“He’s going to be suspicious when I suddenly start acting as Terin’s seneschal, isn’t he?”
“I doubt it,” Tejay assured him. “For one thing, it’s not uncommon for members of the Sorcerers’ Collective to act as stewards and seneschals for highborn Houses. It happens quite frequently. For another, Cyrus never met Renulus and because Terin was convinced the entire Eaglespike family looked down on him more than most, their dealings with his family were pretty much confined to the Convocation.”
“And there hasn’t been a Convocation since Cyrus inherited his father’s province,” Damin reminded him.
Rorin felt a little better for hearing that. “Poor Terin. Knowing what an arrogant ass Cyrus Eaglespike can be, for once, he may have been right about the highborn looking down on him.” He turned to look at Tejay, wondering how she was dealing with the notion that her husband was probably dead. She didn’t seem to be debilitated by her grief. In fact, she hardly seemed to be grieving at all. “I can’t apologise enough for not being able to save your husband, my lady.”
Tejay patted his hand with a comforting smile. “Don’t worry about it, Rorin. I’m sure I’ll manage to get by.”
“You don’t seem very upset.”
“Which is a damned good thing, don’t you think? We’d never be able to pull off this dangerous little escapade if I was moping about the palace, weeping and wailing for my long-lost husband like a silly girl.”
“I guess not.”
“You go back to sleep, Rorin,” she advised. “Concentrate on getting better and regaining your strength so you can help Adham. Let me and Damin worry about the rest of it, all right?”
He nodded, thinking more sleep would be nice. The draught was making him lethargic and at the very least, solitude would help. He couldn’t concentrate on easing the pain or doing anything to magically speed up the healing process with an anxious audience looking on.
“I’ll be up and about soon, my lady. I promise.”
“I know you will,” she agreed. Then she turned to Damin and pointed to the door. “You. Out.”
“I was just …”
“Let the man rest, Damin.”
“Call if you need anything,” Damin said, rising to his feet.
“I will.”
“And thanks.”
“For what?”
“For being there when we needed you.”
“It was nothing.” Rorin shrugged, wincing with pain at such a foolish impulse. “I face down evil, staff-wielding Karien priests all the time.”
“Of course you do,” Damin agreed. “You’re a real hero, Rory. I’m sure Kalan will be very impressed.”
The comment left him a little confused. “Huh? … Oh, I see … Well, despite what you think, your highness, I’m not in the least bit interested in impressing your sister.”
“Good,” Damin said. “Because you know I’d have to kill you if you ever laid a hand on her.”
“You don’t scare me, Damin Wolfblade,” he replied with a hazy smile, as the draught pulled him down towards sleep. “I survived the Staff of Xaphista.”
Rorin heard Damin laugh softly, heard Tejay urging him to let the patient sleep, their retreating footsteps and then faintly registered the door opening and closing as the effects of Canath Roe’s drug overtook him. He drifted off to sleep, the pain in his shoulder fading to a dull ache in the distance, his dreams filled with visions of heroic sorcerers, evil, staff-wielding Karien priests, large, intimidating Denikan princes, and being comforted in the unlikely arms of Lady Kalan Hawksword.
CHAPTER 52
The final meeting of Hythria’s generals in Cabradell happened the day after Rorin returned from the Widowmaker. With Renulus in the dungeons and nobody else in the palace aware that the young sorcerer had returned alone, Damin was able to pass on his apologies for Terin’s absence and nobody thought anything more about it.
Tejay’s brother, Rogan Bearbow, had finally arrived, the last of the Warlords to answer the call to arms. His late arrival had much to do with the distance he had to travel from Natalandar, the capital of Izcomdar, which was located in the far east of the province on the other side of the country.
Rogan was a few years older than Damin, and he came with some two thousand infantry, and more importantly, another thousand light cavalry. The problem with Rogan was that, like Damin, he wasn’t actually old enough to inherit his province yet, and strictly speaking he had no authority to bring his troops to war, and no right to expect them to follow his orders.
The reality, however, was that Hythria was torn apart by plague. There had been nobody else to step up and take charge of Izcomdar Province when his father died. The Sorcerers’ Collective—the traditional trustee of all provinces that find themselves without a Warlord—had been in no position to send an administrator to Natalandar to counter Rogan’s orders, and facing a choice between waiting on the pleasure of the Sorcerers’ Collective or racing to the aid of his only sister, there really wasn’t much question of which way Rogan was going to go.
But his arrival in Cabradell without the sanction of the Sorcerers’ Collective did cause a fuss, particularly when Cyrus Eaglespike started complaining about the legality of an under-age heir having command of his late father’s forces with no Sorcerers’ Collective–appointed guardian to watch over him. The Warlord of Dregian even went so far as to suggest the High Prince appoint him as Rogan’s interim guardian in lieu of the Sorcerers’ Collective, a suggestion that so offended the younger Warlord, he and Cyrus almost came to blows over it.
Damin managed to thwart Cyrus’s manoeuvring by convincing Lernen he should take direct command of the Izcomdar troops himself, and then had him appoint Rogan Bearbow as his second-in-command over the province’s forces. As Lernen Wolfblade had no intention of going anywhere near the actual battle himself, the move effectively handed command back to Rogan and circumvented the Sorcerers’ Collective entirely. It was a smart move politically, too. Rogan and Damin had always been civil acquaintances, but Rogan had been away for much of the time Damin spent in Izcomdar as a fosterling, so they’d never really been friends. Once Damin prevented Cyrus Eaglespike or the Sorcerers’ Collective from getting their hands on Izcomdar’s army, Damin knew he’d made an ally for life.
They had gathered for this meeting in Terin’s study in Cabradell Palace at Damin’s suggestion. The reason he gave for moving the meeting from the camp outside the city to the palace was that the Warlord of Sunrise had the best and most accurate maps of his province, therefore any discussion about strategy should take place with those maps within easy reach. The reality, however, was that holding the meeting in the palace was the only way Tejay could legitimately attend. She was the hostess here in her husband’s home and nobody would pay any attention to her presence in the room, assuming she was there to supervise the slaves responsible for delivering refreshments.
Lernen attended the meeting, arriving at the palace with great pomp and ceremony and a half-dozen retainers who did nothing but get in the way. In addition to Rogan, Narvell was representing Elasapine. He had command of his grandfather’s forces because Charel had awarded authority to him directly and there was nothing Cyrus could do about that. Damin represented Krakandar (Cyrus never thought to question the legitimacy of Damin’s authority over Krakandar’s forces, fortunately), and of course, there was Cyrus Eaglespike himself. The forces he wielded were considerable. In addition to the Dregian troops he commanded, his mother, in the name of the Sorcerers’ Collective, had given him command over Conin Falconlance’s Greenharbour forces. With his good friend, Toren Foxtalon, nodding agreement to every word he uttered, he had effective control over the Pentamor troops as well, which meant he had direct control over more than a third of their combined forces.
It might have been a little less than that, had the reinforcements arrived from Krakandar, but Damin had heard nothing from Xanda or Mahkas and the troops had never appeared. He didn’t want to think too hard about what that might mean, simply praying th
at whatever was happening in Krakandar in his absence, Xanda and Luciena were able to keep things under control until he got back.
“If Hablet comes through both passes simultaneously, we’re done for,” Narvell remarked, as he studied the map laid out on the table, dragging Damin’s attention back to the meeting.
Rogan nodded in agreement. “We’re the weakest we’ve been in three generations. The only hope we have to fend off the Fardohnyans is to avoid an all-out conflict.”
“That’s not going to be easy,” Narvell mused. “We should be able to hold Highcastle—it’s too narrow to allow a force through in any dangerous numbers unchallenged—but if we can’t hold them at Winternest, we’ll have our all-out conflict, whether we want it or not.”
“We must force them down onto the plains,” Rogan suggested. “Perhaps that way, we might be in command of any battle.”
Damin wished he’d had time to take Narvell and Rogan aside before the meeting and tell them the news Rorin had brought back from the border. He’d tried to find them, but Rogan was late getting to the palace and Narvell was getting rather good at not being found when he didn’t want to be—absences that coincided rather conveniently with the absence of Lady Kendra Warhaft. Still, Damin supposed, he could tell them later Winternest was already in the hands of the Fardohnyans and the Widowmaker was blocked and all the Fardohnyans they were going to be facing for the foreseeable future were already in Hythria.
“Frankly, I don’t see how we’re going to stop Hablet pouring his troops into Sunrise Province at his own pace,” Cyrus complained. “You’ve already admitted Winternest is woefully undermanned.”
“I think you’ll find the gods favour us more than you imagine,” Damin said to Cyrus.
The Warlord wasn’t impressed with Damin’s faith. “You might want to rely on divine intervention, Prince Damin. I’d rather we came up with a plan.”
“We have a plan.” Damin pointed to a place on the map between two small rivers. “We’ll create a front here, at Farwell, between the Saltan River on the right and the Norsell River on the left. We’ll bait the trap with Sunrise troops and reinforce the flanks with infantry from Krakandar and Elasapine, leaving your Dregian light cavalry and Sunrise infantry in the centre here, the most vulnerable part of the line. If we throw in the banners of the other provinces, General Regis should believe that’s all the support we’ve been able to muster.”
Narvell pointed to the narrow wedge of land in question on the map. “With the rivers on either side of him, there’s few other places he can go, anyway.”
Damin was relieved there was someone else in the room who’d been taught tactics and military history by Geri Almodavar and Elezaar the Fool.
Rogan could also see the merit in Damin’s tactics. “With luck, the Fardohnyans will see the weakness in the centre and break through here.”
“Exactly! When the lines collapse, there’ll be a rout and the flanks can withdraw. Regis will force our troops back, pushing on toward the hills here at Lasting Drift, past the two river crossings, where we’ll have the rest of the forces from Pentamor and Greenharbour, in addition to Rogan’s Izcomdar cavalry, waiting for him. The flanks will cross the rivers and close in from behind, cutting off his supplies, his retreat and any hope of reprieve. After that, gentlemen, it should be like spearing fish in a barrel.”
“Regis is no fool,” Rogan warned. “There’s no guarantee he’ll fall for this.”
“He’ll come to us,” Damin replied confidently. “Because we’re certainly not going to move any closer up the valley, where he might gain the advantage. Our supply lines are more secure than his. We can afford to wait. He can’t.”
Cyrus Eaglespike considered the plan and then turned to Lernen, who was sitting at the head of the table pretending he had some idea of what was going on. “And what is your plan, your highness?” Then he added with a condescending smile at Damin, “Now that we’ve heard from the boy.”
“Um …” Lernen stammered, unprepared for the question. “What he said.”
“What?”
“What my nephew said,” Lernen decreed. “That’s my plan.” He leaned back in his chair and waved his arm over the table. “I explained my plans to Damin earlier and he’s covered my intentions well enough.”
Cyrus glanced at Damin, waiting for him to object to Lernen claiming credit for what everybody in the room knew must be his work, but Damin said nothing. He wasn’t about to humiliate Lernen with Cyrus Eaglespike watching, or give the Dregian Warlord the slightest opportunity to drive a wedge between them.
“Well, what about the archers?” Cyrus demanded, when it was clear Damin wasn’t going to contradict the High Prince. “If you’re basing your strategy on them, we’re doomed. I’ve seen what you call the Sunrise light infantry, these days. There’s barely an experienced man left among them and their Warlord isn’t even back from his excursion into the mountains to lead them. They’re nothing more than reckless farm boys looking for a bit of adventure.”
“They’re farm boys defending their homes, my lord,” Narvell corrected. “And I’m sure Terin Lionsclaw will be back in time.”
Cyrus was unimpressed. “Leaderless, untrained rabble likely to break at the first sign of trouble.”
Damin nodded absently, as he recalled a conversation he’d had with Kraig. There are four things that always affect a battle, the Denikan prince had told him. They are immutable and, if you understand them, the key to winning any conflict … you must claim victory over men’s minds before you can take it from their bodies … you need them to believe you can win …
“Then that’s what we’ll tell them to do.”
“What do you mean?”
“The High Prince’s plan is to make Axelle Regis think our lines have collapsed. Peasants running away screaming couldn’t help us more if they tried. But we’ll control it. We’ll order each man to shoot three arrows and then retreat.” He glanced across the room at Tejay, who was pretending to supervise the slaves laying out the buffet on the side table. She met his eye, inclining her head imperceptibly to let him know she agreed with his suggestion, and then turned back to chastise a careless slave for spilling the soup.
Damin turned his gaze on Cyrus. “If they only have to face the enemy for a short time, and if our untrained rabble believes they’re retreating under orders, rather than running away, I guarantee we’ll get those three arrows out of every man there. The rout won’t happen too quickly, that way. The Fardohnyans will think we’re putting up some sort of a fight before falling apart and we can draw them down into our trap at Lasting Drift in numbers we can deal with.”
“I think it’ll work,” Narvell said, and then smiled at the High Prince. “In fact, I’m certain it will. Well done, Uncle. It’s an excellent strategy.”
Damin glanced across at Cyrus Eaglespike. There wasn’t a man in the room who seriously believed Lernen Wolfblade had anything to do with this plan, but that his nephews apparently showed no resentment about letting him take the glory for it had Cyrus gnashing his teeth with frustration.
“Lunch is ready, my lords,” Tejay announced before Cyrus could say anything. Her announcement effectively put an end to the discussion for the time being. Muttering to himself, Cyrus turned away from the table and went to inspect the buffet.
“Damin!”
“Yes, Uncle?”
“Might we have a word?” the High Prince asked, rising to his feet.
It was unlike Lernen to be so tactful. Leaving the others to their lunch, Damin followed his uncle out into the hall.
“Is something wrong?” he asked, when they were out of earshot of the rest of the Warlords.
Lernen was wringing his hands worriedly. “You had plenty of opportunity to make me look like a fool just now; plenty of opportunity to promote yourself as a better general of our armies than me. You didn’t. Instead, you made me look like a statesman. Why? Are you up to something?”
Although he sounded lucid enough, the mad
man, Damin feared, wasn’t far away. “I would never have embarrassed you in public, Uncle. You’re family.”
Lernen glared at him suspiciously for a moment and then lowered his voice, looking over his shoulder furtively. “I know I’m not always an easy man, Damin. It’s good your mother raised you and your brother to be so loyal.”
The admission was a rare thing indeed from the High Prince, and proof, Damin suspected, the old man wasn’t yet completely lost to the sickness that ravaged his mind and his body. Such a moment wasn’t to be wasted, however. “Then would you do something for me, Uncle?”
Lernen was instantly suspicious. “What do you want?”
“I’m not actually interested in becoming High Prince any time soon so get rid of that damned armour, would you? As a favour to me.”
“It was a gift.”
“It was given to you by your enemies to make you vulnerable, Uncle. A target. Don’t fall into their trap. For my sake, if not your own,” he added.
Lernen threw his hands up helplessly. “How can I dispose of it without offending the High Arrion? If I don’t wear it in battle, she’ll know. Even if I don’t finish up with an arrow through me, that slimy son of hers will report it straight back to her and then she’ll start yelling at me … and asking me why and … well, I just don’t like it when she yells at me.”
“You could give it away,” Damin suggested, not bothering to point out that Alija wasn’t here to yell at anybody. Lernen was probably right about Cyrus reporting it back to his mother, though.
“To whom?”
“How about someone who does something very brave? Alija can’t fault you for rewarding great valour with something so precious.”
“Do we have anybody who’s done something brave?”
“I’m sure we will have soon, Uncle Lernen. We’re going to war, after all.”
Lernen smiled. “You find someone to give it to, Damin, and it will be his.”
“Thank you, Uncle.”
“Thank you, nephew. I’m lucky to have people like you and your mother looking out for me.”
Warlord Page 40
