“Such as?”
“Loyalty,” Xan said. “I will not turn on an ally. Once we sign a treaty, I swear on my life that I will not break it. I’m a wizard. No one can do what I can, and with me come one hundred ninety-seven mages, the most formidable force available to stand against Dastanar.”
The queen paused, considering his proposal. If he could just nudge her …
“You really only have two choices,” Xan said, “ally with me or bow to King Barius … if he doesn’t simply kill you outright.”
The queen’s face hardened. Maybe he’d pushed too hard with that last.
“I will need time to evaluate your offer,” she said. “If I agree, however, I insist on being given full control of your mages for the battle.”
“Who will assume that leadership?” Xan said.
She pointed to a middle-aged man wearing a military uniform who stood to her right. “General Waller.”
Judging from the queen’s last general, the guy likely didn’t know anything about magical combat.
Before Xan could object, the general stepped forward. “If I might, your majesty?”
The queen waved her hand in acceptance.
“The last few months, I’ve studied all the literature I could find about strategy and tactics prior to the Wizards War. Not much survived, and I confess that I barely have knowledge of the capabilities of the mages, much less a command of how to direct them in combat.”
Finally, someone who admitted what they didn’t know.
“Who then?” the queen said. “Not that … mercenary … commanding the wizard’s mages.”
There was an obvious choice, of course, but it was best the name not come from Xan. He met Ashley’s eyes, hoping she wasn’t so mad at him for rejecting her that she’d sabotage the treaty.
“Marshal Reed, the commander of my father’s force, is both an experienced soldier and a mage, your majesty,” Ashley said.
The general nodded.
“Very well,” the queen said.
Xan held back a grin. Brant would be ecstatic. At the very least, Xan had done something good for his friend.
“If we are to ally with you, there will be other conditions,” the queen said. “I need time to consult with my counselors.”
Xan nodded his head. “Yes, your majesty.”
“Very well,” the queen said. “This meeting is adjourned. We will reconvene in—”
A messenger sprinted into the tent. All eyes swiveled to him.
The man went to a knee when he reached the edge of the dais. “Sorry, your majesty. Urgent news. Dastanar’s army has crossed into Bermau. Our border fort has fallen.”
“How many troops?” the general said.
“At least two thousand.”
“How many mages?” Xan said.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” the messenger said, “but we weren’t able to get anyone close enough to see uniforms. There were no mages with us. We don’t know.”
Barius could be coming with a token force of a few hundred, in which case Xan had a chance. Or Dastanar’s entire force could be on the move, in which case any effort against them was doomed.
90.
Xan meandered through the camp.
Thanks to Tasia, he’d salvaged the alliance, but that admittedly difficult accomplishment was but a small part of winning the war. Dastanar was the true enemy, one he had no idea how to defeat. If Barius brought his full complement of mages, what could Xan do?
There had to be a way to save the situation, but how? What was he missing?
Prior to the first attack on Asherton, Brant had gotten inside the mages’ tent to assassinate a bunch of them. Xan would try it again for the upcoming battle, but Barius would surely expect the move and guard the tents much better. Definitely not a tactic Xan could count on to work.
Really, blighting was the only way to kill the enemy en masse. He’d have to overcome any resistance from the queen, of course, but he was positive he could make her see reason. The greater problem was that an opposing blighter could easily counter the magic used to detonate a blast. According to Brant, Barius didn’t have any blighters, but Xan didn’t want to trust his life on the accuracy of that information.
He pinched his lips. Neither option was brilliant, and he needed something beyond brilliant. Extraordinary. Perfect.
Instead, he had nothing, and no amount of thinking and considering and brainstorming helped. He couldn’t give up, though. Too many people were counting on him. What might jog his brain? Watching the mages practice?
Worth a shot. He flew to the training field.
Two lines faced each other across a large green expanse strewn with boulders and tall metal poles. Most of the rocks rested on the ground, but some were suspended from supporting contraptions with strings that had small bells tied to them. And oh, sheep roamed around at random.
Such a strange setup, but he had to admire the ingenuity. Rocks made good targets for kineticists, glamours, and heaters. The hanging ones were for the massers, the sheep for the death mages, the wood supports for the alchemists, the bells for the harkens, and the tall poles for the bolts.
“Begin!” Lucan yelled.
Viewed through magic, lines of various colors shot at the targets from the far line of mages. The near side targeted the enemy, shutting down the lines shooting out. The lines split and overlapped.
So they were learning tactics, both figuring out how to attack in a coordinated manner and how to target multiple enemy mages. Good.
But not good enough. Lucan, the one carrying out the instruction, had been taught by Dastanar, meaning he knew nothing that Barius’ mages didn’t. They’d have used those tactics since birth and could probably block and split flows as easily as breathing.
Everything led Xan back to the hopelessness of the situation. Dastanar’s mages were more numerous and better trained. Quite simply, there was no way to win. Xan’s only chance was that Barius underestimated his opposition again and brought too few mages.
Ivie watched the skirmish from the sideline, and Xan walked to her. She inclined her head toward him in greeting.
“Any ideas?” he said.
“About what, my lord wizard?”
“How to defeat Dastanar.”
“Why would I know something like that, my lord wizard?”
Since the method of detecting a person’s magical ability at a distance had become common knowledge, most everyone knew her to be a mage, but she still pretended to be just Brant’s handmaid.
“Yeah,” he said. “If only you were a Dastanarian death mage in disguise, you might have useful information for me.”
“Perhaps, I could pretend to be what you suggest, my lord wizard.”
“Great idea.”
“Unfortunately, my lord wizard, I can’t help you. Even as a hypothetical death mage, the situation seems untenable.”
“What about a blast?”
She inched away from him. “You have both the ability and the material, my lord wizard.”
“But will Barius be able to counter?”
Ivie hesitated. “The official position of the kingdom is that blighters are killed as soon as they’re discovered as infants, my lord wizard, but I’m not sure you can trust that. The king is paranoid, but he’s not stupid. Likely, he foresaw the possibility of blasts being used against him, and if so, he’d have surely kept one or two alive but unsurged for just such an eventuality.”
Her analysis matched Xan’s. He couldn’t depend on blighting as anything other than a last resort. “There’s got to be something we can do.”
She didn’t respond.
“Would Barius let us exist in peace if he’s nominally in charge?” Xan said. “Could we negotiate a surrender?”
Ivie flinched. “Mages in Dastanar are slaves, my lord wizard, and their lives are difficult. He’d execute most of you, and those he didn’t would end up wishing he had.”
Again, exactly what Xan thought. “Is there any way to come out of th
is alive?”
“I don’t see how, my lord wizard.”
* * *
Dylan clutched his medallion.
Rumors had floated through the camp that Dastanar’s army was on the move and had defeated the border forces without even slowing. Everyone suspected King Barius brought most, if not all, of his mages, and if so, they’d outnumber anything Brant could field by at least three to one.
All signs pointed to any battle against Dastanar’s forces being an absolute disaster, yet that seemed to be the plan. Not a single person voiced any complaint.
Madness.
Someone had to say something, try to reason with the people issuing the crazy orders. And Dylan didn’t see anyone else willing to do it.
He waited until early evening and found Brant in his tent. “Have you considered that, maybe, our best bet is to retreat?”
Brant laughed. “Retreat? Why?”
“Because King blasted Barius has access to over a thousand rads-infested mages and we have under three hundred and fifty.”
“Barely under,” Brant said.
Dylan glared at him.
“You know me, and you know Xan,” Brant said. “Don’t you trust us by now?”
“If Xan actually has a good plan … maybe. Does he?”
Brant winked at him. “Maybe.”
“Does he, or doesn’t he?”
“That depends on whether you count hoping he comes up with something at the last minute as a plan.”
“I definitely don’t,” Dylan said.
“Okay, then, maybe he doesn’t have a plan, then.”
“Brant …”
“I’m a soldier. I stand and fight when I’m told to stand and fight. My liege lord has called on us to stand before this enemy. I, for one, will not abandon him just because things look bad.”
Dylan hung his head. He’d taken the same oath, which meant he was obligated to do whatever was required, even if that involved risking his life. No matter how awful the contract turned out, one didn’t simply decide not to honor it.
He so wished he’d listened to Xan and not signed that blasted agreement.
“Duke Asher’s side of the deal contains obligations as well,” Dylan said, “such as not throwing his vassals’ lives—not throwing my life—away for nothing.”
“My oath wasn’t to follow only the orders I agree with. It is not my place to question the duke.”
Great.
There was no way to persuade Brant that retreat was the best option, and even if Dylan flew to Asherton, the duke wouldn’t listen to him. Lady Ashley wouldn’t be risking herself in battle, so she’d never be convinced to do anything other than support her father.
Dylan was doomed. A weight heavier than a cask of dye settled in the pit of his stomach.
He’d send Mari away from the battle, of course, and not being a mage, she’d probably not be in too much danger when Dastanar conquered Bermau. She’d live, though he didn’t know what kind of life she’d have as a peasant under King Barius’ rule.
Another reason to stand with Brant against Dastanar. If there were a chance, no matter how small, that Xan could pull out a victory …
Unlikely, but he’d done it before under conditions that seemed as dire.
Dylan barked out a laugh. Right. Better to prepare for death than to base decisions on false hopes. Choosing to be a mage instead of a merchant had been stupid. He could be in Eagleton arguing with his parents, which, though unpleasant, was blasted better than facing death.
His greatest regret, really, was not being able to wed Mari. Such a different life would await him if not for the rads-infested war. He and Mari would move to Asherton where he’d build the biggest dye empire in the three kingdoms. They’d live in the finest house save the castle, afford every luxury. When sons and daughters came, they’d attend the finest schools, and one day expand the business even further.
But none of that was to be.
Except, maybe, there was one regret he didn’t have to live with.
That step was such a big one, though. And impulsive. Was he really considering …
The alternative, though …
Yes. Time to be decisive, to make a bold move. He would do it.
His heart pounded as he sought her out, finally finding her in line at the dining tent. Her clothes were dirty from whatever chore she’d been assisting with. Even her hair was a mess.
She was beautiful.
“This isn’t how I wanted to do this,” he said.
“Do what?”
Dylan went to a knee and … floundered. He didn’t even have a ring. His hand found his medallion.
People were staring at them. She was looking at him with an expression that wavered from overjoyed to terrified and back again. He had to do something. Say something.
“Marisol Greenfield, I love you.” Dylan pulled the gold chain off his neck. “This medallion is the first copper I ever earned. Whenever I need comfort, it provides reassurance that I have resources.” He swallowed hard. “I want you to have it because, now that I have you, I no longer need it. Will you marry me?”
“Dylan!” Tears ran down her face.
“Is that a ‘Yes’ or a ‘No?’ I kind of need an answer here.”
“Yes!”
He stood and pulled her to him. They kissed. Urgently.
“Marry me.”
“I just said I would.”
“Marry me, now.”
“Dylan …”
“I’m serious. Right this minute. We’ll find a tender somewhere.”
“Are things that bad?”
He nodded.
“I want to be married at home, under an arch my brothers build in the backyard that climbs with grapevines. My dad will walk me down the aisle. And the dress! Oh Dylan, I can just see the dress!” She frowned. “But I want you more than I want any of that.”
His heart sunk. He couldn’t still her dreams like that. “We should wait. If you want your parents’ house, I’ll give it to you.”
“Dylan, no. You’ll being going off to battle soon. If … you know … happens, I’d rather we at least had the time before then together as man and wife.”
“And I want it all. To live a long and happy life with you and our children. For you to have your dream wedding.”
“But what about the battle?”
He pushed his sleeves back. “I’ll just have to survive.”
Somehow.
91.
Ashley clutched her hands against her legs to keep from fidgeting.
Offering advice in the throne room and playing politics behind the scenes were one thing, but she’d never been a part of an official royal counsel session. She, Queen Anna, Duke Macias, General Henson, and a half-dozen others sat around a large table inside a huge pavilion tent.
The queen began the meeting with a wave of her hand. “Based on long-standing tradition, the rules of etiquette here differ from anywhere else in the kingdom. All are equal and should not fear speaking their mind. No ‘your majesty’ or ‘my lord’ is required.” The distaste in her voice made clear her opinion of the custom.
She turned to General Henson. “The force that crossed the border is only nine days from Asherton, and we still don’t know its composition?”
“Not yet, but we’re close. Our scout mages are moving into position. Using the technique Marshal Reed learned from the wizard, we’ll determine approximately how many magic users King Barius is bringing.”
“How long?”
The general pushed his body to the back of his chair, putting as much distance between himself and the queen as he could. “Three days.”
“I see, and until then, we sit around drinking tea and cross-stitching?”
He cleared his throat. “My officers and I have come up with a recommendation for each of three possible contingencies.”
“Proceed,” Queen Anna said.
The air in the tent was cool, but drops of sweat ran down his forehead. “First possibility
, they only have a token force, in which case we stay and fight. Second, they have around the same number as we do, which makes for a tougher decision. Their mages are better trained, giving them an advantage, but once they determine how many we have, they’ll not come at us with so few again. Therefore, we must fight because a confrontation is our only chance to whittle down their forces. And third, they have come en masse, which gives us no choice but to retreat.”
What? Surely, Ashley either hadn’t heard correctly or the general’s plans of running away would be dismissed out of hand.
“Agreed,” the queen said.
Ashley blinked rapidly. She had heard correctly, and his plans were endorsed. “Duke Asher is one of your biggest supporters. You’d desert him?”
Queen Anna shot her an impatient glare. “He will be supplied with the information we gain and will be given enough advance notice to get out of the city.”
“Not nearly enough time to evacuate the whole of Asherton, though, and you know very well that my father would never run from a fight, especially when it means leaving his people at the mercy of an enemy.”
“I sympathize with his plight, of course,” General Henson said, “but his choice is his alone. We cannot afford to send our entire force to be slaughtered.”
Ashley leaned forward. “When Truna attacked us, we were even more outnumbered than this time, yet we prevailed. The wizard Gryphon will think of something just as he did then.”
“Vierna is our richest duchy,” Duke Macias said. “I worry the message it would send to the other dukes if we let it fall without even mounting a defense.”
Ashley shot him a quick smile.
The queen’s forehead wrinkled. “That is a valid point, but I don’t see what to do about it. We can’t base the future of the Bermau on what someone who is barely a man might accomplish. If we had a solid plan, I would be willing to gamble on it, but you’re giving me a maybe.”
“We can position our forces far to the north of Asherton,” the general said. “If the wizard comes up with something, we’ll be the hammer to crush Dastanar against the anvil of Asherton’s walls. If not, we have an easy avenue of retreat.”
The queen smiled. “A wonderful compromise.”
Gryphon (Rise of the Mages Book 2) Page 48