While that was helpful for the war effort, it was hell on my home life.
My household was firmly established at Spellgarden, by then, with Alya, Minny and Ally living in Spellmonger’s Hall, and Istmin and Ismina living in Greenflower Hall, across the yard. Construction had halted on the castle, as the skilled crews were needed at Spellgate and elsewhere, and the nascent fields around the manor were beginning to be filled with tents and temporary huts, as two militia units and a company of Sevendor Guards were encamped there.
That made me feel well-protected, especially with as many warmagi who were wandering through Spellgarden on business or bivouacked there to be close to me . . . though I was rarely there. Taren had taken residence in Greenflower Hall for the duration, but he wasn’t the only one spending a few days at Spellgarden who stopped by to consult, report, or complain from. As war came closer to our gates, the activity increased – it was situated close to Spellgate, yet was fairly secure and peaceful.
The effect of the coming battle on my children was interesting. Minalyan was old enough to get caught up in the excitement, and he began strutting around in a miniature leather harness someone had given him as a gift, using taperwands instead of warwands, complete with a wooden mageblade on his back. Ismina had fashioned a vine-twisted holly bough into a warstaff, and declared herself the leader of the Magic Corps.
They led about a dozen local children in daily battles against imaginary gurvani legions concealed in great piles of leaves or behind hills of dirt. The nuns charged with their care fretted about the frequency of their bathing, but didn’t try to dissuade the children from their play. Everyone was starting to feel the foreboding anticipation that loomed on the western horizon. Everyone knew there was an army out there that was coming at them. Indeed, I think the birthsisters were envious of Minny and Izzy’s easy victories over the forces of darkness.
Surprisingly, Alya was less concerned than most. Unlike my earlier forays into battle, this time she seemed surprisingly calm and serene about the entire thing. She did not give me one objection, when I informed her of my decision to actively assist in the coming battle. She just nodded gravely and asked what she could do to help.
I suppose I shouldn’t complain, because that was always one of the worst things about going off to battle – my wife’s inevitable reaction. But Alya’s casual acceptance of my potential death, while momentarily convenient, also reminded me just how injured and broken my wife was still was. The fact that she didn’t make any of the completely reasonable arguments against me going told me she was still ill.
Indeed, Sandoval had made most of them for her, during our discussion of the plan.
“You’re a commander, there’s no good reason for you to be in the field,” he’d ticked off on his fingers, two nights previously at Mavone’s headquarters. “It’s an unnecessary risk at a time when your survival is the only thing holding this entire enterprise together. And it gains us nothing.”
“On the contrary,” Mavone had argued, “it gains us both offensive and defensive advantage. Minalan enjoys a reputation on both sides of the line. Most of the gurvani don’t know who they face in Vanador, yet. The effect on their morale when they are confronted with the Spellmonger, himself, could be important. Even decisive. And the effect on our side of the line would likewise be strong.”
“Only if he doesn’t get his ass kicked in the field!” Sandoval riposted.
“I concede the risk,” I admitted. “A loss on the field before the foe even achieved the gate would be devastating. But I think the risk can be mitigated,” I offered.
“You always do!” Terleman chuckled.
“He’s often been correct,” Mavone pointed out. “In this case, I think the effect is worth the risk. Min can always pull himself away from danger through the Ways, at need. And he wouldn’t be alone.”
“It sounds like a vainglorious attempt at grandstanding,” my constable grumbled. “Meet them with an advance force? Certainly. But that’s what cavalry officers do,” he persuaded. “Not sovereign counts or supreme commanders.”
“I think it’s worth the risk,” Terleman decided, after chewing his lip. “These Nemovorti have immense egos – worse than the Alka Alon. Break that ego and you will break your enemy’s momentum.”
“You think my ego is bigger than his ego?” I asked, amused. And perhaps a little self-conscious.
“You’re the only man I know who has a magical green and golden ball literally whirling around his head, at any given time,” Terl said, wryly. “I think it’s tastefulness alone that keeps you from crafting a twin for the Magolith.”
“You’re carving a mountain into a fortress,” Sandoval pointed out. “You’re endowing temples all over the place. You’re slapping that snowflake or the hammer heraldry on anything that stands still long enough. You’ve founded two cities, Min.”
“Not the sort of thing a man with a weak ego does,” Mavone agreed, before I could object. “Which is why we need Min waving his big golden ball around in front of our Nemovort friend. Because Terl is correct: the Nemovorti have big egos even by Alkan standards. I’ve been watching this one for weeks, from afar, and studying how he approaches warfare. He’s of the opinion that he’s unstoppable. The only thing that will give him pause is to face an opponent he considers a challenge.”
“I’m willing to give it to him,” I agreed, somewhat reluctantly. “But only if it’s going to be productive. Apparently, my ego doesn’t need the encouragement,” I said, wryly, looking at my friends.
“Clearly,” Terleman agreed, without a hint of shame. “Min, this can be productive. It doesn’t even have to be decisive. But if we can contrive some way of stopping their momentum before they get to Spellgate, that could be terribly helpful to our chances of victory. I didn’t really plan to use you like this, but since I have you . . .”
“You have something in mind?” I asked, curious. I’ve always admired Terleman’s ability to plot strategy and think tactically as easily as breathing. Sometimes it takes me days to come up with something creative.
“I do,” he affirmed, confidently. “I even have the battlefield picked out. Once he pulled his vanguard troops from the north and got them heading to join his main force – after a few executions – I give them two to three days of time to sort themselves out and let the artillery train catch up with the main body, and then no more than four days before they reach the site.
“That’s where we’ll attack – or, more precisely, aggressively defend,” he reasoned. “Mavone’s right: this Nemovort is a real prick, and he treats his troops like expendable slaves. He’s pushing them to their limits in unfriendly territory and maneuvering without concern for their security. That tells me a lot about the bastard. If we can put Min’s head in his path, then I suspect he will abandon all of his plans for a chance to defeat the Spellmonger.
“And while Min is holding his attention,” Terleman continued, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the map, “then we can kick them in the balls, metaphorically speaking. Perhaps enough to diminish their final attack.”
“Why not just defeat them utterly in the field, while we’re inventing cozy fantasies?” Sandoval asked.
“Because we don’t have the forces, realistically, to do that,” Terleman countered, thoughtfully. “If we committed to that battle, then we’d have to deploy virtually every sword and axe in the Magelaw, and there is no guarantee of outcome. No, this venture will be to delay and to damage the enemy in the field. To soften them up enough to reduce their subsequent attacks. That, we can do.”
“I suppose Carmella would be livid if she spent the last four weeks moving her artillery up from Salik, just to see it sit idle,” Sandoval sighed. “And no one can sulk like Carmella. It’s clear you’re set on this plan. What do you need from the Guards?”
“Very little, actually,” Terleman determined. “Some support, is all. This sortie will be for our better-trained and equipped troops: warmagi, rangers, some heavy infantry and may
be some cavalry. Horse and bird,” he added, glancing to me. “That is, if you think the Wing is ready for a fight.”
“Nattia is eager,” Mavone assured him. “She and her Riders have been practicing incessantly. That particular bird is territorial . . . and she considers this her territory, now. She plans to defend it. Viciously.”
I’d seen as much myself, in the last few months. Nattia’s Wing was expanding, as Ithalia assisted her in transforming more birds for the recruits she was training. She had a nearly complete training Wing, as well as her combat Wing, preparing for the fight ahead. And Gareth had been working very closely with her on new weaponry for the campaign.
“Then I can assemble and deploy the rest of the troops in the next few days, and get them on site and in position in time to meet the army. Does that give you enough time to prepare, Min?”
“I suppose,” I agreed. “I’ll do all my usual stuff, but I don’t think I’ll need much special preparation. Where are we going to make our stand?”
Terleman reached out and touched the map with his wand, and a magical marker grew on the spot. “Right here. I’ve been looking at this spot for a long time. It’s a half-mile off the road, but I think you can grab their attention.”
“I dare say I can,” I agreed. I started thinking of creative ways to do just that. Because it really can take me a few days.
***
“You’re going into battle?” Lilastien asked, skeptically, as she watched me prepare my armor and weapons. “Is that wise?”
“When is going into battle ‘wise’?” I countered, as I inspected the dragonscale hauberk that had seen me through Olum Seheri. The snowflake sigil on the chest gave me a sudden attack of homesickness for my fair little country. I needed to replace it with the hammer device I’d contrived to represent Spellgarden.
“It just seems . . . premature,” Lilastien said. “Although I’m the last Alkan you should probably take strategic advice from. I’m just here to heal the wounded.” She and a small team of her assistants from her secret compound at Sartha Wood had arrived to oversee one of the field hospitals.
“I’m more interested in your political knowledge than your military,” I admitted. “I’m going to be facing this Nemovort on the field, and I wanted to know what you knew about him. Gaja Katar,” I said, naming the undead general who had followed Korbal through death and into a war of retribution. “Second Warden of Korbal.”
“Gaja Katar,” Lilastien repeated. “I’ve never heard of him. At least under that name, which is not Avalanti. That doesn’t mean he wasn’t important to Korbal, but then he had a group of self-important, sycophantic toadies around him that was constantly vying for his attention. Half of them betrayed him, at trial, but the other half only got more fanatical in defeat. With a few exceptions, one was much like the other.”
“Gaja Katar appears to desire his master’s favor more than any of his rivals,” I reported, as I began to survey the defensive spells on my armor with Insight, my thaumaturgical baculus. “He’s pushed his armies to be the first to attack, hoping his initiative will catch us unprepared and lightly defended.”
“You are neither,” Lilastien pronounced. “We always knew you were a hasty people – sloppy, if you want to be frank – but what you have done here in a few short months rivals only your snowstone spell,” she praised. “You humani certainly do have a talent for warfare.”
“Your people do, too,” I reminded her. “The great Alkan wars? Dragons?”
“And worse,” she nodded. “We like to consider our struggles elegant, in retrospect, but in truth they were just as sloppy, in their way, as your methods of war. And they smoldered for centuries,” she recalled.
“I really don’t have that kind of time,” I chuckled. “I’m counting on surprising Gaja Katar with some of our sloppy humani innovations, and hoping he’s unwilling to listen to his gurvani subordinates about our tactics. We’ve already introduced him to cavalry, in a small way,” I offered.
“Alkan strategy is usually a mixture of subtlety and straightforward aggression,” Lilastien reflected. “There’s always some attempt to not just defeat the enemy, but humiliate him socially, too. To enrage him into making a tactical mistake or undermine his authority with his own followers. Of course, since this Nemovort is using gurvani followers as troops, he’s not going to care what they think of him. But that doesn’t mean he won’t be sensitive to that sort of thing. I think all of Korbal’s minions suffered from severe personal insecurities that compelled them to join such a radical movement. Try to prey on those,” she suggested.
“Make him feel bad,” I nodded. “Perhaps suggest his mother preferred the footwear of the infantry. Or tease him about his appearance – which is a rather repulsive form of humani, if his fellows are any indication.”
“Minalan, beware of this contest,” she warned, suddenly. “After what you did to Korbal on Olum Seheri, he’s got to be thinking that using the Handmaiden is his only chance for undoing your spell. He’s going to be making its capture a high priority. And your own.”
“And I’m making taking his head my highest priority,” I said, boldly, as I moved on to my weapons. “As well as killing or disheartening as many of his troops as I can. And then I’m going to fall back,” I promised. “This is our opportunity to put a stick in Gaja Katar’s eye, not slay him outright. I just want to push him to make some mistakes before he gets to Spellgate.”
“You’re just going to show up, taunt him, strike and run? Improvise?” she asked, a bit of a gleam in her eye.
“No, my days of making it up as I go are over, if I can help it. I have a plan,” I announced. “Or at least a series of tricks that should keep him off-balance and edging closer to fury.”
“You want him furious?” she asked, surprised.
“The angrier, the better,” I agreed, as I summoned Twilight and examined the blade with Insight. I needed more offensive spells hung there, I realized. “Angry commanders make mistakes. I want him to make a lot of them. All of them. That way, hopefully this battle will be over long before Yule.”
“Trying to sustain a siege through a winter in this climate would be daunting,” she agreed. “So would trying to defend against one. Once the snow starts, it comes in abundance.”
That much I knew from my one winter in the Wilderlands, at Boval Vale. I’d endured the cold and snow for months, just before the invasion. My Riverborn sensitivities were shocked by just how much snow the Mindens were blessed with. Three or four feet lingering all winter long is standard, I was told. That was just as true for the eastern side of the province, if not more so. Especially since the Umbralands changed the weather patterns.
“I’m not worried about defending,” I said, returning Twilight to its scabbard and summoning Blizzard – the new, improved Blizzard. Taren was working with Cormoran and Master Suhi on a new generation of magical weaponry, but I was most comfortable with weapons I’d enchanted myself. Blizzard was like an extension of my arm, now, a manifestation of my aggression that was getting more and more refined with each new iteration. “Besides, I’m rather comfortable with snow,” I reminded her, tapping the snowflake on my hauberk’s breast with the tip of the staff. I made it glow, just to be showy.
“You went to Olum Seheri and fought dozens of Nemovorti – and went toe-to-toe with Korbal and survived. I’m not concerned about your chances with one little Nemovort. And one little gurvani army. I’m confident you will prevail.”
“I’m hopeful,” I agreed. “But I’m trying not to be cocky about it. There are still two Nemovorti to face, after this. And dozens more, in other places. I’m treating this as a learning experience. I have to,” I stressed.
“How much of that is natural desperation, and how much is the result of Aronin’s compulsion, I wonder?” she asked herself.
That brought me up short. She was one of the few with whom I’d shared the details of my encounter with the late Aronin . . . the one who had admitted, in the dungeons of Olum Se
heri, that he’d laid upon me a great desire to build an army to defeat Sheruel during the earliest days of the invasion. The truly depressing part of that, to me, had been the fact that he’d expected me to fail. Of all of my friends and allies, Lilastien was the one best-equipped to see how badly I’d been used and offer some guidance.
“I’m not discounting that,” I admitted, with a heavy sigh. “Indeed, I’ve given that a lot of thought. I think, sometimes, that all of this – the entire Magelaw, Sevendor, all of it – is just the consequence of the Aronin ordering me about like a Tal Alon drudge.”
“We do not send the Tal into battle!” Lilastien snorted, shocked at the idea. “It’s bad enough the enemy use the gurvani so damnably. While I hesitate to judge the Aronin’s great wisdom, I also recognize the great indignity you suffered as a result.”
“Indignity? He made me want to go to battle!”
“Which was a wise choice, from his perspective,” Lilastien countered. “And, as it turned out, from yours. That doesn’t remove the stain of his compulsion, Minalan,” she said, sympathetically. “Humani are not Tal. He knew how warlike you were, and how frightened, and he used you as damnably as Korbal uses the gurvani. It was an . . . ethically tricky decision,” she pronounced. “One that, alas, not only still plagues you, but one which still serves you. And your people,” she reminded me.
“What’s worse,” I said, taking a seat and pouring wine for us both, “is that he used that same compulsion to make me find his daughter. And now I’m obsessing about that nearly as much as I am about the war.”
“The two are intertwined,” Lilastien pointed out. “Indeed, finding her might lead to a quick end to the war.”
“Or it might lead to even more widespread destruction, more quickly,” I observed. “But I’ve got to find her. Not because of her father’s compulsion, but because Korbal is looking for her, too. And I cannot allow the enemy to get their hands on that kind of weaponry. Whatever it is.”
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