by John Dalmas
"That is precisely what I will ask my council before it votes. But their reluctance is not without grounds. Hold your judgement until you've heard the battles described, and the current tactical situation. I've sent for Lord Naerrasil and his aide, and Lord Felstroin, to brief you. Brief you and my war minister, Lord Gaerimor, who like yourself has just arrived. And an old friend of yours who was there."
"A friend of mine? At the battle?"
"The chief of a dwarvish trade mission from the Diamond Flues: Tossi Pellersson Rich Lode. He was at Colroi when it was captured. The voitik leader, Crown Prince Kurqôsz, took one look at the dwarves, then had them courteously escorted clear of the voitik lines, and released." Gavriel chuckled mirthlessly. "I suppose the crown prince has read the mythical description of Vismearc's terrors, and decided to take no chances with dwarves."
* * *
At Cyncaidh's suggestion, they met after lunch. In one of His Majesty's gardens, in order that Vulkan could attend. Naerrasil had brought more than an aide and Lord Felstroin with him. He came with half a dozen other east ylvin officers. There, against the quiet background of wind chimes and splashing fountains, Macurdy was briefed. Felstroin led off with his observations of both battles, and as a prisoner at Balralligh. And described his experience with the voitik crown prince. Lord Naerrasil described the tactical situation as it had been when he'd left, and his estimate of the voitik resources.
"Apparently their enlisted personnel are all humans," he said. "Voitar make up the command levels above some undetermined grade." He paused, then added glumly, "We do not know how many troops we faced. But judging from an estimate of the ships that brought them, they numbered between thirty and fifty thousand.
"Which actually is only half their army, though half was quite enough. And their losses were minor."
"Half their army?"
"The other half sits stranded on the Scrub Coast. A great storm destroyed or crippled many of their ships."
"How did you find that out?"
"Of the ships that brought them to Balralligh, most were then sent back to bring the rest of the army north, or as many as they had room for. But on their way south, they were struck by another storm, which destroyed some of them and drove the rest to shelter in the river Seorroch. We had a garrison there, which then attacked the fleet with fire boats—unfortunately to little avail. Meanwhile the voitik fleet sent marine patrols out. There was fighting. Three wounded marines were captured, and questioned separately.
"They were human, of course, and assumed they'd be tortured if they were not forthcoming. So they spoke earnestly and, from their auras, honestly. And their stories matched quite well. Our commander in Port Seorroch reported it to us by messenger pigeons. The messages were numbered, and all but two arrived."
Macurdy sat examining his fingernails. They needed cleaning. His whole body needed a bath. "So what happened when the storm ended?" he asked. "I suppose the fleet continued south?"
"Seemingly not. Message number twelve said it turned north when it left. The storm had driven nine aground that we know of, and it's probable that others foundered. Those that anchored in the river had taken considerable damage. Our assumption is, they returned to Balralligh harbor, probably to the shipyards on the river, for repairs."
* * *
What interested Macurdy more than anything else was the description of voitik sorceries at Balralligh and Colroi. Most were not directly effective on ylver, though some sorcerous lightnings had been. Tossi Pellersson added that to the dwarves, the monsters were little more than wisps. " 'Tis rock that's real," he said. "Rock's what we see best."
Naerrasil summarized the situation as he saw it. "Our primary problem," he said, "is our strong dependence on our human infantry. But given the size of the voitik army, along with our lack of allies, we have no choice. And as long as we stand alone, no chance. What we need—" he paused to look grimly at Gavriel "—what we need is an all-out effort by every trained ylf in the two empires. In the face of voitik sorceries, human troops are useless to us." He looked at Tossi Pellersson. "And even then the odds look bleak. But if the dwarves joined us, and if they're as good as they claim to be, our prospects would be much improved."
Tossi's eyes were hard. "It does ye no good to tell me about it. I'm a trade representative, not a king. I'll take word to the Diamond Flues, but it will be weeks before I arrive there. And on my way, I'll send a messenger to Finn Greatsword, in Silver Mountain. His people are far more involved with the Eastern Empire, and far more numerous to boot. But if ye know anything at all about him, ye can guess what he'll say."
Macurdy then told of his audience with the King in Silver Mountain. The dwarf king's attitude of "wait and trade" brought a bitter twist to Naerrasil's aristocratic face. Then Macurdy summarized briefly his own experience with the Voitusotar, on Farside and in Hithmearc. Including the sorcery he'd witnessed, that had caused the Bavarian Gate to open daily instead of monthly.
"The thing is," he said, "it took a circle of them to do it, a team working together under the right conditions, directed by a leader. Major sorceries aren't something done on the spur of the moment. They take time and preparation."
He paused, wondering if he was right, if that was true. It had better be. He continued.
"Suppose you had small units of human troops well trained and daring. Operating behind enemy lines, moving in the woods or at night, striking where the enemy didn't expect them. What could sorcerers do about them? By the time they knew where the raiders were, they wouldn't be there anymore. It would be up to the voitar's human troops to deal with them. And what've they done so far? Mop up, after the defense had been panicked and broken by sorcery. That and kill, rape, torture and burn."
Lord Naerrasil had been shaking his head while Macurdy spoke. "Behind enemy lines, you say." His voice was bitter, tinged with scorn. "When we left, he was lined up along the Merrawin River, rich farmlands with few woods. His engineers were making pontoons and bridge sections. When he's ready and it suits him, he will send his monsters across, and follow them with all the troops he cares to. If he hasn't already. We'll try to stop them with what ylvin units we have. And be overrun."
Sneering, he finished: "And you tell me we need human raiding parties fighting in the woods!"
Everyone's attention was on Macurdy now. All but Naerrasus; his was befogged by emotion. When he'd delivered his closing jab, it had seemed to Cyncaidh that Macurdy would explode, with a sound that would buckle Naerrasil's knees.
Cyncaidh misjudged. The Lion did not roar. He looked Naerrasil over thoughtfully, then surprised everyone by bowing slightly. When he spoke it was quietly, softly, making them reach to hear him.
"Your lordship," he said, "what wars have you fought in?"
Naerrasil sensed what Macurdy was implying, and flushed. "This is my first," he said. "But I have an excellent military education and training."
"Your first." Macurdy's voice remained soft. "We might hope a man could live his life without any at all, but that's not how things are. Not now." Macurdy's eyes didn't let the ylf go. "In your position, you damn well need to be good, very good. And you need to be willing to learn, not spout off a bunch of ... half-understood generalities." Macurdy had stumbled on the edge of saying bullshit. "A military education and training aren't worth much, if they don't lead to good military judgement."
Naerrasil's fair face was deep red now.
"I suggested a strategy," Macurdy went on. "Not an entire plan of war, but a strategy for part of it. You rejected it without examining it. As if you'd rather have your empire destroyed than consider possibilities. Rather leave your people to the mercy of an enemy that doesn't have any, than deviate from what they spooned into you at military school."
He paused, glancing at Cyncaidh to see how he was taking all this. Cyncaidh's face was frozen, and Macurdy turned to Naerrasil again. "I have no more suggestions for you. I'd be wasting my time. But I trust that others of your people are willing to exercise will and
intelligence. If they ask, I'll tell them what they need to know to get started."
Still speaking quietly, he turned to Naerrasil's entourage. "I have yet to see country in Yuulith that doesn't have wooded areas. And winter is coming, with its long nights. Armies travel mostly on roads. Their supplies are hauled on roads, and voitik supply columns will get longer as they move farther west. Daring men, ylver or human, can attack them there. And the raiders don't need to win victories. They only need to strike quickly, kill men and horses, loot if there's time, then disappear into the forest or the night.
"With raiders rampant, the voitar will have to send strong cavalry escorts with their supply trains, cavalry that won't be at the front, fighting you."
He turned back to Naerrasil. "The men who fight such wars aren't like you. They don't have comfortable quarters, orderlies to shine their boots, and cooks to prepare meals on order. They are often hungry, often cold, often exhausted. They sleep on the ground. In the rain. They forget what it is to be clean, to be comfortable. They see comrades die. They may end up lying in the mud or snow, staring at their own entrails." He paused. "But they will punish the invader. They may even break him. Because the invader is no hero. He's a rapist and a butcher, who doesn't have much taste for anything that puts his life in danger."
Macurdy looked around at the assemblage. A single pair of hands clapped, slowly but loudly: Tossi Pellersson's. "If anyone wants to talk with me about this," Macurdy finished, "I'll be lying in the sun, on the lawn outside the main entrance." He turned to Vulkan. "Shall we go, good friend?"
Vulkan got to his hooves. «I believe it is time. You have said what was necessary.»
They left then. Macurdy's mood was beginning to sag from the rough brutality of his own words. The message had been needed, he told himself, but he wished he'd spoken less cruelly.
* * *
He'd begun to wonder if anyone was going to take him up on his offer, when Cyncaidh appeared, and sat down beside him on the lawn. "Lord Gaerimor," Cyncaidh said, "is busily rubbing oil on Lord Naerrasil's wounded pride. While discussing possible modifications of standard military philosophy. I believe he'll make more progress than one might expect.
"Meanwhile, Gavriel and I discussed our own situation. My emperor's strengths do not include matters military, and he tends to accept my advice on them. He is, of course, imperializing and mobilizing the twenty-eight ducal armies, most of them numbering two companies. They and the Throne Army will move at least to the border, and if the Council approves, to wherever the front is.
"My own dukedom is the largest, and my army consists of five companies, though normally I have only one on active duty. The rest are reserves, meeting in each season for a week of training. And all are mounted—human as well as ylver—trained to fight both on foot and horseback.
"Some grew up townsmen, some farmers, some woodcutters or fishers or trappers, but most are woodsmen when they can be. In the north, even townsmen grow up to hunt.
"As required by law and tradition, my ylver and my humans are in separate companies, the humans with human officers. But they are all very good. And in the northland, many humans show the talent—lighting fires with a gesture, and some of them even weaving repellent fields against insects. There's been crossbreeding through the centuries, you see. Not abundant, but enough. And it seems to me that some of my humans, perhaps many, will see through the monsters the voitar create. Especially when prepared in advance."
He looked at Macurdy's typically human features. "I'm sure you understand that."
Macurdy looked wryly back at Cyncaidh. "You're not telling me all this to pass the time," he said.
"Of course not. You see, Gavriel has given me dispensation to keep my cohort independent. To train and lead them as raiders in the manner you described. And within the Throne Army, men will be offered an opportunity to volunteer for another such cohort."
Macurdy realized he was frowning, and why: He doubted these people could do it successfully, and the doubt irritated him. Why couldn't they? In the 1930s, the U.S. Army had been painfully conservative. And ignorant. Yet a few years later it had the world's best air force, a number of armored divisions, and five airborne divisions plus ranger battalions. Decision was the beginning, and the decision had been made. There, and now here.
"You'll need advice," he said. "Principles. Some guidelines. I don't have time to train your people, not even a cadre. I'll tell you things, you and any others who want to listen. Then you ask questions and I'll answer them. You can take it from there yourself."
Cyncaidh didn't grin, but his aura, and his slight smile, told Macurdy how confident he was. "As a youth," the ylf said, "my greatest pleasure was to track wildlife. I seldom hunted to kill; at Aaerodh Manor we had no need of wild meat. I tracked simply to learn more of how they lived, and to glimpse them from time to time. To run through the forest in moccasins in summer and autumn, and on skis and snowshoes in winter. My father used to tell me I spent too much time at it."
Macurdy smiled back at him, a smile that took life of its own and became a grin. "How about this evening? Can you get people together by then?"
"This evening after dinner. At my home. Varia hasn't returned from Aaerodh yet, but Talrie will see that we're properly fed and have clean bed linens. You will stay with me, of course."
* * *
Of the fifteen who met that evening at Cyncaidh's residence, three had come west with Lord Naerrasil, each of them making a point of shaking Macurdy's hand before they sat down. That raised Macurdy's eyebrows. He'd done more good than he'd realized, that afternoon.
He didn't get to bed that night till after two.
* * *
The next morning, Cyncaidh went to the palace at his usual hour, leaving Macurdy still asleep. After a bit, Talrie woke him. "Marshal Macurdy," he said quietly, "there is a gentleman in the foyer, waiting to see you. A Mr. Pellersson. Shall I invite him to breakfast with you?"
Macurdy sat up, gathering his wits. "Tossi Pellersson? Sure. And tell the cook that dwarves like big breakfasts." He swung his legs out of bed, hurried through his morning preliminaries, and pulled his clothes on. When he reached the breakfast room, Tossi was waiting there for him, drinking the usual ylvin sassafras with honey. He and his trade mission, Tossi said, were leaving that morning for the Diamond Flues—a four-week ride on dwarf ponies.
The two ate leisurely, food secondary to talk. Tossi had been up to see the sun rise. It had been as red and murky as the sunset. "It's of the Earth," Tossi said.
"What do you mean?"
"The sky has the smell of rock."
"Rock?"
"Aye. My people know the smell of rock. And not just with the nose. Something like this happens every few decades. Though rarely this strong, I think."
Macurdy let it pass. Mostly they talked of the old days, when Tossi and two younger cousins had mixed into tallfolk affairs to the shocking extent of taking part in the Kullvordi revolt. Then Macurdy told briefly of the evening meeting that had gone on till well after midnight.
Tossi grinned ruefully. "I wish I could help," he said. "But in the Diamond Flues we're far removed from the ylver and their troubles. My people will say the invaders will never come so far west, and they may well be right."
His eyes peered at Macurdy from beneath heavy brow ridges, crowned with thatches of coarse hair. "As for the folk in Silver Mountain—they're far more numerous than we are. The last I heard, they could call seven thousand to the surface, armed and ready. If they felt the need. But in Silver Mountain, their focus is on wealth even more than ours is. Ye'd have to convince them the invader is a threat, and I doubt even yew could do that."
Macurdy had already come to that conclusion. When they'd finished eating, Tossi got to his feet and thrust out a hand. "I hope our paths will cross again, Macurdy," Tossi said. "Yer more than a dwarf friend, ye know. Yer a brother to me."
Then he left for the inn where the others of his party had been staying.
Macu
rdy gathered his own things, then he and Vulkan took to the highway. Southward, to see what he could accomplish with the kings of the Rude Lands.
27 The Younger Brother
Prince Chithqôsz was as tall as his elder brother, and to voitik eyes as handsome. What he did not have was Kurqôsz's power and certainty, his ambition and focus.
Nor was he jealous. It was much easier to be the younger, lesser brother, occupied with his concubines and sketch pads, his blocks of marble, granite, and limestone; walnut, cherry, and linden. With his drills, chisels, knives, saws, files, and charcoal. He considered his sculptures superior, both in stone and wood, and in important respects they were. They were not inspired, but his craftsmanship was superb, and his eye for form and nuance excellent.
As a youth he'd wanted to be like Kurqôsz, so he'd studied sorcery. Psionically he proved talented—the one indispensable requirement—and advanced with remarkable quickness through the levels. Until the work became demanding and exhausting. Then his interest sagged.
He was certainly not all his imperial father would have liked. But His Supreme Majesty, the Crystal Lord, might have settled for a sculptor in the family, had it not been for Kurqôsz's dream—to someday reach Vismearc, conquer it for the Voitusotar, and punish the ylver. And when the exploration ship returned from Vismearc, the project changed from visionary and speculative to firm and dedicated. The Crystal Lord himself contracted research on a remedy for seasickness, while Kurqôsz launched serious if somewhat dangerous research into new levels of sorcery.
