The day passed quickly, too quickly. Despite their best efforts, Garnuk and Tarq barely managed to cover half of the distance back to base camp, leaving them nearly a full day’s march still to go. Tarq offered to run through the night with Garnuk, and the Exile nearly accepted the suggestion, but ultimately discarded it. It was safer to travel in daylight, especially with the elements playing such a major factor.
So it was that the two weary travelers returned back to the camp they had left only a few days earlier at sundown, exactly two days after the dragon had attacked the Usurper’s forces at Ishkabur. Garnuk and Tarq stumbled wearily into camp, the two guards coming to attention immediately.
“General,” one said, stepping forward. “Four squads have reported in. Their reports are waiting for you in the command center.”
“Good,” Garnuk muttered wearily. He looked around, noting that two more tents than usual were present. “One of the squads is still here?”
“Yes, just arrived a few hours ago. They’ll leave in the morning.”
“Fine. Make sure they don’t leave without seeing me, I may have new orders for them.”
“Of course, general.”
Garnuk lumbered over to the pavilion, ducking inside. Tarq split off to drop his pack in his tent, then joined the Exile inside the command tent. Garnuk did not think to drop his pack or his shield, so intent was he on the problem of the dragon.
“Anything interesting in the reports?” Tarq asked as he entered.
Garnuk handed him the first one absently, having already skimmed through it twice. “Not yet,” he murmured. “More scout patrols, raiding parties and the like. Seems like Dun Carryl is definitely on the move . . . wish we still had those Banuk scouts watching all the major vertaga bases.”
“That would make things easier,” Tarq agreed as he read through the report. “I wouldn’t mind being back at Banta Kodu either. It was always warm there, and secure. I could get used to that.”
“We may have burned that bridge,” Garnuk reminded him despondently. “Chief Carh did not seem to think that it would be wise for us to return.”
“And he’s right,” Tarq said with a sigh. “We are not meant for the peaceful life, Garnuk. We’re warriors, plain and simple.”
“Far from simple,” Garnuk growled distractedly. “But warriors we are.” He set the third report down, tapping on its surface thoughtfully with one clawed hand and picked up the fourth. He skimmed the first line, then read it again, his heartbeat accelerating. Then, he read it a third time, just to be sure.
The first three reports had been almost identical in their findings: nothing too serious to report, a few Sthan sentries killed, a few vertaga patrols noted, maybe an advance party or two. But the fourth report was different from the first line.
“Vertaga army on the move,” Garnuk read aloud. “All forces marching out into Basin . . . apparent destination West Bank. Numbers estimated in the thousands . . . a host of varloug prans accompanies.”
“A host?” Tarq asked, leaning over to read the page as well. “How many of those beasts are there?”
“More than we originally thought, it would seem,” Garnuk murmured, sifting through the rest of the report. “The butcher must have been rounding them up using the pack he originally subjugated. He could have easily searched most of the Fells in the last several weeks with those beasts under his command.”
“That’s progress,” Tarq grunted. “But how many of those would it take to beat a dragon?”
“Likely more than the Usurper has,” Garnuk said distractedly. “But it’s a start, certainly. I – ”
He broke off as the entrance to the pavilion flew open and a vertag stumbled through the opening. In a flash, Garnuk had shrugged his oversized shield around and drawn his sword, ready for battle. The warrior frowned, puzzled, then held up both of his clawed hands.
“Sorry, general,” he panted. “I did not mean to surprise you. I bring news, from team six.”
Garnuk lowered the shield and laid his sword on the table, the blade gleaming. “Team six? That’s one of the easternmost groups yes?”
“That is so,” the warrior agreed. “We have seen a massive force of vertaga leaving the mountains, marching towards the Sthan fortress.”
“We know,” Tarq said, gesturing to the report that Garnuk had read moments before. “They were spotted by another team, near the main pass.”
“That’s not possible,” the scout said flatly. “The group we saw was days away from the pass!”
“Well, this sighting was . . . six days ago,” Tarq explained, producing the report.
“And we sighted this other group eight days ago!” the warrior gasped out. “There are two separate forces, captain, there must be!”
Garnuk frowned, looking down at the map and trying to make sense of what the scout was saying.
“Both headed for the same place?” Tarq asked skeptically.
“Can you show us exactly where the band you encountered was?” Garnuk asked sharply, gesturing to the map. “And what direction they were traveling.”
The warrior stepped up beside the table, hesitating for a moment as he found his bearings. “East of the broken peak,” he murmured, counting mountains and valleys. “It would have been . . . right about here.” He stabbed a clawed finger at a larger than normal gap in the smaller mountains that formed the edge of the Fells.
“And their course?” Garnuk prompted.
“Almost directly northwest,” the warrior replied.
Garnuk nodded, drawing a thin line from the point that the scout had indicated. “Good, good,” he murmured. “Now, that other report, Tarq.”
The captain passed Garnuk the sheet wordlessly. The Exile scanned its contents once more, making sure that no detail was missed, then placed a finger on the map. Then, very carefully, he drew a line outwards from the pass. Not directly towards the Sthan fortress, but a little to the east. It intersected with the first line not far from the West Bank.
“Clever,” Garnuk murmured. “It appears the Usurper is not taking any chances this second army will be discovered before it reaches the fortress. They are approaching along an indirect route, so that even if the Sthan saw the first group leaving the pass they will not know the full numbers of the force which is headed their way.”
“And that full force is how many?” Tarq asked.
Garnuk glanced at the scout. “How many in the army you sighted?”
The scout shrugged uncertainly. “Two thousand?” he guessed. “And a great many varloug prans. There were also at least two catapults, and some battering rams.”
“Siege equipment,” Garnuk muttered. “And in the force the Sthan likely will not see. The balance is shifting, Tarq. There is a chance now.”
“A chance?” the scout asked, puzzled. “General, I thought the Sthan only had a few hundred soldiers at their West Bank fortress?”
“New intelligence has come in,” Garnuk said delicately. “It appears the fortress will be harder to take than anticipated. But, that may be a good thing in light of the size of the force that the Usurper has sent.”
“That is unfortunate,” the scout observed. “But the Usurper still holds the advantage?”
Garnuk nodded slowly, considering the odds. The Sthan might have a dragon, but they were short on soldiers at the West Bank. And with the numbers the Usurper had sent from Dun Carryl . . .
“Our people hold the advantage,” he agreed. “For the moment, anyway.”
The scout, looking vaguely reassured, saluted Garnuk casually. “Very good, general. That is all that I have to report for now.”
“Get some rest,” Garnuk said absently, already turning back to the map. “But do not leave tomorrow morning without first seeing me. I think I will have new orders for all of you.”
“For all the squads?” the warrior asked, surprised.
“Yes,” Garnuk murmured distractedly, tracing the lines that predicted where the attacking forces of vertaga were heading. “
Based on their current speed, how many days until the two forces rendezvous near the Sthan fortress?”
“Not long,” the scout replied immediately. “A few days at the most.”
“Not long enough,” Garnuk murmured. “This will be problematic.”
The scout hovered between the entrance and the table, uncertain as to what he should do. Garnuk ignored him, focusing on the task at hand, trying to discern the proper course of action. Finally, Tarq stepped forward.
“You are dismissed,” Tarq said gently, but firmly. “Well done.”
“Thank you, captain,” the scout replied. Then, he backed out of the tent quickly, casting a backwards look at Garnuk as he left. The general did not even notice, absorbed as he was in his thoughts.
Tarq leaned over the table. “So, what’s the plan?”
Garnuk shrugged. “I don’t know yet. I need time to think, Tarq.”
The captain nodded. “And food for thought, no doubt. I’ll find something for us to eat. My stomach is empty from all of our running these past few days.”
Garnuk made no reply, merely leaned closer to the map, measuring distances and estimating travel times. Tarq shook his head and left the pavilion, chuckling to himself.
When Tarq returned, Garnuk was no longer standing over the table, but pacing around the pavilion, his horned head brushing the underside of the sagging roof at the edges of the small space. Tarq carefully set the platter of meat and bread on the table, making certain he did not cover any important maps in the process, and took one plate for himself.
“Food,” he grunted to Garnuk, pointing.
The Exile did not pause in his muttering and pacing, merely collected the plate on his next pass around the table. Then, he continued on his monotonous circuit, squeezing past Tarq and nearly knocking his plate from his hands. The captain scowled irritably, then moved as far against the wall of the tent as he could. On the next pass, Garnuk bumped him less forcefully, but it still nearly unbalanced the captain. From then on, Tarq was forced to move as well to avoid being trampled, moving from corner to corner ahead of Garnuk, chased around and around the pavilion by the distracted general.
Finally, Tarq grew weary of the game and stopped, halting Garnuk with an outstretched arm. The general blinked and looked as his captain dimly.
“What?” he asked.
“You’ve been driving me around this table for the best part of half an hour,” Tarq growled. “And, you haven’t touched your own food yet.”
Garnuk glanced down at his plate and snorted to himself, setting it down on the table. “Too busy thinking to eat right now,” he muttered.
“And what are you thinking?” Tarq asked.
Garnuk shrugged, already drifting back into the vague expression and indistinguishable muttering that meant he was deep in thought and no longer concerned with the matters in his immediate vicinity. Tarq doubted if the general’s thoughts and words would make sense to any other living being.
“General!” he snarled, cutting through Garnuk’s fog of distraction.
The Exile blinked and looked around, almost as though he were waking from a deep sleep. “What?” he asked irritably, scratching at his horns.
“What is our plan?”
“No plan yet,” Garnuk grunted. His eyes drifted over the map and he brightened as he noticed the plate of food. “Ah, good thinking,” he observed, picking up the plate and cramming meat into his mouth. “No one can think on an empty stomach.”
Tarq rolled his eyes. “The food’s been here for half an hour,” he pointed out.
Garnuk stopped chewing and looked down at the plate. Then, he swallowed forcefully. “Has it really?” he asked, apparently surprised.
Tarq nodded.
The Exile shrugged. “Sorry. Sometimes I get a little . . . distracted when I’m planning.”
“So I’ve noticed,” Tarq said drily.
“Anyway,” Garnuk continued hastily, “I’m getting close to having a plan.”
“Then let’s hear your thoughts,” Tarq said, before Garnuk could sink back into his stupor.
The general swallowed again, clearing his mouth for speaking. “The Usurper marches on the Sthan fortress with a large host,” he said, pointing at the two lines drawn on the map. “They’ll be at the West Bank in . . . three or four days, but they are not moving at full speed.”
“Go on.”
Garnuk looked up tilting his head to the side. “Why the sudden interest?” he asked bluntly.
Tarq snorted. “Because I’m curious and I’m tired of being left out,” he growled. “My mind is keen for our race, Garnuk, and two may catch problems one will not.”
“Ah,” Garnuk said. “Sorry. I should have trusted you, old friend. After all, you and Koah did masterful work at Banta Kodu with Shadow Squadron. Yes, masterful indeed,” he murmured, glancing at the map.
“Garnuk,” Tarq said, a warning note in his voice.
The Exile shook himself. “Right,” he muttered. “The problem facing us, is being certain our kin win the battle at the West Bank, but not so decisively that they can push forward to the rest of the kingdom. We need them to attack, win, and withdraw, leaving only ruins.”
“Is that the only problem?” Tarq asked.
“No,” Garnuk replied immediately. “There’s the matter of the dragon, of course. That’s a bit of an unknown at the moment. And we have no idea if there are Sthan reinforcements on the way or when they might arrive. The timing of everything is critical at this stage in the war.”
“What if something goes wrong?” Tarq asked. “What if the Usurper does not win this fight?”
Garnuk sighed. “Then one of two things will happen. The Sthan will press forward, or they will fortify what they have and let the war end. I do not think that they will let our people retreat to the mountains again though. Ten years ago, they let us escape and now we have come back with a vengeance. It is not a mistake they will repeat.”
“They could,” Tarq mused, “If the boy king is not ready to march to war.”
Garnuk shrugged. “We cannot count on the cowardice or incompetence of a young king to win the day for us. We need to be sure events play out as we desire.”
“Then how do we do that?” Tarq asked. “We have roughly thirty warriors at our command. They would not make a difference either way in the coming battle.”
“No,” Garnuk agreed. “But we all need to go north just the same. This is the tipping point, and we need all of our messengers, operatives, and patrols to be there, ready to meddle in these momentous events.”
“I always did like meddling in things I had no business meddling with,” Tarq said with a rumbling chuckle. “But can we gather everyone before the attack?”
“That,” Garnuk said, wincing, “Is the problem. Our forces are scattered in order to gather as much information as possible. Somehow, they must be brought together. The warriors who are here I plan to dispatch to six of the groups. I’ll leave a message for the remaining two, but you and I will adjust our route to the Sthan fortress slightly, so that we might cross their path on the way.”
“Good thinking,” Tarq murmured. “There is a problem though. We know nothing about the Sthan forces.”
“An oversight we need to correct,” Tarq agreed. “I plan to send Harg north, past the West Bank, with a squad of four. They will be his to dispatch and command. I want advance warning if any reinforcements are on the way.”
“What would you do with such information?” Tarq asked. “Besides help our own forces to evade capture.”
Garnuk grimaced. “If the battle goes poorly, it may be that we need to save as many of the Usurper’s warriors as possible, to give our kin a chance to survive the war.”
Tarq folded his arms across his chest, frowning. “You believe the situation is that precarious?”
“Yes,” Garnuk muttered. “I think that it is. This dragon, the rebuilding of the Sthan fortress . . . there are so many unknowns, Tarq. And there is great potential for
failure on the part of the Usurper. If this battle goes poorly, we may be facing the end of the vertaga.”
“Except for the Banuk,” Tarq pointed out.
“Except for the Banuk,” Garnuk agreed. “It is good that at least they will survive. There must be someone to carry on our proud legacy.”
“If the Usurper fails, general, then where will we go?” Tarq asked. “If the war is lost?”
Garnuk squared his shoulders. “I started this war ten years ago,” he said firmly. “I will not abandon our race in their time of need. If the end of our race comes, then I will die defending our tribes with my last breath.”
Tarq nodded solemnly. “I’ll ready the others to march in the morning,” he said, moving towards the entrance to the pavilion.
“Not in the morning,” Garnuk countered. “Immediately. If we are to have any chance at all, we must march tonight.”
Chapter 41:
The Race North
The small camp had dissolved into chaos at an impressive rate.
The moment Tarq had emerged from the pavilion, he’d started shouting orders to the others. In minutes, fires were doused, gear was packed, and tents stowed away. The warriors obeyed without complaint or question, trusting in their general and his captain.
Garnuk packed his own gear, then set about the task of leaving a message for the others. It was not an easy job, seeing as he needed to convey enough information for the others to be able to find him, but not enough that the message could be damaging in the wrong hands. After a half dozen attempts, Garnuk took his finished message to the designated hiding spot, a small crevice in the cliff face the camp backed up to. The message would be safe there, concealed from prying eyes and the worst of the elements. With any luck, nobody would ever read it. Garnuk still hoped to intercept the remaining two teams on his way north.
The Ramshuk (Heirs of Legacy Book 3) Page 41