the field. But if you want a report . . .”

  “I would,” I agreed. “Bide, and I will summon him.”

  As it turned out, when I reached out, mind-to-mind, that Mavone was just returning from one of those important operations in the field. He agreed to make a personal report to the war council, and we welcomed him through the Ways. Grinning.

  “The loss of two castles amuses you, somehow?” Sandoval asked, when the usually laconic Gilmoran wouldn’t stop smiling. “Iron Hill just fell. Minalan couldn’t stop it. So why are you so giddy?” he accused.

  “Because we just completed a mission that is certain to take a piss in Shakathet’s porridge, come morning,” explained Mavone, as he sat and called for wine. “You know that big portable bridge that they were so proud of? The one they used to cross the Anfal River? We just stole it,” he announced, with a chuckle.

  “The northernmost of their two roving armies were using it to cross a tributary river to the Whitewater. That seemed an obvious invitation. I led two squadrons of Ravens into the field and had one of our fellows capture the hoxter anchor in the thing. Just whipped it away into our own pocket, so to speak. It was a hell of an inconvenience for the siege worm that was crossing, as he wasn’t included in the theft, but perhaps he can swim . . . after plunging down a hundred-foot chasm,” he reflected, with a smirk.

  “That is good news!” Sandoval agreed, reluctantly. “I was worried they were going to use that to outflank us, at some point. You just stole the whole thing? By hoxter anchor?”

  “It was brilliant,” Mavone assured. “It was protected from normal magical attack like a burgher’s daughter, but they didn’t secure the fundamental charm of the thing. One of our fellows is a thaumaturge who used to work in the Sevendor Bouleuterion making hoxter enchantments,” he explained. “He still had his own set of enchantment wands on him. He just redirected the anchor of the spell into a supply wand, and it was gone. And we can redeploy it any time!”

  “That changes things, a bit,” agreed Terleman, reluctantly, as he turned to stare at the diorama. “If they can’t cross the Wildwater wherever they choose, that pushes them to cross at the established fords and bridges,” he said, his eyes going hazy. “That limits the choice of battlefield.”

  “It also keeps them on this side, where they can continue to hammer our castles with gay abandon,” Sandoval observed.

  “For now,” agreed Terleman. “But I can use this. Mavone, do the two roaming armies seem to have any particular destination in mind?”

  “No, it’s as if they are roving reserves,” Mavone answered. “They’ll attack an estate or a village if they happen across it, but they are not moving quickly, nor are they moving decisively toward any of our fortifications. I was worried that they would head north, toward Spellgate, but they turned eastward, instead.”

  “Good, good,” Terleman murmured to himself as he stared at the map. “That limits the scope of the prospective battlefield, too. And now they lack their bridge. I wonder . . .” he trailed off as his mind began to work out the possibilities in his mind.

  “The thing that troubles me,” Mavone continued to the rest of us, “is that we have yet to see Shakathet present at any of these battles. Two months ago, Gaja Katar was announcing his presence everywhere he went. But Shakathet hasn’t so much as shown his undead face. That seems unusual for the Nemovorti. He’s not even running the siege against Megelin,” he added. “One of his Enshadowed lieutenants is doing that. How’s that going, by the way?” he asked Bendonal.

  “They’re still trying to overcome the wall on the outer bailey,” Bendonal answered. “Siege worms, trolls, gurvani sappers . . . but they’ve been restrained in their magical attacks. Probably because of the number of High Magi here ready to stuff them back down their throats.”

  “Let’s just hope they don’t have any more lakes to be drained,” I pointed out. “We had no defense against that spell. It would take Megelin apart just as easily as it did Iron Hill.”

  “So, what’s to stop him from doing that again?” Bendonal asked.

  “We remove the castles as targets,” Terleman answered, without looking away from the map. “Which is what I’m trying to do. That molopor trick would be pointless in a field battle.” He turned and looked at us, thoughtfully. “We didn’t try to face Shakathet directly because of his overwhelming numbers. Now that his forces are divided and scattered, if we can build a large enough force, quickly enough, we can take them one at a time. He thinks he has all of our forces tied down, when, in fact, it is his forces that are occupied.”

  “Except for the ten thousand wandering around destroying things,” Bendonal reminded.

  “I am taking them into account,” Terleman assured, stiffly. “And a good many other things, too.”

  We continued discussing the revised battle plan for an hour, each of us offering suggestions and criticism. It was a subdued discussion, owing to the doubt that each of us had in Terl’s assessment of the situation. I tried my best to keep quiet, only offering advice or asking questions when necessary while my staff argued over the diorama.

  I leafed through the pile of dispatches Bendonal was continuing to receive, and while the troop movements and casualty reports were certainly important – and germane to the conversation – I actually found the second stack of communiques more interesting. The one that my new thane had decided were of secondary importance to the re-ordering of the army.

  Reports from the hospital at Henga showed that the first serious casualties were arriving by means of the Ways, and that Lilastien and her staff were requesting more bandages, spirits, blankets and medicinal herbs from the county. A band of goblins had menaced the far-northern town of Loru, though it was unsure if they were part of Shakathet’s horde or mere opportunists. A Kasari patrol had taken charge of two tribes of Tal Alon who had heard about the settlement along the Dain River but were trapped on the wrong side of the Whitewater. Someone had stolen a large number of cattle in Cheerford, though it wasn’t certain if it was gurvani or human rustlers. The bouleuterion was complaining about the lack of decent weirwood, which was slowing production of combat constructs. Someone at the great quarry reported seeing a flock of huge birds in the sky, which might have been wyverns.

  It was, as I said, interesting, more interesting than reading about the latest platoon of militia who were force-marching down from Spellgate. And it was less painful than listening to my men bicker about where to send which troops, and why. I knew they would sort it out – they’re very good at what they do – but the process could be grueling, sometimes. And boring.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate Terleman’s command of the battle or Sandoval’s justifiable concerns about tiring his troops prematurely, but I knew that there were many surprises left in this war, surprises that no one could anticipate. And that was on top of the surprises I knew about and had anticipated.

  This
was a far more chaotic situation than the fight against Gaja Katar. It could move quickly in any direction, I knew in my bones. Shakathet’s relentless campaign to neutralize Megelin had yielded a wall breach in the first three days. Our pillaging of the orbs of the sorcerers and the theft of the Instant Bridge had rendered his original plans moot. We had discovered traitors in our midst, and witnessed Korbal’s hand in support of Shakathet’s advance. The stakes were high, now.

  Terleman wanted to bait the Nemovort into the field by displaying a smaller, but no less robust force, in the pursuit of some grander strategy. I had to trust him to do so, as concerned as I was about the outcome. I watched him deliberate over every order, every request for information as they hammered out a new strategy. He knew what he was doing. I’d seen him do this a score of times. Even with what we knew was possibly coming against us, I had to trust that Terl was, indeed, the most brilliant warmage of our age. That hope shielded me from the despair that beckoned.

  I just hoped that I wasn’t making a dramatic mistake.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Respite and Contemplation

  “The treasure of a life well-lived is dependent on Man’s awareness and the energy of his contemplation, not his mere survival.”

  Magelaw Folk Saying

  From the Collections of Jannik the Rysh

  I took a quick meal at Megelin before I departed, and I used the time to organize my plans for the day. The kitchen was doing brisk business, of course, the vast complex of firepits and cooking sheds being responsible for feeding more than five thousand people a day or more. There was a perpetually long line for victuals at all hours of the day, one that moved fairly quickly, for a military kitchen, but still took plenty of time. But rank bestowed me the privilege of grabbing a castellan and ordering food to be delivered to a small chamber I appropriated for a moment’s quiet. I needed to make some things happen, now that I knew what Terleman planned.

  My first priority was contacting Astyral, back at Iron Hill, and communicating my orders mind-to-mind.

  Ah, our illustrious count! he began, cheerfully. I do hope you’re faring well?

  A bowl of porridge and a hard-boiled egg with some weak ale, I reported. Siege rations. I’ve been speaking with Terleman and the others, and he’s directed us to send the civilians from Iron Hill to a place called Bramman Tor.

  I know of it, Astyral affirmed. The Iron Band used it as an outpost, sometimes. It’s miles away, though, he warned.

  It can’t be helped. Detail a hundred men to escort them, and then mobilize every other fighter for a march. Terleman is bringing up the reserves and deploying his additional forces to try to lure Shakathet into a field battle, I informed him. I explained to him the nature of the force and its components, and how Terleman proposed to deploy them. I was curious as to his response; Astyral had worked with Terleman for years, organizing the defense of the Wilderlands around Tudry. He knew the man well, and I trusted Astyral’s judgement.

  That’s an interesting plan, he said, thoughtfully. It might get us all killed, but it’s an interesting enough plan.

  But will it work? I asked. Sandy doesn’t think so, or at least he’s skeptical.

  Sandoval is always skeptical, Astyral pointed out. He’s a pessimist. It makes him a good leader in combat, and his attention to detail has proven to train a superior infantryman for the Magelaw, but I wouldn’t necessarily trust his judgement on our chances. Not over Terleman’s.

  An excellent point, I admitted. Thanks. How are things at Iron Hill?

  Wet and miserable. The spiteful stream stopped about an hour ago, but the damage is done. The gatehouse is gone, the keep is a shattered shell, and the towers are heaps of rubble in the courtyard. But we evacuated almost everyone before it became uninhabitable, he reported. The lower mineshafts are flooded, and the stream punched through in a few places, but we’re all safely on the southwestern side, in that delightfully large refuge cavern Iron Peg was so thoughtful to provision. We’ll loot that thoroughly on our way out, he added.

  That will help keep the civilians alive, I agreed. As for the troops, take every man you can put in the field and prepare them for march. I need to get a few hours rest and re-supply my arsenal, but I will rejoin you by this evening.

  Caswallon will be so terribly excited, Astyral chuckled. He’s been giddy from the sweet, sustaining nectar of victory and devoutly wishes to refill his cup, Astyral said, mimicking the man’s mannerisms adeptly.

  And what of Iron Peg and her kin? I asked, wanting to be certain that the traitor was dealt with appropriately.

  Oh, I had Buroso and Tamonial escort them through the Ways to Vanador. They’re headed for a cell in the Crevice, where they will await the Count’s justice. I never liked her, he confessed. She was always trying to play Tudry off against Megelin, during my tenure as governor. Stingy old hag, too.

  We discussed a few details about provisioning and evacuating the wounded before I closed and then called out to one of my other agents.

  Minalan! Planus greeted me. I was wondering when I’d hear from you again. It had been several days since I’d gotten an update from my erstwhile spy.

  You’re in Vorone, I take it? I asked.

  For two days now, he agreed. Lovely city, in the springtime – they just conducted the Opening of the Palace festivities, which were quite quaint in a woodsy sort of way. And the locals were quite happy to have an influx of seven thousand fresh purses, weary from the road and ready for some recreation. I don’t think the local whores have ever been so busy!

  Don’t count on it, I said, dryly. But the good count arrived with his party?

  Every one of them, Planus assured. We had a bit of trouble coming through Northern Gilmora, but once we got to Cleston everything was fine. I made a profit, too, once they arrived. Thanks to your apprentice and that sneaky young man, there was plenty of fodder, food and supplies to sell to their procurers, once they came to market.

  And they have no idea where it came from? I asked, curious. Or how it got there?

  None, Planus said, happily. They just see me as admirably well-connected. Particularly since the Steward of Vorone has restricted sale of certain items in the city’s market due to the war. But there is a sufficiency to see their entire army up the road to Tudry and beyond, from what they have said. At least, that is their plan, from what they freely tell me in the taverns.

  And what is that plan? I asked. This was the important part. And when will they be moving out?

  Count Anvaram prepares to depart Vorone within the next few days, thence to lay waste to the uncouth-sounding Magelaw. He is still quite adamant about his honor. I do hope you’ll be in a position to meet him properly on the field, he said, a note of uncertainty in his voice.

  I take it news has arrived in Vorone, I commented.

  It is said that one of the Iron Band castles was defeated, he said, as if the entire thing might be rumor.

  It has, I agreed, reluctantly. And the castle at Iron Hill was betrayed by its lady and has also fallen. Megelin is under heavy siege.

  You can’t wince, in mind-to-mind communication, but I had no difficulty imagining Planus doing just that. So, is the war lost, then? he asked, even more hesitantly.

  Far from it, I assured. There is still plenty of fighting ahead, and perhaps even a chance at decisive victory. But feel free to discuss how inept and careless I am to our Gilmoran friends. Play up the bad news. I’m sure they would love to hear that sort of thing.

  Understood, my friend, Planus agreed. That will be quite entertaining. I’d never thrive as a soldier, but I’m quite enjoying playing the role of a camp follower. I haven’t had this much fun since I helped Zagor out with that monk!

  That took me aback. You’re hanging around with Zagor? I asked, skeptically. You two are about as different as iron and salt!

  Yet he remains a charming fellow, once you get past the rustic Wilderlands accent, Planus countered. But let me go seed your disinformation among your foe
s. I do hope it bears fruit.

  Once our contact was broken, I took a few moments to finish up my meal before I contacted first Gareth and then Carmella, seeking to get news and deliver a few orders. Neither were happy with Terleman’s redeployment of the reserves; Gareth because most of them were merely militia from around Vanador, and Carmella because her troops were trained in siege warfare and defensive fighting, not marching bravely to their doom in open battle. Yet, despite their skepticism, they dutifully agreed that trusting Terleman’s judgement was likely the best course of action.

  I was long done with my meal before I finished with Carmella, and the hour was growing later. And I was exhausted. Without notifying anyone, I traveled through the Ways to the Waystone in Spellgarden Tower, where I immediately fell onto the cot I kept in my workshop in full armor and fell blissfully asleep for a few hours. It was late afternoon, nearly dusk, when I woke.

  I needed the rest, badly, I realized when I woke up. But considering how my back ached, it probably would have been wiser to remove my armor. Between the pace, the stress and the physical exhaustion implicit in warmagic, especially the lingering effects from using the Snowflake’s powerful energies, both my body and mind needed the respite desperately.

  I also needed to re-arm and prepare for the specifics of the coming battles. I spent a few minutes switching out warwands, grabbing some battlefield enchantments, replenishing my supplies and gathering a few experimental constructs I was playing around with. I had no idea what the future held, but I wanted to be prepared. I felt better going into the unknown with a few more nasty surprises hanging from my weapons harness.

  The quiet of the estate was a stark contrast to the din of siege warfare I’d endured for a few days, and I realized that I would much prefer to be in Spellgarden plotting out my tomato garden than fighting gurvani and Enshadowed in the wilderness. I glanced out a window, as I descended the stairs to the lower chamber, and I could see the many terraces and planters of the grounds bursting with luscious new growth. I had a sudden impulse to spend the rest of the evening pulling weeds, but I overcame it.