by RW Krpoun
Not that there was all that much left to the Bohca: the surviving Goblins had broken faith with the Hand and left with their slaves and loot-wains; there had been some skirmishing between the wolf-riders and Hand infantry over some of the transport. About half the surviving Direbreed had deserted as well, demoralized over the thousands of Breedstones left on the battlefield. Enough remained to fill twenty-five Darkhosts but it would be a day or more before the units would be fully reorganized into functioning units.
The Orcs had remained loyal, but two entire Horcs had been wiped out, and the remaining eight had less than seven thousand able-bodied warriors between them; likewise, the Eyade stayed true to their oaths but none of the Kets mustered even half their normal strength.
The Sacred Bands still remained, each around half strength, while the ten remaining Holdings (the First had been wiped out and the survivors of the Sixteenth had been distributed amongst the remaining Holdings) mustered just over eleven thousand able-bodied troops. None of the Minions or their retinues survived the battle and of the winged beasts only three harpies remained. Three quarters of the artillery and a fifth of the Bohca’s transport had been left upon the field, either destroyed or captured.
His force was not over-burdened with wounded as most of the seriously wounded had been left upon the field to be captured by the enemy, and undoubtedly had since been executed. That alone meant that Bohca Tatbik would not recover very quickly as there was always three or four wounded for every warrior slain, and after any fight a unit recovered some of its strength in the form of wounded being Healed or naturally healing and returning to the ranks.
He had worded his reports to the Council in as positive a light as he was able but the fact remained that both involved Bohcas had been gutted, the Heartland Army still existed and held Dorog, and the Hand would be required to commit vast amounts of replacements to both Bohcas to continue the prosecution of the war. He had pointed out that the Army of the Heartland had taken an equal or even greater beating in the fight, and would require considerable reinforcement before it could take the field; they had lost a battle, but not the war.
All that could be said, had been; all that remained was to restore organization and direction to his force and wait for the Council’s decision as to the direction the campaign would take.
The sudden approach of a group of men jerked him back to the present and caused his bodyguards to tighten their ranks; Descente pulled a tent flap aside to allow a triangle of smoky yellow light to spill out in front of the tent to illuminate the newcomers.
He was shocked to see Markan-Hern Silot Gichin step into the narrow band of light, accompanied by a section of Night Guard bodyguards. “Gichin? What are you doing here?”
The priest handed Descente a sealed letter. “I’m not the bearer of glad tidings, I’m afraid; I just arrived by Gate.”
He gestured, and his guards moved out of earshot; seeing the Council’s seal upon the letter, Descente motioned his guards away as well. The document inside the linen case was short and to the point; Descente read it through twice before lifting his gaze.
To his credit Gichin looked unhappy. “I’m sorry, Hebreth; it certainly wasn’t my idea.”
“So, I’m to hand over the command of all three Bohcas to you and return to the homelands. Relieved without prejudice and sent home. What awaits me?”
“Retirement, I’m told,” the new Grand Commander shrugged. “They know you did your best.”
“Which apparently wasn’t good enough,” Descente observed bitterly. “And you, what...how will you conduct the war, given the shambles I’ve made of it?”
“We both know you aren’t to blame for the course of the war,” Gichin waved a hand dismissively. “As for the future, my orders are very clear: Bohcas Tatbik and Ileri will withdraw via Gate; I will give Commander Kansa orders to withdraw Bohca Ortak by land back across the Wall and out to the staging bases, picking up the road security forces as he retreats, ultimately to be redeployed by Gate back to the homelands. Bohca Neft will likewise withdraw, going at a slower pace to cover Bohca Ortak’s north flank.”
“So it’s over, we’ve lost.” Descente couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his tone.
“The Council has decided that it was time to cut our losses and withdraw. We’ve wreaked havoc the width and breadth of the Realms and cost both the Empire and Arturia serious losses, so our involvement here cannot be considered an outright failure. Remember that in the Ostwind War we lost nine out of ten soldiers sent into the Realms; it took a generation for our military to recover, and several more before we had the Plains dwellers back under our thumb. The Council feels that we must not repeat the mistakes that led to the disaster that was the Ostwind.”
“But if we withdraw we will have lost.”
“Yes, we have lost this war, this invasion of the Border Realms,” Gichin kept his voice low. “But next time we won’t.”
Grand Marshal Laffery sat on a folding stool on the tower overlooking Dorog and watched the sun rise. Below the first work details were forming up to resume the task of burying or burning the dead, an undertaking that would require several more days to complete.
The carnage within his army’s ranks had been awful: few units were fit for duty, and several were nearly annihilated. Things would improve as more wounded returned to active service but the fact remained that in the course of a single battle he had lost four out of every ten warriors killed, maimed, or missing. Very few of the troops who stood at Mancin or completed the long march west still lived. That was the point that galled Laffery the worst: that the men who had borne the most in this war had the least chance of surviving the conflict. For an instant he saw Duke Radet lying half-propped against the saddle of his dead mount, his breastplate coated in congealing blood from the throat-wound which had taken his life after his horse was cut out from under him, but he drove the memory away. It did no good to brood upon the terrible waste of war, or the valiant men lost.
Footsteps ascending the stairs dragged him from his dark thoughts; his guards had orders to keep everyone away, so whomever was coming up had to be of extremely high rank or bearing vital information. It was the former, he noted dully to himself as Marshal von der Strieb stepped onto the platform, the weary Imperial commander showing the effects of a night spent, like Laffery, working to restore his units.
“Good morning, Marshal.”
“And a good morning it is in fact, sir,” von der Strieb grinned. “And better still is the news I bear. One of my officers had the duty in the communications center, and when your guards turned him away he brought the news to me.”
“What news is that?”
“Various reports, but the essence is that for the last two hours the units of Bohca Tatbik have been withdrawing through their Gates, not cadre but whole units, or what remains of them; the Lanthrell scouts report that all three Sacred Bands and the remains of four Horcs have withdrawn so far, and the enemy quartermasters are preparing their supplies and wains for destruction. Moreover, Bohca Ileri is breaking camp, and has begun setting fire to the siege gear it was guarding; from the indications, it would appear that it will be withdrawing to Bohca Tatbik’s position, presumably to leave via Gate as well. Bohca Ortak remains in place, but it is too disrupted to do much for another couple days. I presume that if this is indeed a full withdrawal, then Ortak will withdraw by land.”
“If you’re right, then it is over.” Laffery pondered for a moment. “Could they simply be withdrawing to Apartia to consolidate?”
“They might,” von der Strieb conceded. “But I would doubt it: the two siege trains at the Royal Bridge represent nearly all of the gear left in the Reams; Bohca Ortak burned a light train last fall, and Bohca Neft has a medium train up north, but with the loss of the heavy gear further campaigning in the Realms is pointless.”
“And siege engines are too large to be shipped by Gate,” the Grand Marshal nodded tiredly. “Any word from the Army of the South?”
&n
bsp; “They’re preparing to advance upon the Royal Bridge to confirm or deny the reports of the destruction of the siege trains; they also plan to harry Bohca Ileri as it retreats, perhaps bring it to battle if possible. Their commander wants to know what we shall do.”
Laffery gave that some thought. “Nothing; that is, nothing new: we’ll continue to rebuild our forces, restore the defenses here at Dorog, and bury the dead. We cannot rule out a clever ruse in these actions, and if the Hand wishes to withdraw from the Realms I wish them all speed. I won’t waste any further lives just to kill Hand troops.” He rubbed his cheek wearily. “Although the rescue of captives is a valid operation; once we are sure of the enemy’s intent we shall look into such undertakings.” He tried to visualize peace, and couldn’t; for the last year war had so dominated his thoughts that his fatigued mind could not make the transition. “We’re not done yet, Lord Marshal, although the end may very well be in sight.”
Commander Gichin was studying reports at a field desk set up under a tree when Markan Septak trotted up. “Ah, there you are. How goes the Eye Ripper’s withdrawal?”
“Um, their rear guard is just passing now, sir. Sir, it’s Commander, er, Markan-Hern Descente.”
“What of him? He ought have left by now.”
“He’s dead, sir. We found him in his tent, he killed himself with his sword, sir.”
“Ah,” he sighed. “Yes, I suppose...anyway.” He rubbed his forehead. “See to his burial, Septak, full honors, but an unmarked grave to spare him the enemy’s wrath; he might as well remain here in the Realms. What is the word from Bohca Ileri?’
“They have fired the siege trains and excess supplies and are force-marching here, having left the Dayar Holding in place at the Royal Bridge to delay the enemy, sir. They should be here in time to pull out with our rear guard.”
“Good.” Gichin dismissed the operations officer with a curt gesture and pretended to study the reports, but in reality his thoughts were on Descente. A good priest, a fine officer, and an unlucky man, never a friend but a fellow Bohca commander who had borne the same troubles as he himself had in this cursed land. Back in the homelands they would put the blame on Descente, claiming that he had been out-generaled, out-witted, a fool, but Gichin knew better; Descente had taken the Hand across the Wall and all the way to the shores of the Ascendi, had breached the walls of Sagenhoft and gotten troops inside the city, something no other Hand general had ever managed. This war had been a near-run thing, very close indeed; it could have easily gone in the Hand’s favor at any one of several critical junctures. Gichin had learned the hard way that these Realmsmen and their western allies were no soft cowards such as the priests charged with propaganda liked to claim, and the area was far less split by petty rivalries than they had expected.
Lord Marshal Fassburg found the Duchess sitting with her ladies in waiting in an unused artillery position on the North Ridge making bandages out of linen sheets; the girl was wearing a riding dress, he noted, still in mourning black, and had put aside her sword. “You sent for me, your Grace?”
“Yes, Lord Marshal, I have. I have arranged for you and a staff of no more than twenty to be Gated to the Army of the South; there you will take command of the Sagenhoftian troops with that formation. Once the Royal Bridge has been secured, you will take personal command of our forts on the west bank and see to their restoration; I understand that they have been largely destroyed in the repeated sieges there.”
He stared at the girl. “Your Grace, I am the commander of the Duchy’s entire army; it is not proper that I be sent to command a detachment in the field.”
“Correct me if I am mistaken, Lord Marshal, but at this moment are you not in command of a detachment which is currently in the field?” At the flushed officer’s wooden nod, she continued. “Very well, one detachment is as good as another. Turn over the command of the forces here with the Army of the Heartland to your deputy commander, and appoint someone to replace the Lord Chancellor in his command as well; my husband and I are returning to Sagenhoft this day.”
She acknowledged his fury-laden salute with a short nod and watched him stomp off, careful to keep her face neutral. This had been Colgan’s idea, and a very good one: they could leave Fassburg out at the Royal Bridge for several weeks while they consolidated their power back at home.
A thought struck her, and she beckoned a secretary to attend her. “Take a letter, addressed to Nicholas I, usual greetings and all that, find you in good health and so on, usual best wishes, valuable ally, prayers for health of queen and future heir. Sir, should the Hand be in fact withdrawing from your lands as might seem to be the case, I should like to offer you the services of three cohorts of Sagenhoftian troops to assist you in re-establishing order within your realm. These troops are well-drilled and have been under arms for the better part of a year so I believe that they would be quite effective against bandits and brigands such as we can expect to abound within the central Realms. If you accept their services, I shall appoint the Duchy’s own Lord Marshal to command them so they shall have the best military leadership our small nation can offer. Should this force take the field I would consider it a personal favor if you would release the services of the mercenary company known as the Phantom Badgers back to my realm. Usual closure, warmest feelings, Duchess of Sagenhoft, full titles, seal, and so on. Get to it at once.”
As the sun rose on the tenth it found Durek sat with his back to the stone wall that connected the various buildings of the Badger’s base camp, ignoring the noise of the crews shifting the last of the loot. By most standards yesterday’s raid had been an overwhelming success: they had extracted a vast quantity of loot, including weapons, armor, silver bullion, carpets, art work, leather goods, and other useful or saleable items. Additionally, they had rescued thirty-one slaves, or rather, thirty-six slaves but five had had marks and tattoos of Void-worship and were summarily executed. They had extracted the egran as planned, using the Gate-Orbs as they had intended, and had even brought out thirty-seven Breedstones, which would be destroyed when they reached a temple dedicated to one of the Eight.
The price would not seem too high to a commander in the regular military: seven irregulars and two Badgers killed, one Badger too badly wounded to serve again, and two Badgers missing, but for Durek the losses wiped away any pleasure in the raid. He hadn’t known the Badger from Gold Platoon very well, the man had only been with the Company for a few months, and the Dwarf was warrior enough to let such deaths pass him by, but Dayyan had been with the Company for three years and standard-bearer for almost two, a solid, dependable Badger who Durek had seen and spoken to on a daily basis. To the long-lived Dwarf the Badgers, especially the Inner Circle, were his family and his children and the loss of any cut him deeply.
Worse, however, were Duna and Jothan. He had had Badgers slain before, and while it never was easy he had learned to deal with deaths; losing two as missing, however, was a new matter. Duna had been a child when they rescued her six years ago and Durek had watched her grow up, something he had never experienced before. Seeing Badgers die was hard enough, but not knowing their fate was far worse.
He was toying with the dart-throwing hammer as he dealt with the losses from the raid, having taken the crank and reserve darts off the dead Arm-Lord, as well as the beast’s Breedstone. The latter lay beside him, a piece of milky-gray crystal the length and general dimensions of a short-sword blade spotted here and there with flaking residues of various body fluids. To have gotten to such a size from the arrow-head created by Harvesting the Arm-Lord must have been very old, perhaps four or five decades.
Durek picked the Breedstone up and studied it with weary eyes; it contained all the memories, experiences, and skills the Arm-Lord possessed; if re-Seeded, the Direbreed thus created would not look like the Arm-Lord he had killed, but it would be the creature, and it would remember killing Dayyan. Durek jammed one end of the ‘Stone into the dirt beside him and wiped his hand on his trousers., scowling. He wo
uld feed this ‘Stone into the Flames of Purity himself, killing the creature one last time.
He sighed and shook his head; there were so many things to do for the Company to recover from the raid and prepare for the operations to come. Many had already been performed or were being performed by his subordinates, such as the evaluation and storage of the loot, treatment of the wounded, and the replacement of expended or damaged weapons, armor, and equipment, but there were always plenty of jobs for the Captain to do. He would promote Veda Sligh to standard bearer, she being the best-suited of the possible candidates now that the job included management of the Company’s mounts and fodder, and he would have to find another cook to replace Jothan.
He ought to get on his feet and go inform Veda of her promotion, but he chose to stay seated, fingering the odd hammer, alone with his thoughts. Deaths always changed the Company, as new faces came in to close the gaps in the ranks and others were promoted to fill the jobs vacated by death. When he appointed Veda as standard bearer Dayyan would truly be gone, and that was something he did not want to hurry along.
He leaned his head back and watched the sun rise out of the east; that was were the Hand came from, and where two of his Badgers were. The Dark Tide had cost his company dearly, sixteen dead, two missing, and several forced out of field service by crippling wounds. A fifth of his Company had never laid eyes upon Oramere, and too many good Badgers had fallen. They had not died in vain, he knew: the Badgers had left a trail of dead Void-followers in their wake, the thirty slaves they had rescued were just part of the lives they had saved, and who was to say how many lives they had preserved with their operations against the Hand intelligence apparatus in Sagenhoft, or their part in the First Battle at Dorog? A Badger had saved the future Duchess at the Amphitheater, and the Company had had solid roles in the sortie out of Sagenhoft and in the raid into Apartia. They had taken losses, but they had given far better than they had received, far more; why, in Green Reach alone they had rescued more innocents then they had lost Badgers since the war’s start, and slain several times that number of Direbreed. Wasn’t that something?
