Wartorn Obliteration w-2

by Robert Asprin

  The possibility of capturing the Minstrel still put a thrill into Aquint. Handing the Minstrel over to Abraxis would be a boon to his career. It would surely mean he would be allowed to conduct his operations against the Broken Circle some while longer. The more time Aquint spent in Callah, the better. Occupied by the Felk or not, this was home and it was also far away from the war.

  He and Cat waited, silently. The day's grey drizzle continued to sift down. Aquint watched the passersby in the street.

  Finally, the time had come. Aquint glanced to his side and realized with a start that Cat had vanished. He shook his head. The boy had a knack for stealth that was almost eerie. Probably he had slipped off to his own vantage place, so that the two of them could watch the lot from more than one angle. Aquint probably should have thought of that himself. Wherever Cat was now, he was well hidden.

  At that moment Aquint saw Radstac approaching, walking along with that affected limp. She came up to the edge of the lot and halted.

  Aquint didn't watch her as she stood there waiting. Instead, he swept the area continuously with his eyes, his heart beating hard again. He looked for any male bearing any resemblance to the Minstrel's description. He took into account the many possible disguises the man might attempt. He also watched for the woman from the tavern, who Radstac had described very adequately.

  As for other members of the Broken Circle who might show up today, they could be anybody.

  Aquint put his hand into his cloak and gripped the short sword's hilt. He continued to study the scene keenly.

  Radstac, apparently impatient, stepped out into the lot. Aquint muttered a silent curse. The instructions had been to remain still. She moved deeper into the weeds, looking around. As he'd promised, she didn't see him, and it was a near certainty that she wouldn't see Cat either.

  No one else entered the lot. No one appeared to be lingering nearby the scene. Aquint sighed, disappointed. He hadn't had any right to expect much from this, but he had been hoping nonetheless.

  Suddenly, Radstac, half obscured by the tall weeds, gave a yelp and dropped from view.

  Aquint started, grip tightening on the sword handle. Had she merely tripped and fallen? Or, had someone been lying in ambush for her out in those weeds?

  He hesitated. She didn't stand back up. Something was wrong. He didn't see Cat emerging from wherever his hiding place was to come to her aid. That wasn't surprising. Aquint gritted his teeth. Once he exposed himself, this operation was through. But Radstac had demonstrated loyalty, sticking to her assignment even though Deo had abandoned his. Aquint had to go make sure she was all right.

  He broke from the recessed doorway at a fast trot. The ground was uneven, and the dirt had turned to mud. He nearly stumbled as he approached the spot where Radstac had fallen. With an unhappy grunt, he loosed his sword, swinging its unfamiliar weight.

  Aquint cut a swath through a clump of weeds. With a final leap he came down on the place where Radstac had disappeared, expecting to find her lying on the ground. She wasn't there. He halted, stunned.

  "Let go of that sword."

  Aquint turned sharply, and squinted into the drizzling rain. Deo was standing about ten paces off, a crossbow against his shoulder, the bolt aimed directly at Aquint's chest.

  "Let go of it," Deo repeated.

  "Godsdamn you," Aquint muttered.

  "They may or they may not. Either way, you're running out of chances to drop that weapon peaceably, before I have to skewer you."

  Aquint lowered the sword but didn't yet let it go. Hot anger welled up inside him. He glared venomously at Deo.

  "You traitorous bleeder."

  A hard smile touched Deo's mouth. "That's a word I've heard bandied around quite a bit lately. Traitor. A very flexible word, I think. Tell me, do you think it might just apply to you as well?"

  The anger went suddenly white hot. Aquint wasn't one to let himself be provoked, but the insult cut too deep. Without thinking, he was raising the sword and taking a first step toward Deo.

  Suddenly a hand locked over his wrist and a fist sailed in from the edge of his field of vision and smacked his jaw. It was just hard enough for him to loosen his grip and stagger back a step. The short sword was snatched from his hand.

  When he turned, rubbing his jaw, he saw that Radstac now held it.

  "Traitors..." Aquint said. He felt genuinely betrayed. After all, he had rescued this pair from whatever military disciplinary action awaited them after their unauthorized arrival here in Callah. He had entrusted these two with the responsibilities of Internal Security agents.

  "You wanted to meet the Minstrel," Radstac said. "We're taking you to see him." From her pocket she pulled a strip of black cloth. A blindfold, Aquint thought.

  Here in the middle of the lot, they were screened from the street by the weeds. No bystander was going to come to Aquint's rescue. He had no choice but to submit.

  He saw the tiny flash of movement, but did not let his eyes betray it. Radstac was coming toward him with the blindfold. Deo was still holding the crossbow on him. Aquint had seen the figure moving behind Deo.

  Radstac halted sharply, turned, and shouted, "Behind, on your right, low!"

  With horror-wide eyes, Aquint watched Deo pivot tightly and fire the crossbow bolt. It twanged keenly, and Aquint heard the sound of the bolt striking something soft.

  Radstac stuck the point of the sword against his ribs to keep him from running heedlessly toward Cat. Her hard, scarred face showed no emotion as she handed him the blindfold and told him to put it on. Numbly, he did so. She told him to pull up the cloak's hood once more, and he obeyed. She gripped one of his arms, and Deo came to take the other.

  In lockstep they led him off. Aquint couldn't bring himself to ask if Cat was still alive.

  DARDAS (4)

  Anticipation and gleeful joy sharpened his senses to knife-edge keenness. Unfortunately, it was daylight and Weisel had control of the body, so there wasn't much Dardas could do to physically celebrate.

  Still, the news of the rival army coming to meet them was absolutely thrilling.

  This Isthmus was mustering up armed, organized resistance to the Felk conquest. Finally! Now, Dardas would have a genuine war to fight. And there was nothing better in life than war.

  However, it seemed that it would probably take some convincing to persuade Weisel of that fact.

  "I want reports, damnit!" Weisel snapped. "I want current reports!"

  Fergon, his personal aide, winced. "Yes, General. The Far Speak scouts are sending them as quickly as—"

  "Not quickly enough!" Weisel cut him off. "I want to know what's happening with that army out there every single moment. Is that clear?"

  "Very clear, General."

  Weisel dismissed him curtly. Fergon saluted and hurried off on horseback.

  Was it necessary to treat your aide so? Dardas asked.

  Are you so fond of the boy?

  That's not the point. We will be going into battle almost certainly in the near future. As a general, you will be called upon not just for your military expertise—somehow Dardas managed to say this without laughing—but for cool-headed reliability. Your officers and even your troops will want to know that their commander is calm, confident, and thinking clearly.

  Weisel drew a deep breath. Dardas could feel the man's anxiety. It was powerful. It had started the moment word had reached Weisel's tent about the enemy army.

  At the moment, the vast Felk host was moving southward, just as that other army was moving north. Weisel was riding his strong, hardy horse, surrounded by the entourage of his personal guards. As customary, he was toward the rear of the Felk forces. It gave him a good view of the various companies arrayed ahead of him. They were on the broad, massive prairie south of the city of Trael.

  For Dardas's part, he was quite pleased that they were finally outside of that damned tent of Weisel's. Since the assassination attempt, Weisel had barely set foot outside, and that pavilion had become so
mething of a canvas prison. Now he had been forced outdoors, and the cool air was refreshing. The sight of all those troops was stirring. It was glorious to be alive.

  I still need current intelligence, Weisel grumbled silently.

  This Felk nobleman was going to be tested by this coming battle, and the outcome of that testing, Dardas judged, was rather foregone.

  You will have that intelligence, Dardas assured him. Better field intelligence than any war commander in history.

  Dardas could sense that this wasn't doing much to calm Weisel. Once things got started, once the two armies actually met, Dardas knew that the implementation of strategies and counterresponses would fall inevitably to him. Weisel would have no idea what he was doing when instantaneous decisions and positive action were called for.

  Weisel would want his advice, and Dardas would give it. He would know how to meet this resistance, how to parry with various units, thrust with others. It was the merry dance of warfare. Dardas's instincts were honed. His talent for war was, literally, historic.

  General Weisel would continue to defer to him as things heated up. Even without command of this body, Dardas would be the one leading this coming battle.

  But who are they? Weisel asked suddenly. This other army—it's too large to belong to any one state. Not even Petgrad could assemble something this large.

  It's an agglomeration, surely, Dardas said. Various states banding together against a common enemy.

  That's very glib, General Dardas, Weisel said, sourly.

  Dardas gave a mental shrug. It didn't especially matter to him where these rival troops had come from, though he was quite sure his theory was correct. He was simply happy that the natural order of existence had at last asserted itself and provided him a worthy foe.

  At least, he hoped this was a worthy foe. If this army was a collection of diverse militaries, he hoped it was led by a creditable general.

  Still, the reports so far received from the Felk scouts at the army's forefront showed that the rival array had some organizational integrity. Troops and cavalry weren't just blundering northward haphazardly.

  We have advantages over this enemy, General Weisel.

  Weisel held his horse at a steady trot. At least outwardly he was maintaining something of a stolid front, except for his outburst at Fergon. Of course we do, he agreed, not sounding entirely convinced.

  Dardas pressed on, annoyed at having to prop up this creature of such hollow courage. We have magic. We have a means to move ourselves great distances. We have wizards who can start fires remotely. We have instant communications. All these advantages have never been tested in actual battle. But it is unmistakable that these are crucial benefits.

  Of course, Weisel repeated, only slightly more confidently.

  Dardas gave up for the moment, instead enjoying the sights around him. The grandeur of this army in motion was breathtaking. He found it quite moving. How nostalgic it was. He remembered so very vividly the days he'd led his Northland horde against the armies of rival warlords. Always it was a thrill. Always he saw his troops as extensions of himself, a great mass of power and brawn and weaponry, advancing implacably against all adversaries, conquering as he pleased.

  Presently, they were still some appreciable distance from the army to their south. They might meet in the field today, though this would only happen in the waning watches of the day's light. More likely, they would move gradually into full mutual view, each slowing, arranging and rearranging their forward units, feeling each other out. Actual contact might not occur until tomorrow, with the day's dawning.

  And that day would be a memorable one, Dardas thought with keen anticipation.

  Of course, it was possible to Far Move a few units into nearly direct contact with the other army right this moment. That might be interesting. Strike the first blow prematurely, even recklessly. Stories of U'delph's annihilation and the way the Felk had appeared from nowhere had doubtlessly circulated southward, inspiring fear. Dardas had made sure a few survivors from that city were set loose just for this purpose.

  But Weisel would never agree to it. It was too bold. Weisel desperately wanted to be the heroic, dauntless general, but his basic nature was a cautious one. He would want to study their enemy before committing to anything, and this was, Dardas had to admit, the militarily prudent thing to do.

  Besides, Dardas, too, wanted to gain a sense of this other army's leadership. He wanted a feel for his adversary's tactics. He wanted to "know" who he was fighting.

  There was a company of wagons on their right, carrying food, supplies, and ordnance. One of those wagons, however, was secretly bearing a different cargo, the wizard Kumbat. He was still bound and gagged, as per Dardas's orders, and was being carefully guarded. Dardas was seeing to it that nothing happened to him. Raven had been instrumental in securing the mage, and Dardas was grateful to her for it.

  That pair from the Internal Security Corps, who had arrived when the army was still encamped, had since returned to Felk, empty-handed and none the wiser. They couldn't very well continue their investigations while the army was heading into battle.

  Kumbat would ensure Dardas's longevity, freeing him from whatever pressure Matokin might decide to exert on him. Actually, no longer needing to rely on the Felk emperor for those rejuvenation spells freed Dardas utterly. He could now do what he would, and Matokin could do nothing to threaten him.

  Though this had already occurred to him, Dardas hadn't considered it so directly and fully. The realization filled him with a satisfied glow that was as powerful as Weisel's anxiety.

  You seem pleased, Weisel observed.

  Dardas clamped down on his emotions. Only the most potent could bleed over like that into his host's consciousness.

  I am looking forward to the battle, Dardas said, quite honestly.

  You don't... feel fear? Weisel asked a bit shyly.

  Dardas didn't, but said, Of course I feel fear. But it is a valuable fear. It is one that will keep you sharp, alert. One that will, contrarily, bolster your courage.

  Weisel let out a barely audible sigh. That's a real army out there. It's not some pitiful little village we're going to simply run over on our way to our next victory.

  It's time this army faced a real challenge, Dardas said.

  Why do you say that? Weisel asked suspiciously.

  Dardas couldn't contain it any longer. General Weisel, an army exists for specific purposes. It is the instrument through which a political entity, like your Felk Empire, can exert itself upon its rivals. An army can serve the will of any number of causes, whether they are worthy or monstrous. But that army, those soldiers, have purposes of their own. They have been trained relentlessly to perform in combat. If they are denied that opportunity too long it leads to serious trouble. Every fighter here, even those who would consider themselves the most craven, or the most inexperienced, longs in his or her heart to fight. They are starved for the taste of blood, for the chance to prove themselves in the greatest, truest sense. They need to battle an enemy. And now, finally, their moment is coming!

  Dardas's tirade seemed to echo in the mental air a moment. He wondered if he had gone too far. It might be that Weisel simply couldn't understand the code of battle and the righteousness of a soldier's bloodlust.

  Weisel drew himself up straighter in the saddle. He set his jaw and firmed his features.

  General Dardas, I will not disappoint these good soldiers.

  For that moment, Dardas almost respected the Felk lord.

  * * *

  The companies halted briefly and individually for their meals. Only the vanguard units stayed in steady motion, eating and taking water as they continued their advance toward the enemy army. Thus, the Felk military moved throughout the day.

  Weisel received his reports, and Dardas studied them through his eyes. Slowly, the enemy was taking shape. That was indeed a sizable force out there. Its organization was growing more apparent as well. It was arrayed into separate compa
nies, just as this Felk military was.

  The map accompanying the report showed the clear delineations. Weisel pulled his horse to a brief stop as he concentrated on the map.

  What do you propose we do, General Dardas?

  Weisel was deferring to him. It was beginning already. Dardas was pleased.

  We should continue the advance, he said. There is still a watch or so of good daylight.

  We should attack them at night? Weisel asked, dubiously.

  I don't think so. I don't think the other commander would want to either. We'll get a good look at each other, maybe make a few feints, just to test one another.

  How do you know what that other army's commander will do? Weisel asked.

  It's the militarily sensible thing to do, General Weisel. Dardas didn't add that already, from this relatively meager intelligence, he was gleaning a sense of how this enemy operated. In his time, two hundred and fifty years ago, he had possessed the uncanny talent for deciphering a foe's predilections and skills, and then of course working against that foe's weaknesses.

  He would do the same with this enemy. But he would not crush this army, not completely. So long now he had waited for an enemy, some force to counter this Felk one, to justify this magnificent host of fighters and wizards. He wanted perpetual warfare. He couldn't have that if he had no enemies.

  Dardas continued to hope that this opposite army had a commander of some skill directing it.

  As the day wore on, the incoming reports became more detailed. By now Dardas could actually see the enemy through Weisel's eyes, straddling the flat horizon, filling the other end of the wide prairie. That army's numbers were impressive, though not quite equal to these Felk troops. Still, if this enemy had the talent for combat it would be a very respectable fight.

  It was now clear, according to the scouts' observations, that this was indeed an agglomerated force. These troops wore widely varying uniforms, when they wore them at all. The forward companies appeared well armed. They bore swords, spears, pikes, crossbows; there were archers and cavalry and all the traditional components of a military.