Heavier Than a Mountain (Destiny's Crucible Book 3)

by Olan Thorensen

  Maera had been sitting quietly, scribbling notes. Yozef happened to glance her way. She bit her lip and shifted in her chair.

  She’s got something to say, Yozef recognized, but still isn’t confident how much she can participate.

  “Maera,” he said, “you have a thought?”

  She looked at him with gratitude and launched quickly into what she was holding in, as if she were about to burst. “Have the rotations overlap. The men are in Keelan for a month, six sixdays. Ask the other clans to have the next rotation come halfway through the previous rotation. That way, there would always be men who’ve had at least three sixdays of training.”

  Culich shook his head. “That would mean the clans would have more men committed to being away from their provinces at any one time. I’m not sure if they would agree.”

  “Perhaps,” said Maera, “but there’s no harm in asking.”

  “Even if they do say no,” said Yozef, “go back to them and propose that the overlap will be just two sixdays. That way, their clans would have a hundred men away for four of the six sixdays of a month and two hundred for the other two sixdays. After refusing your first request, I’ll bet they’ll feel they have to agree to the second.”

  “That gives us between six hundred and twelve hundred men, depending on how the clans answer,” said Denes. “The low number isn’t enough men.”

  “We already have five hundred men either in Dornfeld or within range of the Dillagon Pass,” said Culich. “Gwillamer has had three hundred men in the northern part of their province, in case the Eywellese or Narthani come at Dornfeld and on to Gwillamer. Those men would be available.”

  “How many of those have had the training as dragoons and using the 6-pounders?” asked Denes.

  Culich looked at Luwis, who shrugged. “I’ll have to check,” said Luwis, “but at least some of our men. As for Gwillamer, I don’t know.”

  “I see Denes’s concern,” said Culich. “It would best if all the men going on a raid into Eywell have the training, but it may not be possible, if events happen too fast. I’ll communicate with Cadoc Gwillamer and apprise him of what we’ve discussed. I’m sure he’ll support the idea. I’ll also ask that the men he stations near Dornfeld include as many as possible with the training. For now, we’ll have to be satisfied that most men have had the training and the others will follow along.”

  “That worries me,” said Yozef. “It’s a recipe for confusion at the wrong times. Keelan is in better shape, because we started earlier and have more experience. By now, most Keelan fighting men have been trained enough to be considered dragoons. The other clans need to come along faster than just one or two hundred men at a time. They need to set up their own training programs, either using their own men who have been through the training here, or we could send experienced Keelanders to their provinces for a month to get them started.”

  Culich let the discussion go for another ten minutes, then ended the session.

  “I’ll contact the other hetmen with all these ideas and proposals. Something else occurs to me. We should run a semaphore spur line to Dornfeld. If it comes to carrying out this raid, we’ll need faster communication than riders. We should probably also run a line to Rummel, on our east coast. Luwis, check with Pedr on how long it will take to get new lines operating.”

  Damn, thought Yozef. There’s just too much to do! Here’s another case where a functioning telegraph could be vital.

  The meeting broke up, with the MIU members going back to thinking up scenarios and contingencies, Yozef heading back to his shops, and Culich and Luwis walking the quarter mile to the clan headquarters building in Caernford. Culich acknowledged greetings of clan members the whole way, but his mind was elsewhere.

  I wonder whether any Keelander would have dreamed up a plan like this a year ago, Culich thought. Listening to Luwis and Denes talk about tactics, logistics, reserves, line-of-retreat, and other concepts new to them makes me wonder, once again, about Yozef’s influence. Even if it’s true that most of the ideas behind this plan came from others, it has Yozef’s handprints all over it. Maybe it’s simply that he’s introduced new ways of thinking, but would these ideas have surfaced if he hadn’t come to Caedellium? I doubt it. Thank you, God, once again.

  By the next sixday, Culich had answers from the other clans. Gwillamer, Mittack, and Hewell agreed to double the number of men sent for training, seeing it as getting more of their fighting men accustomed to new tactics faster and approving the rapid reaction concept.

  Adris declined the increase, citing their distance from Keelan but asking for the loan of fifty experienced dragoons to assist in setting up a training site in Adris. Stent and Orosz were not asked to send more men. Stent would be fully occupied if a northern invasion occurred, and both Stent and Orosz approved the concept of the diversion raids and began organizing their own reaction force to carry out the feint into northern Eywell toward the capital, Hanslow, or other operations.

  CHAPTER 28: BEWARE THE SERPENT

  Narthani Headquarters, Preddi City

  Okan Akuyun stood next to Admiral Morfred Kalcan and Assessor Sadek Hizer, watching the sloop clear the breakwater and catch the wind past the harbor.

  “There we go, Sadek,” said Akuyun, addressing Hizer. “Now if the messages to your agents just get there without detection, we should have all their acknowledgments in five or six days.”

  Akuyun had let his hair grow longer than usual, and it billowed from the wind gusts. “I think the orders will jolt your agents when they get them.”

  “Certainly, from the delivery method,” said Hizer. “They’re aware they might be called on for direct action, if necessary.”

  Hizer held his hat on with both hands to keep the wind from sending it flying. He appeared satisfied with seeing the sloop off. “After this, we’ll have the three strike teams launched in two sixdays, once we have the dates set for all three provinces.”

  Kalcan clasped his hands behind his back, as he watched his sloop turn and head along the coast. “Sadek, will you still consider this a success if you kill only one of the three hetmen?”

  Hizer shrugged, never losing his grip on his hat. “Strictly speaking, I could count a success if none of the teams are successful. The main point is to focus the clans’ attention on protecting their own people and territory, so they don’t get ambitious about what to do about us here in Preddi. The one exception is the Keelan hetman. He’s proving too successful in rousing the other hetmen to action and cooperation. If we get only one of them, I hope it’s him.”

  “Two sixdays until two of the strike teams land at dusk, then the assault force on Swavebroke hits shore at first light the next morning,” recited Akuyun, more to himself than to the other two men. “Aivacs was right to suggest starting the Swavebroke attack at dawn. Word by semaphore of the hetmen strikes won’t have come yet and alerted Swavebroke.”

  Brigadier Aivacs Zulfa, commander of Narthani ground forces on Caedellium, had pointed out the impracticality of landing twenty-five hundred men in the dark and expecting to coordinate it with the attack on Shullick, the Swavebroke capital. First light would be best, and by first light, Zulfa meant the lead units would be on the docks of Shullick before enough light existed to read large lettering. The local agent had reported that Swavebroke hadn’t implemented regular patrols along the coast or lookouts at strategic points. The Shullick harbor piers were empty of ships, since the Narthani naval blockade kept trading ships away. The Narthani intended to sail straight into the harbor and use the Swavebrokers’ own piers. They should be able to approach almost to the docks before being spotted, because the two Anyarian moons would have already set.

  Since no semaphore message could go out until there was light enough to read flags from however many miles’ distance lay to the next station, alerts from the hetman attacks would not reach Swavebroke until the twenty-five hundred men, two hundred horses, and twenty 12-pounder cannon were ashore.

  The three men watche
d another five minutes, each with thoughts about the coming operation, their roles, and the consequences, if anything went wrong. When the sloop, now almost a mile offshore, disappeared behind a headland, Akuyun finally pushed hair out of his eyes. “Good. Now back indoors for me and the endless stack of papers.”

  “I’m afraid you’re looking at the wrong man if you want sympathy, Okan,” said Hizer. “I’ll admit that while my stack might be more interesting than yours, it’s still a stack that never gets smaller.”

  “That’s the trouble with you ground-walker leaders,” said Kalcon, laughing as the men turned toward the headquarters buildings. “You’re too in love with pieces of paper.”

  “As if you don’t have your own to do,” said Akuyun, amused at the incorrigibly cheerful naval officer.

  “Oh, I do, but that’s what a flag lieutenant is for. The good ones anyway, and mine is very good. Especially once he understands what I really need to see and what he can do himself, with occasional perusals by me.”

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, Morfred. Otherwise, I’d be shocked to think any Narthani officer did not understand the importance of properly completed paperwork.”

  “Oh, but do I appreciate it, General, that’s why my selection of flag lieutenants is so important.”

  “As long as everything is done to proper standards,” cautioned Akuyun.

  Amusement at the Narthani bureaucracy was one thing, but none of Akuyun’s subordinates doubted that their commander expected the paperwork to pass any inspection.

  Akuyun Villa, Preddi City

  “Okan, how did you feel seeing the sloop off and the assassination plans going forward?”

  Rabia Akuyun already knew what her husband thought. She’d waited until they finished evening meal and their two children with them on Caedellium, their son Ozem and his twin sister, Lufta, left them alone at the table.

  “Knowing something is necessary to a mission is one thing, but liking it is different. No matter how many times I tell myself that killing one man by stealth is no different than ordering men to their deaths in a battle, it still makes me uneasy. Neither does the logical assessment of expected casualties seem to change things. The three hetmen attempts may result in fifty to a hundred deaths, Caedelli and our men. The attack on Swavebroke will certainly cost many times that number, but my mind lingers more on the assassinations than on the Swavebroke attack.”

  “You’ve said many times that a commander needs to balance the short and long term.”

  “Now, dear, it’s not appropriate for you to use my own words against me.”

  They laughed, and Akuyun poured himself another glass of wine and a half glass for his wife. He knew without asking how much more she would drink at this point in the evening.

  “But yes, you’re right, and so am I. The island will come into the Empire. It was never explicitly told to me, but I can read the signs. The High Command is firmly committed. My task is to accomplish this, and I hope to do it with the least destruction of properties and lives as possible. But it will happen, and the longer it takes, the more lives and property will be lost.

  “We may be in a holding position since the Moreland setback, but one way or another, the basic mission stays the same. I’ve determined we can’t subjugate the island with the forces we have, so it’s wait to hear from home. Until then, I need to keep the clans focused on their individual security and on keeping their men close at hand. If that takes the lives of several hundred or even thousands of people, then that has to happen.

  “If the clans launched all-out attacks on us, the number of lives lost, theirs, our troops, and especially Narthani civilians, not all of whom could we keep safe, would be far higher than attacking Swavebroke and the strikes against three hetmen.”

  “You believe what you’ve planned is the best way forward?”

  “That, dearest, is one of the dirtiest secrets never fully explained to young officers. You never know if any decision is the right one.”

  Port of Salford, Keelan Province

  Gethin Drifwich was not a happy man. Spying for the Narthani, at the behest of his Nyvaks hetman, had been exciting, and the monthly pay amounted to more than he could earn in a year back at home—not that he saw the coin himself, because it went to his family in Nyvaks. Neither did he see himself in particular danger. After all, he only passed on simple messages once or twice a month to Narthani sloops on scheduled patrols along the Caedellium coast. No one noticed him in the secluded, hidden location he’d picked out to send lantern codes to the sloop. He would never know that after the Keelanders caught the Abersford agent, an alert went out to look for other spies sending encoded messages by lanterns to Narthani ships. He hadn’t been caught solely because the spot he’d chosen recessed into a cliff enough that the small boats watching a few hundred yards offshore couldn’t see his light.

  Until now, sending the messages had been routine. Tonight, all of that changed. After arriving at his signaling location, he was halfway through the time it took him to send light codes, when he nearly had a heart attack. Three armed men appeared behind him and threw him to the ground, jamming cold steel against his throat. Under the light of both Anyarian moons and the stars, he glanced down and saw the blade of an impossibly large knife under his chin.

  “Your name!” hissed a Preddi-accented voice.

  His throat constricted, and he croaked a staccato of sounds, his knees lifeless, and his whole body trembling.

  “Your name!” came the voice again, even harsher, and he felt the blade break the skin on his throat.

  “D-Dr-Drif-wich. Drif-wich. Drifwich. Gethin Drifwich,” he said.

  The steel withdrew, and he sucked in the best breath he had ever taken. The man with the knife turned to the other two and said something that sounded like Narthani.

  The man released him, and he fell to the ground, only to be picked back up by the same man. The man unsealed a watertight pouch and pulled out a package.

  “We’re here to deliver a message. This package goes to your contact in Caernford. You are not to open it. The contact will tell you anything you need to know. You will be back here in five days to signal whether the package was received and the message inside acknowledged. Are there any questions?”

  Questions? Drifwich thought hysterically to himself. Why would there be any questions? I’m risking being shot for spying for the Narthani when three men put a knife to my throat and then give me a package. Why would I have any questions?

  “I-I’m . . . to give this to my contact in Caernford?” he said, trembling.

  “And?” prompted the voice.

  “And . . . ” What was it? “Oh . . . .I’m not to open the package. The agent will tell me anything I need to know.”

  “Where’s the report you were sending?” the man said.

  “It . . . it’s here somewhere,” said Drifwich, waving toward the ground. One of the men partly lifted the flap on the unblackened side of the lantern used to signal and swept the ground. He grunted and picked up three sheets of paper, now crumpled and smeared with footprints. The men exchanged more unintelligible words.

  The Preddi officer put the sheets into the pouch from which he’d taken the package now held by Drifwich’s death-grip. “Your report is complete. Leave and deliver the package as you’re told.”

  The man said nothing more to Drifwich, uttered a short phrase in Narthani to the other men, and as quickly as they had appeared, the men vanished. Drifwich didn’t see where they went, nor could he hear their movement. They were just . . . gone.

  He collapsed to the ground, scraping his hand against the rough rock face that provided one side of his signaling spot. It took him fifteen minutes to gather himself enough to walk back to where he had tied his horse, borrowed from the stables of his employer.

  The transport business had been almost nonexistent since the blockade, and the Salford port had been dying for several years, as workers and their families left searching for work elsewher
e on Caedellium. The elderly owner left the near-defunct business’s details to Drifwich, who remained the only full-time worker of the original eleven. Thus, he had access to wagons and the horses not yet sold. He made a point of driving a wagon to Caernford twice a month, every three sixdays, to maintain an observable routine, even when the wagon remained near empty of cargo. His real purpose was to meet the Caernford agent whose name he didn’t know and didn’t want to know.

  He rode back to the stables outside Salford, restabled the horse, and collapsed on his cot in his quarters attached to a tack room. He lit a single candle and looked at the small package. Though he wondered what was so important that the Narthani risked making physical contact, it never occurred to him to open the package.

  He had just returned from Caernford three days ago and was not scheduled to leave again for fourteen days. Nevertheless, his instructions were to be back in Salford in five days to signal a sloop the message had been received. He would have to leave first thing the next morning.

  Keelan Manor, Caernford

  Esyl Havant trotted his horse down the lane to Keelan Manor. He’d been here more times than he could count, but each time he scanned for details of any changes since his last visit, even if only the day before.

  The grounds were well-maintained, the house impressive. He often imagined himself owning such an estate, though with a more modest-sized house. He’d had such imaginings during the many years he’d worked for Sadek Hizer. This wasn’t the first time he’d served as a spy among enemies, but, to his surprise, he found that he felt comfortable among the Caedelli.

  He hoped they didn’t have to destroy too much of the island, because he’d begun to think it might be his ultimate destination when his days of working for Hizer ended. He had become used to the moderate temperatures and the air freshened by sea and vegetation, much different than the bone-dry air and alternating cold nights and scorching days of his native central Narthon. As he neared the manor, he pictured his house on these grounds. But no, he wanted to be nearer the sea. Maybe similar grounds near Salford, with the sea within sight of the house but not too close, so that he had to contend with salt spray. Yes, to always have the endless water within sight, so different from endless arid wastelands.