Thaumaturge

by Terry Mancour

  When he came to the foot or more of snow that covered the roadway, he raised his staff and cast a mighty spell. In a few moments the snow along the roadway began to visibly melt. In five minutes, it was gone, leaving a very wet, extremely messy layer of crushed, previously-frozen goblin corpses underneath. Either the weight of the snow or some aspect of the spell kept the horses from tripping on the disgusting mat, but Terleman rode forth over the corpses of his enemies without concern.

  As the column came forth, there was a stirring among the gurvani in the distance as their scouts reported the news back to Gaja Katar. By the time the parade of horses had turned into a column of marching infantry, I could see a hurried re-organization along the front lines of the foe as the gurvani prepared to receive our attack.

  We sipped wine and chatted while we watched, occasionally sending Ruderal or one of Wenek’s apprentices downstairs for news or victuals, when required. I used Insight to augment our magesight still further, even eliminated the effects of the falling snow so that we could have a clear view. It was a capability I had honestly not known it had. But once it cast the spell, we were able to see the distant battle unobstructed.

  It took an hour for our army to finally reach the bottom of the causeway and travel down that grim road to the space beyond the trenches, where Terl formed everyone up with an echoing chorus of horns.

  In response, Gaja Katar had advanced a few thousand of his infantry ahead of his siege engines to screen them from the incipient attack. His short-legged troops had a difficult time struggling through the snow – apparently their shamans did not have Terleman’s foresight or capacities – but by the time Terleman had his men ready to charge, there was a ragged black line thousands strong facing him.

  I have to hand it to Terl: he managed the cavalry as adeptly as he’d overseen the entire battle. Caswallon and Landrik led their troopers across the snowy fields between the two cavalry forces, walking their horses until they were about three hundred yards away from the ragged gurvani line.

  The goblins were nervous as they waited for the charge, listlessly pacing or shaking their weapons at the horsemen in defiance. A few tried to hurl spears, or those multiheaded throwing axes that they’d developed to contend with our cavalry, but between the driving snow and the distance, they fell short. A ragged volley of arrows from them did a bit more, dropping a few men from saddles, but it was clear that they were getting impatient.

  Then Caswallon charged, his banner-bearer boldly keeping pace with his master as one side of the cavalry unit followed. A few hundred against thousands seemed good odds, to the gurvani, so when the horses began to move, so did the units of infantry opposite them.

  It was a stupid maneuver – infantry does best against cavalry when they are well-formed, armed with spears and statically placed. On the move, against charging cavalry, they were the perfect targets for Caswallon’s dashing charge. As soon as they were outside of easy support range of their foes, the lances of the Vanadori knights sliced the gurvani to pieces.

  I suppose I can understand not wanting to just stand there and wait for a horse to run you down, but battlefield tactics had proven again and again that running wildly toward one was, statistically speaking, a poor way to survive a battle.

  As Caswallon’s unit approached the main line – now with a large gap in it – they conducted a single quick charge against a section of gurvani and then almost immediately withdrew, bloodying their nose, not breaking them.

  The allure of retreating cavalry was too strong, however, and the damaged line started to give chase . . . which was precisely what Terleman had planned. As soon as the goblins over extended themselves again in pursuit, Landrik charged their flank, doing more damage than did Caswallon in the process.

  It was only a matter of a few hundred dead goblins, during that charge, but it was enough to cause more reserves to be sent from the artillery line in support, and encourage the goblins to advance toward our line even further.

  A second such combination charge accomplished much the same, though with a bit more damage. Still out of bowshot of the infantry, the goblins pressed their advance with confidence, and managed to empty a few more saddles.

  But that’s when the rest of Terleman’s plan executed: the sound of horns came from the north, muted by the falling snow but no less clear. Moments after the first horn call, Sire Tyndal led five hundred cavalry down the artillery line, destroying the ponderous machines with magic and fire, and slaying their crews in a vicious assault.

  From the south, the swooping forms of eight giant falcons paraded above the long arms of the gurvani catapults and mangonals, dropping rocks from hoxter pockets and prepared enchantments on the great wooden structures.

  One, called Minalan’s Release, was a variation on the spell I’d used against the gurvani at Boval Castle, and unfastened every knot and strap in the engines it affected. Catapults came apart explosively as the bindings that held the great sinewy springs released their tension all at once. Towering structures designed to hurl boulders slid to pieces, often crushing their crews below. Others burst into flame or shattered into toothpicks. Whatever magical wards the gurvani shamans had places around their artillery were not equipped, it seemed, to contend with such a strong attack.

  We cheered as the Sky Riders completed their first pass, leaving smoking ruins behind them. Sire Tyndal’s force was slower, as they charged from the other direction, but no less destructive. They chewed through the artillery crews one after another, as infantry reserves from behind them and those who had gone to meet the charge both rushed back to their defense . . . in vain. The Sky Riders wheeled and turned back around to continue their attack over the heads of Tyndal’s men, managing to avoid harming their friends on the ground as they did so.

  The first reinforcements from the infantry arrived just as Tyndal was completing his attack on the last catapult, a few stragglers who were desperate to get back. But as the gurvani infantry retreated, they invited a series of pulse-charges from the rear. Caswallon cannot resist an exposed flank in battle or in sport, and he and Landrik to the opportunity to hammer at the gurvani from the front . . . that had quickly become their rear. That halted half of their number simply to defend themselves, ineffectively. Another thousand goblins fell in the battle that followed.

  With the Sky Riders providing cover, Tyndal’s cavalry skirted around the southern flank of the line, walked their horses for a moment while they regrouped, and then attacked the gurvani in concert with Landrik’s troop. The flashing lances and blasts of magic told the bloody tale from afar.

  To add insult to injury, when the combined cavalry force made a slow retreat from battle, leaving half the number of goblins who started it dead in the snow, the infantry moved forward a hundred yards and loosed a volley of arrows at the retreating survivors, over the heads of the cavalry.

  It was a rout. For the second day in a row, Terleman had out-maneuvered, out- fought, and out-enchanted Gaja Katar’s army. His men – most of whom had been starving freedmen in rags, a year before – had maintained discipline under difficult conditions against a vicious (if not terribly inspired) foe. Our casualties had been light, while theirs had been heavy. Terleman had presented them with a sophisticated defense and innovative tactics. Gaja Katar had fallen flat on his face.

  The battle itself was not decisive – there were still plenty of goblins in the field, and they weren’t going anywhere. The storm was seeing to that. Our men were just as bound by the snow, nor did they have reason to quit the field until danger was passed. But Terleman’s bold attack had removed the gurvani artillery and decimated the horde that faced us. Any hope of a successful assault against the unrelenting fastness of Spellgate was gone. Without artillery, a few siege beasts and trolls would not be enough to overcome us. Anyone with eyes could see that.

  Beyond deploying a dragon or a sudden assault by a company of his fellow Nemovorti, Spellgate would not fall. We mere humans had bested the most impetuous dark lord Korbal c
ould offer . . . without much help from the Alka Alon. After the insult of our Olum Seheri assault, I had no doubt this failure would sting our foes badly.

  Briga’s blessed biscuits, I had been a mere spectator. Terleman, Mavone and Sandoval had done far more than I. And Carmella. If Spellgate had humiliated Gaja Katar, it was because Carmella was profoundly good at what she did, first and foremost. In a single year, with magic, craft, and an extravagant budget she had turned a rural pass into an imposing fortress. Vanador had turned its odd, manifest gifts into bulwark against Korbal’s dark ambitions. Spellgate prevailed, and would only get stronger, I knew.

  I hope you enjoyed that, Terleman told me, mind-to-mind, as he led our victorious forces back to the gate. Sandy’s men performed admirably. Our missions are accomplished. Now, all we have to do is wait, he informed me, smugly. I didn’t begrudge him that. He’d handled the situation masterfully.

  Wait for what? I inquired.

  We wait for Gaja Katar to face a real mutiny. Today was designed to injure and punish him and destroy the morale of his troops. He must either retreat, beg for intercession, or die in the field, and everyone on both sides knows it. When he – inevitably – orders a hopeless assault tomorrow, or perhaps the next day, the resistance he faces now will seem mild. Attacking us again under these conditions is assured their destruction, either in battle or by quick starvation. None of their supply trains have made it past the Towers, he informed me. Any that did are now snowbound.

  Excellent work, Terleman, I said, sincerely. You and all your men are to be commended.

  It’s not over yet, he assured me. Indeed, this could stretch on for weeks, if Gaja Katar is stubborn. Conversely, it could be over tomorrow. Much depends on his temperament. And the weather. We must be vigilant and prepared to take advantage of opportunity.

  There must be some way to force the issue, I proposed.

  Oh, I have considered that, Terleman chuckled. That’s why, as the cavalry conducted their raid, they scattered a number of rocks along the way. They sank down and disappeared into the snow. At various times they will spawn constructs to infiltrate and attack the gurvani long after we’ve left the field. If all goes well, they’ll harass their pickets and patrols all night long, he reported, smugly. By dawn, they’ll be exhausted. And if this snow keeps falling, it will be days before they can realistically consider an assault. Long, cold, dangerous days, he promised.

  Whereas our troops will be snug in their trenches, huddling around heatstones, cursing their generals for the poor conditions, I predicted.

  What soldier hasn’t done that? Terl countered. I’ve done it oft enough, myself. Our men are well-fed, as warm as possible and protected. I’m passing the trenches now, and they’re cheering us. And drinking. That’s a damn sight better than we had it in Farise. Surely, they can outlast those pitiful creatures.

  They can, I assured. The Wilderfolk are resilient people. This isn’t the worst snowstorm they’ve seen.

  Min, these aren’t Wilderfolk, anymore, Terleman observed, thoughtfully. Not really.

  No? I asked, curious.

  No. Min, these are the Vanadori. The resilience of the Wilderlords, the dedication of the Gilmoran peasantry, combined with the cunning of the magi. If you can sustain them, in a few generations they’ll be unstoppable.

  One would hope, I agreed, quietly. I would hate to think we did all this work for nothing.

  “Oft the schemes of wizards are subtle and obscure. That doesn’t mean that they are without merit. It just means that they are subtle and obscure.”

  From the Scrolls of Lawbrother Bryte the Wiser

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  A Serious Decision

  There were no serious attacks that night, not even the heavy skirmishes that dominated the night before. The goblins encamped and licked their wounds, defending against the constructs or the snipers that harassed them.

  I spent the evening touring the trenches and battlements, thanking the militia and congratulating the knights on their bloody victory. I spread around a fair amount of silver and liquor from my personal stock when I heard of deeds that were particularly daring, brave or commendable. I also used magic to remove snow, when requested. Conditions were poor enough – if magic could make the militia’s lives easier, then it should be employed.

  Our fellows were in good spirits, even with the cold and the snow that had buried the earthworks. There were campfires and heatstones scattered throughout the complex of ditches, and the fellows on the battlements hid behind merlons to escape the wind and huddled around braziers. But nothing warms a soldier more than victory, and everyone could see that the gurvani army was in a desperate position. I heard time and again from our men that the scrugs were certain to march away, after two straight days of defeat.

  By nightfall, the gurvani had retreated back to a safe distance and encamped. They made no use of the night, though the snow had stopped falling. They kept to their close patrols and huddled in camp, burning what wood they could find to keep warm. The chanting had stopped, and the large, dark stain in the snow that was their camp showed no sign of preparing another assault.

  I slept in the command chamber again, grabbing a precious few hours after Ruderal and I had returned from our tour of the trenches. My apprentice was exhausted by the day’s effort. But he woke me just after dawn with news of a visitor.

  “Master, Countess Alya is here to see you,” he told me softly as he shook me awake.

  “Alya?” I asked, blearily, as I threw myself to my feet. “Why? What’s wrong?” I demanded.

  “Nothing appears to be amiss, Master,” he soothed. “She just . . . missed you, I think.”

  “Oh,” I sighed, relaxing the smallest amount. “All right. Let me dress, and I’ll be right out. Fetch her some tea or something,” I instructed.

  “Already taken care of, Master,” Ruderal assured me, as he set my boots out while I threw on my mantle over my tunic. I had actually doffed my armor, instead of sleeping in it like a good soldier, because, damn it, I was the count in my own fortress with access to a warm, reasonably comfortable cot. While that might be considered an affront to the poor bastards shivering in the trenches, and in truth I did feel a little guilty about it, the prospect of a few hours of sleep without wearing the uncomfortable dragon scale armor was just too appealing. Magelord’s prerogative.

  Alya was waiting in the main chamber of the command floor, wearing her heaviest fur-lined cloak against the weather, standing to one side and watching the steady stream of messengers and officers reporting to Terleman and his lieutenants.

  The map on the table showed our current positions, as well as the big pile of dark effigies that represented Gaja Katar’s force. From the pieces on the board, the Nemovort was down to less than fifteen thousand, almost all infantry. But I quickly turned my attention to Alya. When your wife visits you at work, even when you’re in the middle of a battle, you indulge her.

  “My husband,” Alya said, with a slight bow. “How fares the battle?”

  “Well,” I said, embracing her tightly. She felt good in my arms, though a bit restrained. “For two days Terleman has pounded the foe. They are sulking in their camp, now, considering their future,” I said, indicating the map. “How fare the children?”

  She smiled, which was like a day of sunshine all in a moment. “They thrive, though they are anxious of their father. Minalyan has been protecting us all with his wooden mageblade, while Ismina has been ‘casting wards’ around the keep with her stick,” she chuckled. “They are adorable.”

  “You are keeping the Greenflower children with you?” She still hadn’t particularly warmed to them, I had observed, though she had not said anything against them.

  “It seemed best, for all of them,” she shrugged, taking my arm. “I do not mind. They keep each other occupied, which keeps the birthsisters from chasing them. And I enjoy their laughter,” she admitted.

  “Well, they should be safe, at Spellgarden,” I assured
her. “So far we’ve kept them from even scratching at our door. Another day or so of this, and I think Terleman can drive them from the field.”

  “And you are not wounded?” she asked, concerned.

  “Wounded? I haven’t drawn my blade since Traveler’s Tower,” I admitted. “Terl and Sandy have kept me in . . . in reserve,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “So far, I haven’t been needed.”

  “Then they have my gratitude for that,” she nodded. “And that will reassure the children. They’ve been brave, but worried.”

  “All is well. Except the snow,” I added. “A foot deep, in one day!”

  “Snow is . . . strange,” she said, quietly. “It’s beautiful, but it’s as if it’s a wonder to me.”

  “Like spoons?” I teased.

  “I can’t help it!” she defended with a smile, sounding like her old self for a moment. “Spoons are . . . are funny, for some reason. I can’t explain it, they just are! Snow is different. It’s wondrous. And . . . and scary, for some reason.”

  “Mostly it’s just a bother and an excuse to stay inside. But in this case, it’s helping us tremendously. For one thing, our legs are eighteen inches to two feet longer than the gurvani, on average. That makes this an inconvenience for us, a struggle for them.” I went on to sketch out the current situation for her, using the map.

  Sure, we got in the way of messengers and pages, but we were the count and the countess. I had a duty to brief her on the emergency that Vanador faced. If, for some reason, I stumbled down the stairs and broke my neck, she would be in charge of things.

  Despite her otherwise distracted air, Alya seemed to understand the tactical situation. After the Nemovorti attack at Falas, she had taken a more active interest in such matters. She asked some insightful questions, inquired about the strategy going forward, and earned a quick explanation from Terleman, who seemed perfectly willing to indulge her.