“They are on the road to the south, my lord,” Kipwing replied. “At their current speed, they will arrive before the city in less than two weeks’ time.”
Aram looked at Olyeg. “It seems that we will have enough time, General,” he said. “The eagles state that the reinforcements are more than ten days away.”
Recovering from his astonishment at the fact that the man before him conversed with eagles, Kraine frowned and waved his hand, indicating the distant lines of the enemy. “I beg your forgiveness, sir, but time enough for what? What will we do against the number that is already in front of us?”
Aram had glanced away toward the northern end of the distant enemy line but now he turned back to the general. “I am going to drive them from their positions,” he stated calmly. “Hopefully, without killing too many of them. Those men over there are not truly the enemy. That distinction lies with him whom they serve.”
Kraine stared. “I beg your pardon again, sir, but how will you do such a thing? Does an army follow you?” As he asked the question, Kraine abruptly pivoted and gazed hopefully eastward, beyond the buildings of Tobol, at the open ground of eastern Basura.
“My army is here, but an hour away,” Aram confirmed quietly as the general faced him once more. “And I would prefer that their presence be kept secret until we show ourselves to the enemy on the morrow.”
Kraine’s eyes widened in alarm. “Tomorrow? – You intend to move against him on the morrow? But we cannot be ready so soon!”
Aram studied him for a moment and then spoke quietly. “There is no reason to delay. And the only thing for which you need to prepare, General, is to receive prisoners.”
At this statement, Olyeg Kraine’s brow darkened. “You mistake me and you mistake these men, sir. They have seen their kinsfolk murdered, their women ravaged, and their farms and villages burned. They will not stand idly by while strangers wreak revenge upon their enemies.”
Aram watched him again in silence for a long moment. This man with twinkling blue-gray eyes and pleasant features was genuinely angry at the suggestion that he and his troops would be left out of the coming action. Aram shook his head in regret.
“I am sorry for any distress that my coming here will cause you and your men, General; but as you will see on the morrow, things will happen very quickly – far too quickly to involve your troops in any action against the enemy front.” He waved one hand, indicating the distant line of Imrid’s legions. “I will engage him just after dawn, and by the time your men can quit these battlements and reach his present position, he will have fled. I intend to hit him hard and drive him hard. Believe me – he will run.”
Kraine’s jaw set in fierce determination. “We will come forward nonetheless, sir.”
“Alright.” Aram nodded slowly. “As you wish, General. There will no doubt be a few stragglers and some of them may have a bit of fight left in them. Your men may very well reap a measure of vengeance.”
General Kraine’s distress gradually subsided and he looked westward and let his gaze pass slowly along the length of the enemy encampment. “How,” he asked Aram, “can you speak with such confidence of how you will drive him away?”
Aram, who had also looked west, shook his head. “I cannot give you particular details, for I have not fully formed my plans. I will say this – if you are upon these walls at dawn, you will witness the dissolution of the enemy front.”
Aram examined the enemy for a moment longer and then let his gaze rove northward to where, through a break in the distant line of trees, he could make out the slow-moving current of the River Shosk. Turning to see General Kraine still watching him with furrowed brows, he smiled without mirth. “Believe me, sir; I am not being cavalier when I speak of what will occur on the morrow.” He pointed toward the distant encampment of Rahm’s soldiers. “I assure you; when my men and I come upon them at dawn those men will run like rabbits for wherever it is whence they came.”
Kraine’s frown deepened, but his gaze slid involuntarily up to the hilt of the sword rising above Aram’s shoulder. After a moment, he brought his gaze back to Aram’s face. “We have heard great things of you, sir – I hope that you can do as you say.”
Aram’s smile faded and he replied quietly. “If they do not run, they will die.”
He spent another hour prowling along the top of the west-facing wall, studying the ground on the far side of the stream and listening to Alvern and Kipwing’s descriptions of that same ground. Eventually, satisfied, he sought General Kraine’s leave to go to the northern wall where he leaned over the parapet and looked down upon the river. The Shosk was as had been described to him, broad, slow-moving, and relatively shallow. For almost the whole of its sluggish width, Aram could make out the stones on its bed, glistening in the sun that found its way through three or four feet of gently flowing water. Searching east and west along its course, he grew satisfied that it would provide no barrier to the horses.
Sending a thought skyward, he sought Alvern’s description of the ground beyond the river where he would make his approach to the ford that lay a half-mile to the west. The ford, which Amund had told him was used by local farmers, and now described in detail by Alvern, lay nearly on line with the northern flank of the enemy’s encampment.
After he’d satisfied himself with the disposition of the ground running back to the west beyond the river, he turned his head to look toward the east, and listened to the eagle’s description of the ground over which he would make his way from the forested hills beyond Sevas through the farmland and to the ford in the pre-dawn darkness. As he listened, he moved along the wall toward the east, reconciling Alvern’s description with what he saw from ground level, marking trees and streams that would help him find his way in the dark.
Unaware that Aram was conversing with the eagle hovering high above, General Kraine, who’d shadowed his movements, gained his attention and asked him, “What shall I do on the morrow, sir?”
Aram halted his inspection and looked at him, and spoke in a low, quiet, serious tone. “You have already done what was needed, General Kraine. You gave these people a sense that steps were taken to protect them – and give them an opportunity to halt the intrusion of the foe. Your defenses, I believe, would hold for some time, even against a reinforced enemy. But this is a situation that calls for offensive action. Forgive my bluntness, General, but you do not have the capabilities to affect an assault upon the enemy. I do. My men will make the assault on the morrow, and the success of that assault will rest largely upon your ability to keep him at bay until then. Keep his attention focused here, upon this city, and I will strike him elsewhere.”
“What do I do?”
Aram motioned back to the south, toward the wall that faced west. “Continue building your defenses; give him no cause to think that you expect to do anything other than defend this city.”
Abruptly, Olyeg Kraine’s eyes widened with comprehension of Aram’s statement of a few moments earlier. “Elsewhere? You intend to strike him elsewhere than along this front?” His eyes narrowed again as further understanding came. “The horses came with you – your army is horse-borne.”
Frowning, Aram glanced around at the soldiers nearest them and then spoke quietly. “You said that you have spies among the ranks of the enemy, general. Can we be sure that he doesn’t have some of the same among yours?”
Kraine was momentarily taken aback by this suggestion but then he nodded with understanding and turned to bark orders at the nearest soldiers, most of whom were gazing with frank curiosity at the stranger conferring with their commander. “Clear this corner of the battlements. I need room to think.”
He watched his men move away to a satisfactory distance and then looked at Aram. “Will that do?”
Aram agreed and then inclined his head toward the opposite bank of the river, to focus Kraine’s attention there. “You are right, general, in assuming that my men will be mounted. The river will present no barrier to me. An army of infantr
y would struggle through a waist-deep, quarter-mile wide current such as that – the horses will cross it in moments.” Turning to look west, he said, “Your enemy shows no evidence that he intends to do anything other than wait for reinforcements before considering an assault upon you. We will surprise him, and it will be most unpleasant for him.”
“And what do my men do tomorrow?” Kraine asked again. “When the assault begins.”
Aram met his gaze. “That is up to you, General Kraine. What my men do tomorrow will be entirely independent from your considerations, but will no doubt create opportunities, if you wish to exploit them.”
“Will you tell me what you intend to do?”
After studying the older man’s face for a moment, Aram nodded shortly. “I mean to flank him – do you know what that means?”
“Yes, of course,” the general answered tersely. “Though I have never been to war, I understand tactics – even taught it at the academy for a year.”
Ignoring the general’s curtness, Aram continued. “I will flank him, from the north. We will cross the river just as the sun clears the hills, so that the enemy may see the sun glinting on our lance-tips.” He shook his head as he looked once more at the long lines of men in the west. “It does not appear as if he’s fortified his lines, but even if he has done so, we will drive him from position.”
“How many men have you brought with you, sir?”
“Eight hundred,” Aram replied.
Kraine frowned deeply. “Eight hundred? So few against so many? Even though they be mounted – a shock to the enemy, I grant you – and you surprise him upon the flank, I fear that you take a terrible risk. If Slan can get his men to rally –”
Aram studied the general’s face for a long moment, and his smile returned. “Have no fear, General; I‘ve done this before. My men are veterans of battle. And the horses will just be one of the nasty surprises I will bring with me tomorrow.” He shook his head. “Believe me, they will not stand, nor will they rally. I will drive every one of them from the field. Have your troops ready to move forward, if you so desire, at sunrise. Stand here, in this corner at dawn, and you will see what my intention is – and then you may act accordingly.”
Kraine gazed across the river at the northern shore for a long moment and then, in decision, he inclined his head. “We will be ready at dawn.”
As they moved toward the south along the western parapet, Aram abruptly stopped and peered westward in the afternoon sun. Far off, some way behind the distant lines of enemy tents, two strange objects reared up above the crowns of a copse of trees. From this distance they appeared as if they were the tops of two very large triangular shaped tent poles.
He pointed. “What do they build there, I wonder?”
Kraine moved next to him and the two men peered westward. Kraine shook his head. “We don’t know what they are; we haven’t been able to get our spies close enough to identify them. They first appeared about a week ago. We suspect that they are a kind of machine, intended to help Slan breach these walls.”
Aram nodded. “Undoubtedly, that is what they are.” He shrugged and turned away. “We will know on the morrow.”
Kraine frowned at yet another astonishingly confident statement uttered by this strange man from the east, but remained silent.
Aram looked at him. “I’ve seen enough, General. Unless there is else you would ask of me, I will return to my men and prepare for the action tomorrow.”
Kraine met his gaze. “We will be ready; and will come forward when the opportunities that you mentioned present themselves.”
Aram inclined his head. “I will see you upon the field sometime in the morning, then.”
54.
Zelrod Slan sat in his tent in the middle of his extended lines, near the front, and gazed through his glass at the various movements of the enemy, both below and upon the walls. By all appearances, the House of Basura, which had retreated from before him over the last few weeks, meant at last to stand and fight. The city to his front had been fortified and defenses were being placed in the stream that ran in front of the walls.
Further, the lines of Basuran soldiers had been stretched into the south, beyond the southern extent of the walls, along the far side of the stream and these positions were fortified as well. It appeared to Slan’s eye that every Basuran that wore a uniform had been deployed to his front.
Yes, they meant to make a stand here, at Tobol.
He smiled to himself, satisfied. By all accounts, he had Basura doubled in fighting strength and in a few days, when the reinforcements that he had finally called upon arrived at the front, it would be something more than tripled. And by the time they came up, his other preparations would also be complete.
So, there would be a fight here.
Until now his troops had been engaged in nothing more serious than murder, looting, wanton destruction, and harassment of the citizenry. Incidents of outright atrocity, like rape, he had attempted to discourage, now and then, by the hanging of some of his own – not for the benefit of the Basurans but rather for the maintenance of military discipline. This action, however, was taken only when the behavior of the citizen involved, especially if a woman, could not be construed in some way as having been complicit. Looting had been carefully managed, the spoils being appropriated by the various commanding officers before being distributed among all the men. In this way, the stolen goods were rendered as largesse from the throne to the faithful servants of the High Prince.
Now, however, there would be a real fight. And though he found this impending action to be more than satisfactory, and missives from his prince had made it clear that it was also necessary, he was very happy to have the enemy so badly outnumbered. Slan meant to win this fight and the easier the possibility of victory, the more likely it was to be accomplished.
The men of Basura, though unquestionably every bit as green as his own men in the business of war, would fight hard to defend their homes and families. Slan’s men, on the other hand, were fighting solely for the glory and honor of the throne, far away to the south in Farenaire, so Slan intended that the coming struggle be as easy a thing as possible.
Assaulting a fortified city – something he’d never done, or even heard of – would not be a simple thing, he knew, but he possessed an advantage of which, except for a select few, no one, not his own men nor even his Prince, knew. It was a weapon, a machine, two of them in fact; the likes of which he was certain had never before been seen upon the earth. By turning his head slightly, he could hear the ringing of hammers some way behind the lines. These hammers were being employed in the creation of that which would give him the advantage in the coming struggle. They were weapons of his own conception and design, dredged up from the memories of his youth spent roaming the rugged highlands of his homeland, Valrie.
There were places among those desolate hills where a thick, black, tarry substance, stinking of manure, or perhaps even of death, seeped from the earth. In one or two places, enough found its way out of the ground to form sizeable pools, which were assiduously avoided by man and beast alike. But not by Zelrod Slan.
The stuff fascinated the lonely young man. When removed from the larger mass and placed on a wooden plank or even the dry ground, a glob of it would harden to the point of becoming permanently attached to the host object. Not discovering a really good use for the substance as glue, however, the young Slan experimented with it in other ways. But it was when he decided to see whether or not the stuff would burn that things became exciting. For the stuff was in fact highly flammable. It burned readily and it burned hot.
At the time of this discovery, Slan was unsure as to how such knowledge could benefit him at that time or in the future, so he kept it to himself. But he was certain that someday, in a life such as his that required the use of every discovered advantage in order to improve his lot, it would come in handy.
And now, at last, it had.
As the army moved slowly and inexorable eastward acros
s Basura, Slan and a select group of engineers had worked to turn his idea into reality. In secret, far behind the lines, and in controlled circumstances, they’d labored upon it. It was now improved to the point – if not of perfection – of at least dependable utility.
The device – or devices, for there were two taking shape now and he’d given orders to construct as many as six – consisted of a long pole fixed on a steel rod, or axle, at a point that was measured at one-quarter, more or less, of its length. The axle was then secured high up on a sturdy tripod frame, also comprised of massive poles. At the longer, and smaller, end of the pole a large spoon-shaped pallet of wood was affixed, upon which certain things could be positioned against a foot-high back-guard. The other end of the pole, the shorter, thicker end, was attached to a large, well-constructed bucket which contained a heavy counterbalance, consisting of many large, rounded stones collected from the banks of the river.
When the counterbalance was hoisted high into the air by heavy ropes run through sheaves at the top of the tripod and attached to a specially built wagon pulled by a team of four oxen, two more carefully measured lengths of rope pulled the longer end, with the spoon-shaped wooden pallet, downward, adding additional strain.
When a holding device on the wagon was released by virtue of driving a steel pin downward with a mallet, the counterbalance was released and dropped. A moment later the ropes holding the longer end of the pole were also released and the whole thing rotated forward on the instant. Whatever had been placed in the pallet at the longer end of the pole was launched ahead of the device, arcing through the air to impact the ground – or any other impediment, such as a city wall – more than a hundred yards to the front of the contraption.
It had taken many, many hours of experimentation to discover the exact proportions of the various components in order to make thing work properly without launching the payload down into the ground, straight upward, or even to the rear, but they had succeeded. On the final tries, the first – and somewhat smaller – prototype device had worked perfectly, sending the payload into a hapless farmer’s barn, striking the building squarely in the middle of its roof.
Kelven's Riddle Book Four Page 46
