by Robert Adams
But as more and more tasks devolved upon his shoulders and the days lengthened into weeks, he admitted to himself the utter impossibility of essaying so many different tasks and doing them all as well as they must be done. Consequently, he one day sought out Vahrohnos Myros, finding the down-fallen nobleman earning his daily ration as did all the other citizens and refugees—laboring upon a new salient; one of a pair being constructed at a very weak point in the defenses of stones and bricks taken from demolished structures.
Drehkos himself found it hard to recognize in this gaunt, bearded, sun-darkened figure in dusty rags the effete, fashionably pale-faced, spike-bearded, masterful man who had plotted and led the rebellion in Morguhn, and he was shocked to see that the remembered raven's-wing curls of the former Lord of Deskahti were almost uniformly dirty white. Straining to propel a granite boulder with a thick crowbar clenched in work-roughened hands, he seemed unaware of Drehkos' presence until the vahrohneeskos spoke.
"Myros, if you please, I would have words with you."
Slowly the hunched noble straightened his body, allowing the boulder to ease back. Then his dull black eyes briefly met Drehkos' gaze before he dispiritedly mumbled, "I have known, my lord vahrohneeskos, that sooner or later you would come to gloat Were our positions reversed, I would have done so much sooner."
Drehkos shook his helmeted head. "Not so, Myros, not so. I am come to ask your help."
Myros' answer was a harsh cackle. "My help? You have stones to be moved at the Citadel? Or, perhaps, a privy to be cleaned?"
"You there, lordy boy!" came a hoarse shout from behind Drehkos, along with the snapping of a whip. "You ain't here to chat with passersby. Or mayhap you wants no rations this night."
Drehkos turned his head and the stocky overseer almost dropped his whip and crimsoned under his tan, stuttering. "Y—your p—pardon, my 1—lord. I—truly—I did not kn— know who 'twas."
Drehkos' warm smile came with his reassurance. "Never fear, good Klawdos, you were but doing your job, and I'd not fault you for such. But you'd best find another pair of hands for this task; this gentleman will be leaving with me."
In Drehkos' office-sitting room, Myros' cracked lips sipped delicately at his third brass cup of watered wine. "Let me see if I truly understand you, Drehkos. You want me, a man who foolishly did his damnedest to undermine your leadership, to help and advise in preparing this city to stand off what is coming? How could you trust me, eh? You know me well enough to be aware that my life has been but one betrayal after another."
Drehkos' powerful hands cracked a couple of nuts, a helmetful of which had been the shy gift of a recently returned scouting party. Separating the shells, he pushed half the meats over to his guest, chuckling ruefully, "If we are to bring up the bones of the past, Myros, my deeds, too, will exude the stench of offal. I can take damn-all pride in most of my accomplishments. But today is not yesterday, Vawn is not Morguhn, and I, for one, mean to die more honorably than I lived.
"What you said of me in those wretched mountains, Myros, much of it was true."
Myros colored and dropped his gaze, his hands clenching until the cracked broken nails dug into his newly callused palms. In a low voice, he husked, "I… I don't really know why, Drehkos. Don't know what came over me. But for some reason nothing was of more importance than discrediting you, supplanting you in those men's eyes. And, what's worse, I can't say that I'd not do it again, not knowing what prompted it."
"As I said, Myros, yesterday is not today." Drehkos cracked two more nuts. "And again I say, much of it was fact. Prior to that march, I was unskilled in aught save folly and debauchery. I am still painfully aware of my own shortcomings, especially as regards the arts of strategy, tactics and fortification."
"Whaaat!" Myros set down his cup with a thump. "Why, Name of God, man, you've wrought no less than miracles along those lines. True, my station has been rather lowly of past weeks: nonetheless, I have heard and seen what you are doing, for all the city is a-babble with your exploits."
He shook his shaggy head in wonder. "Just take that pair of salients, for example. A man with one eye and half a brain could have noted the inherent weakness of that stretch of wall, and it virtually infiladed by those two little knolls, but the quickest thought to most minds would have been to either raise the level of the wall, lower the heights of the knolls, or both together. Drehkos, I have school training and much experience at fortifications and siegecraft but I would never have conceived of so brilliant an answer to that problem.
"You are heightening the wall, yes, but you are also making two trusty little strongpoints of those knolls. Strongpoints, furthermore, which can be safely supplied and reinforced from within the city, via the tunnels you had those refugee miners sink. And when the strongpoints fall—as fall they must—you'll be able to get any survivors out, then, still from within the city, and fire those oil-soaked supporting timbers so that tunnels and strongpoints will come crashing down into a heap of rubble useless to the enemy for aught save engine missiles!
"It is a stroke of sheer genius, Drehkos. But more than that, it indicates the workings of a mind well versed in the intricacies of defensive warfare. I had thought that I knew all about you, but obviously I was wrong. Now, I know that you never served the Confederation, so where did you acquire such superb knowledge of siegecraft?"
Drehkos smiled slightly. "From King Buhk Headsplitter of Pitzburk and Kahleefah Ahnbahr NaTiseerah of Zahrtohgah."
Myros froze, sat stockstill, a glimmer of fear flitting in his eyes. Then he hastily signed himself, whispering, "Are… are you then one of them, an Undying? Such you must be if you are speaking truth, for King Buhk has been dead at least four hundred years, while the Nahseerah Dynasty was deposed more than two centuries ago!"
When Drehkos had brought out the books and Myros had examined them, he again shook his head. "These are real treasures, Drehkos. I'm familiar, of course, with Gabos' work, and the High Lady's book is a standard text for cavalrymen, Greemnos' is much rarer, however. I have never seen a copy outside the Confederation Library in Kehnooryos Atheenahs. As for the other two, I was unaware that King Buhk had ever made record of his views and experiences. Do you think it authentic?"
Drehkos shrugged. "Who can say, Myros? But that parchment is very ancient, and whoever wrote it certainly knew his business. So, too, did the author of this one." He tapped a nail on the worm-eaten binding of the last book.
Myros picked it up and, opening it, once more peered helplessly at the flowing, esoteric characters in which it was penned. "As to that, Drehkos, I'll have to take your word, since such barbaric hentracks are beyond me. Where did you learn to decipher such?"
Smiling sadly, Drehkos answered, "Along with his fortune, I inherited my father-in-law's library, which was large and varied since he and his kindred do business in many lands. My dear Rehbehkah taught me how to read this script, which is called Ahrahbik, as she had learned from her sire along with the writing, though that last I could never get the hang of."
"A most wise and erudite folk," commented Myros. "I once heard the Holy Skiros attest that our Faith was in very, very ancient days, an outgrowth of theirs. Did your wife ever discourse on such matters?"
Drehkos sighed. "Alas. no. I think me she thought not well of her father's religion, since she so soon cleaved to Sun and Wind—or perhaps she did such for love of me. Her love, unlike mine, flowered quickly, and that blossom flourished grandly all her life, Wind bear her gently. You know, cousin, often of late I—." He broke off with a "Harumpf," straightened in his chair and stared across at his seedy guest.
"Well, what say you? Will you help me—us? After all, the young thoheeks wants your head and balls every bit as badly as he wants mine."
"There's that, true enough," nodded Myros. "And God knows, I'd much prefer a soldier's existence to that which I've recently led. But with these wondrous books and the knowledge you've gained from them, what need have you of me? Compared to such as authored this librar
y, I am amateurish, indeed. Or is your overgenerous request but charity? Even humbled as I am now, I do not think what pride remains mine could bear to accept such a sop—not of you."
"Let's not fence," snapped Drehkos. 'Time is the one commodity we all lack. I have always detested you, Myros, and the decadent Ehleen perversions which you embody. But that is neither here nor there. I need your help; it is only incidental that, in order to make use of your help, I must help you to regain your previous station and grant you a degree of power. But be forewarned, Myros, none who were there— Vawnee or Morguhnee—have forgotten that night under the walls of Morguhn Hall or your craven conduct; with or without my order, you'll be closely watched and every word you utter will be borne back to me.
"I ask your help for but one reason. With your training, you stand to gain more, and more quickly, from these books than can I, and while you are supervising the fortification projects, I can better occupy myself with the multitude of other necessities now weighing upon me. I need an answer now, Myros. Will you say 'yea' or 'nay'?"
Chapter Ten
Midsummer was three weeks gone when the vanguard of the Confederation forces passed the cairns marking the Morguhn-Vawn border and trotted southwest along the ascending grade of the traderoad, the force strung out for miles behind them—heavily armed noble cavalry, kahtahfrahktoee, Freefighters, rank upon rank of the various types of infantry, sappers and engineers with their dismantled engines and wagonloads of other equipment, "flesh tailors" or medical personnel and their wagons, then the seemingly endless baggage and supply train, followed by a strong mounted rearguard and flanked by scattered lancers, Freefighters and the Sanderz clansmen. The great cats had all been left in Morguhn, since their value in static warfare was practically nil and their dietary requirements—fresh meat, many pounds per day per cat—would have placed an added burden on an already harried supply service, but Milo had promised them all that when the time for the intaking of Vawnpolis came they would be speedily fetched.
That night's camp was pitched among the hills of Vawn, centered about what had been the hall of Vahrohnos Hehrbuht Pehree, now looted and empty, but still habitable. In the high-ceilinged dining chamber were gathered the ahrkeethoheeks, the ten thoheeksee, Milo, Aldora and the siegemaster of the Confederation, just down from Kehnooryos Atheenahs.
On the high table about which they stood or sat reposed a huge box of sand containing a representation of Vawnpolis and its immediate environs—the countryside reproduced from army maps and the city layout from the original plans, brought from the capital.
The siegemaster, one Ehdt Gahthwahlt, a Yorkburker veteran of twenty years of campaigning across the length and breadth of the Middle Kingdoms, ere he sold his sword to the High Lord and settled in the Confederation to instruct officers in the arts of siegecraft, had personally constructed the mockup. Scratching at his grizzled, balding head, he said self-deprecatingly, "Of course, noble gentlemen and lady, we were wise to draft but the most superficial plans and stratagems at this time, for, though I followed faithfully the rendering"—he used his pointer to indicate the ceramic miniatures of walls, gates and towers, and the minuscule citadel, from whose highest point jutted a tiny pennon bearing the Ehleen Cross, emblem of the rebels—"the place was founded more than fifty years ago, and cities have a way of changing."
Thoheeks Skaht raised his winecup. "I'll drink to that, lord strahteegos. What you have before us could be my very own city of Skahtpolis—as it looks in the old plans and a few paintings. But the city I rule be vastly different."
"Yes," nodded Milo. "All the cities of border duchies were laid out from almost the same plan, the one originated by the famous Strahteegos Gabos and refined by others after his time. Even today, border cities are laid out in the same basic manner, allowing for differences in terrain and foemen."
"At any rate, noble gentlemen and lady," Gahthwahlt went on, "we may assume that some astute commander, at some time or other, has made compensation for the two most glaring weaknesses in the original defenses." Again he made use of the pointer. "These two hillocks, either of which would provide perfect mounts for engines to bombard the city or to give deadly effective support to troops storming this low section of wall, have most certainly been either leveled or fortified; and this total absence of advance defenses for the four main gates has without doubt been remedied. Upon their return, our scouts will be able to enlighten us as regards these or other refinements.
"I am reliably informed that, since deep wells were drilled some score of years agone, the stream, which formerly entered under this stretch of the north wall and exited near to the south gate, has been diverted to another bed bypassing the city, and the entry arches have been plugged. Nonetheless, lacking better alternatives, we might consider saps at either place or at both, since it has been my experience that subsurface wall additions or reinforcements be often of inferior materials."
Bill and most of the other nobles sat rapt. It was not often that a country thoheeks was the recipient of instruction in land warfare from one of the High Lord's picked professionals. But not Thoheeks Hwil of Blue Mountain. After a booming "Harumpf!" to gain attention, he said shortly, almost rudely, "Oh, aye, all this of saps and sieges and sorties is very well if we mean to be here come shearing time. But Sun and Wind, man, we've got some thirty thousand men behind our banners, and I doubt me there's ten thousand fighting men in all of Vawn, unless"—he chuckled at such absurdity— "they've managed to pact with the Taishuhns or Frainyuhns or suchlike mountain tribes. So why can we not just ride over the boy-loving bastards, throw enough rock and shafts to keep them pinned down and just go over those damned walls?"
Gahthwahlt listened, scratching his scalp, his head cocked to one side. At Bailee's final question, he nodded. "Ah, noble sir, but you forget the mathematics of the siege. One man behind fortifications, if decently armed and supplied, is the equal of three and one-half men on the attack. However, since Vawnpolis is not on a par with a true burk, its wall originally having been reared to counter nothing more dangerous than a few hundred or thousand barbarian irregulars, I did the calculations for a frontal assault early on.
"My figures were these: maximum defensive force, not over twelve thousand effectives; maximum attacking force, twenty thousand infantry, dismounted nobles and Freefighters, plus a mounted contingent of six thousand nobles and kahtahfrahktoee to enter the city as one or more gates be won; a bombardment of pitchballs and stone and fire-shafts on the night preceding the attack, with the heaviest concentration along the area of the diversionary assault; attacks scheduled for one hour after sunrise—which in my experience means that they should commence before noon, anyway—"
At this, Bili guffawed. His experience with planned assaults had been precisely the same.
"—with a great show of force and intent being massed within right of the diversionary area, while, at the same time, a token force makes a deliberately weak effort at the primary area to feel out the terrain and defenses, and convince the defenders that this weak attack be the diversion and that the main assault will assuredly be delivered where our forces are clearly massing.
"With the retreat of the token force, the diversionary attack will be launched, covered up to the walls by all the massed engines. When this assault be well underway, most of the engines will either be moved or, in the cases of the heavier ones, will redirect their fire to provide cover for the main assault, which will be delivered at a point lying at a right angle to that of the diversion.
"Barring blunders or calamities, the wall facing the main force should be carried within an hour or less of the initial engagements and the cavalry should be in the streets soon thereafter. There will naturally be some street fighting but the wall towers and the Citadel should be the only additional obstacles to the completion of the intaking. However—."
Broadly beaming, the Dailee slapped both big hands on the tabletop and arose. "Now that, Sir Ehdt, is the kind of plan you should have mentioned at the start! My l
ord Milo, my lady Aldora, gentlemen, such a venture has Dailee's endorsement. How say the rest of you?"
Bili shook his shaven poll. "With all due respect, Thoheeks Hwil, frontal assaults, even one so expertly planned as Sir Ehdt's, are usually quite costly. I think, ere we move to adopt it, we should hear the projected butchers' bill."
The siegemaster smiled his thanks to the youngest thoheeks, then continued soberly. "Thoheeks Bili be correct, lady and gentlemen. My calculations indicate that a minimum of ten thousand casualties will be sustained, should we be so rash as to mount the aforementioned attack. This figure includes both killed and wounded, and the largest percentage will be of course amongst the dismounted nobles who lead the two wall assaults—possibly as high a figure as five out of every six."
"And what duchy," put in Milo, "can afford to lose so large a proportion of its nobility?"
"Certainly not mine," nodded the Dailee grimly. "I withdraw my endorsement. And when next I open my impetuous mouth, I give all here leave to stuff a jackboot in it."
The ahrkeethoheeks laughed. "I doubt me there is enough jackboots in all the Confederation to stop that void, Hwilee! But let us hear Sir Ehdt's other schemes, eh?"
The siegemaster flexed his pointer, rocking back and forth on heels and toes. "The least expensive method, in all save time, is simply to invest the objective and starve out the enemy; but it might well be shearing time or later ere we could do such.
"Another method would depend principally on the rashness and gullibility of their leaders, as well as the acting abilities of our own troops. Under the proper circumstances, we could trick them into one or more sallies in force, thus wearing down their garrison. But I remember Major Vahrohnos Myros as a most cautious man, and I scarce think me he'd succumb to such a temptation."
Milo remarked, "Oh, I don't know, Ehdt—he showed some ruinous errors of judgment in the course of that abortive siege on Morguhn Hall. I said, in the beginning and all along, that I think the man is slowly losing his mind. Such is the principal weakness of geniuses—and I don't think anyone who knew him well, in his short prime, can deny that he was once a military genius."
