“Well done,” murmured Master Thinradel approvingly. “That was amazing – I’ve never been part of such a powerful working before,” he admitted. “It makes me wonder at the true power of the Magocracy and the Archmage. Imagine the power of a full Covenant of magi, all armed with irionite, all well-schooled at their craft.”
“Indeed,” murmured Cormaran, appreciably. “I had always taken the legendary feats of the Empire to be mere myth, where time embellishes the original act to a point which strains credulity. The Raising of Mount Seradalae, for instance, or the Great Draining of the Foawlan Marshes. But I’m starting to believe we have only a faint idea what our ancestors were capable of, in their prime.”
“I believe you mean my ancestors!” Pentandra said with an unladylike snort. “Your ancestors were busy raiding our frontiers for slaves and doing unspeakable things to sheep.”
Cormaran smiled. “I stand corrected, my lady.”
Terleman, surprisingly, joined in the discussion. “We’ve grown so jealous of our craft and our prerogatives, and so bound and afraid by the damned Censorate, that we limit ourselves. Like a great painter worried someone will steal his vision, and so blindfolds himself, peeking between the folds and painting badly as a result.”
“How eloquent,” grumbled Horka, derisively. “It was a powerful feeling . . . and a heady one . . . but forget about the philosophical bullshit for a moment and look to the result. How many goblins did we kill?”
Lanse of Bune approached, wiping his hands with a rag. An assistant slapped a mug of that foul green wine in his hands the moment they were free.
“As near as I can tell, there are at least two thousand dead or injured in the strike,” he said, after draining half of the suspicious looking drink. “More importantly, nearly two-thirds of their force is trapped up on the escarpment. If I had to bet, I’d say that their shamans will be trying to repair some sort of improvised causeway, but it will take them a few hours, minimum, unless the Dead God intervenes. They’ll get down eventually, but not in any great numbers. That leaves between forty and forty-five thousand below. The bad news is, they’re all the best troops.”
“No,” I sighed, “that’s actually the good news. The bad news is that the first part of the plan worked like we planned, which means we have to do the next parts, which are far more risky and far more likely to go wrong.”
“But they’re more fun,” Horka pointed out, as if this whole exercise had been boring to him thus far. “Slaughter, mayhem, blood, magic – who the hell cares if we live or die? That kind of sport is a gift from the gods!”
I grimaced. “I, for one, care whether we live or die – I’ve got a baby coming, remember? I’m glad you’re enthusiastic, because we’re going to need that, but if I catch you taking any risks with the battle plan—”
“You have my obedience and my loyalty, Marshal Minalan,” Horka said, in such exaggerated tones that you’d have to know him to know he actually meant it, and didn’t mean it as a challenge. “But when do we get to the bloody part?”
I glanced at the diorama, where pools of little black forms were gathered around the base of each collapsed causeway, barely connected by small pockets of gurvani warriors. Each pocket was out of bowshot, but it was disorganized after the surprise attack, and cut off from the main body. And each clump of our enemy was only ten or fifteen thousand strong – three little armies, unable to support each other. Vulnerable. And within striking distance.
“Armor up,” I said, a million new considerations coming into my mind as I began preparing for the next phase of the plan. “We’re at the bloody part.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight:
The First Moves Of The Game
Timberwatch, Equinox Day
Most of the battle-oriented warmagi were filing out of the barn, and the more support-oriented warmagi were preparing for their next role. I needed a cup of wine and a bite before I did anything else – I couldn’t remember when the last time I ate was. Or slept. While I hadn’t participated directly in the spell, the stress of meeting my old boss on the wrong side of the field of battle and the continuing sparring with the Duke and his court and the impending chaos the rest of my afternoon promised, I needed a snack. And after my uncomfortable episode at the Battle of Grimly Wood, I had resolved to pay attention to my body’s needs before they reached a critical level.
I was about to start for the buffet table, when Hamlan appeared instantly with a roll of sausage and cheese surrounded by a twist of camp-biscuit, and a mug of strong red wine.
“Thought you might need sustenance, Master,” he said, deferentially.
“I’d swear you read my mind,” I nodded, taking the food gratefully. “I know I shouldn’t eat before battle, but . . .”
“I think you will have time to digest long before you draw your sword, Master,” he assured me. “By my reckoning it takes near an hour to walk from here to the redoubts, and not much less to ride, to avoid the fortifications and ditchworks. Plenty of time to settle your luncheon before some goblin sticks a knife in your gut and condemns you to a last few pitiful hours dying of belly-rot.”
“You know, I was almost going to commend you as an excellent manservant,” I said, between bites, “but then you had to add that last part and make me reconsider. Any news from Mom?” I asked casually.
“She says that she did as you asked, that things are in motion, that Dad is doing what you requested, and that she’s kind of pissed at you for ordering her around like that.”
I shrugged. “I guess I’m just her impetuous son,” I agreed, taking a sip. “But she might be rid of me soon, if this doesn’t go well, and in that case she’ll be even more vexed with me when she realizes that I was right.” I was about to go chat with Pentandra, who looked over at me expectantly, like she needed a conference, when Hamlan continued.
“There is more, Master. Mother says that there are rats at the camp, and that you should be wary. At least one has a taste for your blood.”
That took me by surprise – I expected to face death within the next few hours, but I had thought it would come at the hand of the gurvani. Getting warned about an assassin when you’re about to go into battle produces a strange sort of ironic anxiety that made you want to chuckle in appreciation of the gods’ sense of humor.
But it was perfectly plausible. Certainly King Rat had plenty of willing minions who could hide within the army assembled. A whisper into the right ear and one of his agents could shove a rat tail between my ribs and likely get away with it in all the chaos. That was disturbing. Of course Mother had her own agents within the army, too.
“Thank you,” I nodded. “Anything else? Then after you leave here, dig up a couple of stepchildren and have them keep a casual eye on my campsite, along with a couple of Orphans as guards.”
“I have already attended to it, Master,” he assured me.
Of course he did. “Oh, and two high magi who are to be admitted freely have arrived, my two apprentices, Tyndal and Rondal. Should they desire entrance, they are permitted full access.”
“That one is Tyndal,” he said, nodding toward my apprentice, who was chatting up one of the peasant girls who was serving. “And which one is Rondal?”
“He’s up in the Timberwatch Tower right now, but he’s about a year older and twenty pounds scrawnier than Tyndal. He squints a lot.”
“And how will he be able to prove his identity, Master?” Ham asked. “There are plenty of fifteen-year-olds running around.” That was true enough – many of them carried swords and spears and bows.
“He’ll be the one with the witchstone, threatening to burn you to a crisp where you stand,” I suggested.
“I’ll keep that in mind, Master,” nodded Ham, his eyes wide.
He scurried away while I wandered over to Penny, who looked a little sheepish.
“Um, Min?” she began. “I didn’t want to interrupt and distract you before the spell, but . . . well, I forgot to give you something.”
“Well, you did just get here,” I pointed out. Having instant contact with someone blurred the distinction between just “where” someone was to you, relatively speaking, and I had to remind myself of that. “What did you forget, and is it going to mess with the battle plan?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” she said, guiltily. “This is more of a personal matter. Um, before we left your charming and quaint little home village, Alya asked me to, um, deliver a message to you.”
“Alya?” I asked, suddenly interested. “What is it?”
“I . . . I don’t know, exactly,” she confessed, as she took a letter out of the folds of her robe. “Like I said, it was . . . personal. She did ask for some help in writing it, but I wouldn’t read the whole thing because it was between the two of you and I didn’t want to get in the middle.”
I stared at her just a little too long and realized that she was out-right lying to me. She knew exactly what the letter said, and was trying to preserve my privacy by pretending otherwise. Sometimes I think I’ll never understand Penny, but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate her. She handed me a folded piece of parchment sealed with a simple wax blob.
“Thanks,” I said, absently, as I broke the seal, unfolded the brittle parchment, and read.
My dearest Minalan, it began.
All is well with me and the baby. The village midwife has checked and said that it was coming along perfectly and that it was a fine, healthy girl with a lusty disposition. Your mother agrees. I haven’t had much morning sickness and when I have been hungry it is wonderful that I wake up in a bakery every morning.
I can not thank you enough for the kindness you and your parents have shown to me in the last few weeks. They have done everything in their power to make me and Tyndal comfortable and feel at home here. I have heard every story of you growing up from your sisters and your parents. I feel like I know you better as a boy almost better than I do as a man. And I love both the man and the boy.
Yes, I love you and would be your wife, even if I have known you but a few months. The baby in my womb is a sign from Ishi that we are to be together as husband and wife. That is what sustains me when I lay awake at night with worry about you fighting the damned goblins.
But even if I did not love you I would be willing to be your wife. What you did for me and my people is a debt that can never be repaid. The Bovali would have been wiped out completely if you had not been so brave and willing to sacrifice for a people you barely knew. Rondal brings word from the south that the Bovali are faring tolerably well under Sir Cei’s leadership, but that they desire a new home and feel like strangers in the camps where they have been allowed to stay. Still, all are grateful and know their fates should they have stayed behind in Boval Vale. If for no other reason than duty to my people, I would pledge to be your good and loyal wife in repayment for all that you have done.
But the more I learn about you from your sisters and your parents the more I love you and desire you. The more I desire you the more I crave you. The more I crave you the more I worry for you and fear I shall never see you again. I pray to Ishi every night for your safety, and your sisters have taught me how to pray in the temple here. I yearn for the day when I feel your arms around me again. I ache for you laying next to me at night. Your family distracts me, but I cannot help but think of you hourly, with each churning in my womb.
I know you are busy fighting goblins and the Dead God, but I do hope that in your resting moments you can spare a thought for me. I am not ashamed to confess that I often feel sad at all that has happened, or that I feel out of place in your village, but I am safe and warm and well fed. Very well fed. I feel as big as a barn.
Also, there have been soldiers riding through the village or coming up from the riverfront barges many times, always looking for someone. Tyndal says that they are Censors, for they bear the black and white checkered cloaks. He has hidden in the wood sheds each time they come. Your father has talked to them a lot and has told them that he has not seen you in two years. They even put him under some sort of spell to ensure he spoke the truth, and threatened to slay him if he lied. The Baron intervened before they could do him harm and in the end they released him but they are still looking for you my love. Be wary. Lady Pentandra has been very gracious in helping get Tyndal out of here before they can find him, and she has been very protective of me and your child. Please thank her for her efforts. She is a lovely woman and I can see why you seek her friendship. I swear I bear her no ill will.
There is so much more I want to tell you but it will have to wait until I see you again. Until that time, may Ishi and Duin protect and save you, my love. Alya.
By the time I got to the end of the letter I was a twisted ball of emotions – love and affection toward the wonderful girl who wrote it, anger and hatred toward those checkered bastards who had had the nerve to detain my father, and a certain healthy lust at the thought of my intended. Suddenly I realized why Penny had lied about reading it, and I was even more grateful for her pretense.
“Thanks,” I said, hoarsely, as I folded it and put it away close to my skin, near to my witchstone bag. “She’s just checking in,” I dismissed. “And there’s some mushy stuff. Mostly it’s about my parents.”
“I figured as much,” she nodded, blushing slightly. “Anyway, I hope I didn’t err in not delivering it to you at once.”
“It was a love letter, not a military dispatch,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“This is Pentandra the Love Mage, remember?” she asked, wickedly. “I consider the former a higher priority than the latter – even on the eve of battle.”
“We’re past the eve of battle,” I pointed out. “We’re right at the brink of battle.”
“I stand by my priorities,” she said, defiantly. “Even better, it makes it that much more powerful.”
“Besides, I thought you were a Lust Mage, not a Love Mage.”
“Two sides of the same blade,” she shrugged. “The most powerful sex magic spells were done between passionate lovers, back in the Magocracy. It’s documented,” she defended. “Lust is easy to engineer, but when you add good old human passion into the equation, you can push your results far beyond their original limits.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I chuckled. “So, are you ready for the next part?”
“I’ve been talking by telepathy to everyone while I’ve been waiting for you,” she nodded. “Azar has the cavalry on the west flank in position. Astyral says that the infantry in the center is ready to withstand anything the goblins can throw at us. The east flank—“
“I know, I know, it’s not nearly as stout or nearly ready enough,” I sighed.
“Correct. And the Tower reports that the move toward the pocket in the center has begun from both sides.”
“I guess all they’re waiting for is me,” I realized. Pentandra snorted, which I found quite unladylike.
“Actually, they’re waiting for the other warmagi. Horka is leading a few to the cavalry in the west, and the remainder are going to strengthen the center. And yes,” she added with a wry snicker, “if you’d like to join them, you’re welcome to – but you’d better hurry. As soon as the warmagi are in place, the left will advance.”
“Then I guess it’s time to go,” I said, almost looking forward to the battle. I might die, certainly – but for a few glorious hours I wouldn’t be thinking about politics or supply problems or discipline or anything else but killing goblins – and that had an enormous appeal to me. “Tyndal! Have our horses brought around. It’s time to go!”
Tyndal and I joined Astyral and the other Gilmoran warmagi in the center, for no better reason than it was marginally safer for the foreseeable future – and if everything went into the chamberpot then this was the place where I could do the most good.
Delman was also there, trading jokes with the Orphans he’d gotten to know during the campaign. Even Reylan was there, donning his expensive gilt armor in the traditional Wenshari style. Reylan likes the br
ight-and-shiny approach. Delman, on the other hand, would have looked like any other mercenary soldier there, except for the quiver full of warwands on his hip and the mageblade on his back.
Over to our left, beyond the western redoubts, were nearly ten thousand cavalry, half of which were worth a damn. Azar, Horka, Landrik, and a few other warmagi were among them. Azar and Horka were both noblemen who had trained to horse since their youth, and who welcomed the chance to be in the largest cavalry charge in Alshari history. They were there mostly to counter any offensive magics thrown at them, but I knew they couldn’t wait to start the slaughter.
The warmagi were fairly close to the front line of infantry, about three rows back, when the field commander called for an advance. That was part of the plan. The center advances to pressure the gurvani center. Sounded great on paper, in a smoke-filled tent far from the nearest gurvan. But when we started our advance through the gap between redoubts three and four, I felt that mix of grim determination, excitement, and abject terror I usually associate with battle. I tried to let myself just relax for the few peaceful moments we had, letting my legs adjust to the cadence of the drums as they beat us forth. For a bare instant I was back at the War College, learning the simple discipline of the march in formation. That had been only five years ago, I suddenly realized.
I wasn’t able to follow the thought with anything more cogent because as we approached the gap, where dozens of small bands of goblins were skirmishing with the archers and footmen inside, the gurvani suddenly turned their attention toward us – and the air was suddenly full of javelins. That sort of thing has a way of dashing your stream of thought.
“Steady!” I heard the field herald relay. Around me a thousand shields went up. I didn’t hesitate to crouch behind a large one, myself, held by a stout-looking Orphan who was grinning wickedly.
The Spellmonger Series: Book 02 - Warmage Page 69
