“Of course, Charese, of course,” Hellamer said, still smiling up at Gallord-Smit. “We’ve fought together many times. The last, if I recall,” he pondered, “was during the Wastelander siege of Wellem’s Bluff.”
“Pfft, siege?” Gallord-Smit scoffed. “Is that what they wrote in the history books? More like a mass suicide,” he suggested.
“True,” Hellamer agreed. “They weren’t exactly prepared for a stiff defense. Or a creative Front-Captain named Smite.” he exclaimed, slamming a meaty fist into his other palm.
“Don’t start that again,” Gallord-Smit chided. “It took me years to erase that Smite nonsense.”
“It’s a good nickname,” Hellamer said. “One we could stand to see resurrected here, wouldn’t you say, Charese?” He raised a hand and messed her hair like a child, though she stood closer to Gallord-Smit’s height than his own.
She nodded appreciatively, but Gallord-Smit frowned. “This isn’t a band of angry rabble, Hellrack. This enemy is well supplied; I’m just come from Somria, and I saw—”
“What?” Hellamer cried, stunned. “You’ve been scouting out the enemy in their own heartlands?”
“Not exactly,” Gallord-Smit admitted. “Though I did learn a lot about their campaign here. I was there more as a sort of . . . visitor.”
Hellamer was staring at him with renewed admiration. Charese started to ask a question, but Hellamer waved her silent. “Don’t ask, Charese. Just don’t ask. This is Gallord-Smit we’re talking about. I learned a long time ago,” he went with a sigh, “to never underestimate this man.”
Gallord-Smit waved him off in turn. “We need to talk strategy. But first—” he straightened. “Right-Precept, I have no orders from the Lords’ Council, but I am here for the good of the Lands, and if you have no objection, I will relieve you.”
Hellamer smiled, and bowed; an odd gesture with his bulk that didn’t seem to shift his centre of gravity at all. “It is my honour, young man. I stand relieved.”
“Very good. I hereby appoint you as my second officer,” Gallord-Smit said, nodding.
“Thank you, my lord,” Hellamer replied, still smiling. “May I serve you as well as I did the last commander here.”
“You ever hear of insubordination, Right-Precept?”
“Nope,” Hellamer said, pursing his lips. “Is that a tropical disease?”
Gallord-Smit shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Apparently.” He sighed. “Hellrack, we need to talk plans here. Fill me in on everything you’ve got.”
“As you say, Front-Captain. But first, let’s get you fed and watered. We’ve got a few luxuries here on the island; might as well begin by introducing you to those.”
Hellamer’s luxuries proved to be mostly of the alcoholic sort. They had liberated a number of liquors from their own supplies before fleeing their base camp for the hills, and had bolstered their stock by raiding the Somrian camp a tenday earlier. Thus, when they entered the modest square ‘command centre’—a simple stone block foundation with an angled thatch roof overhead—Hellamer produced a variety and began pouring for himself, Gallord-Smit, and Charese. They sat upon hand-made wooden benches cut from the lengths of tree trunks, and the table was a rustic work of art, made up of rough-hewn planks fitting together without nails.
After his initial surprise at the stunning vistas from the Tower, he had begun to wonder why he wasn’t seeing any soldiers about, and asked Hellamer about this. In fact, other than the two men in the rowboat (who had vanished), he had only seen Hellamer and Charese.
“They’re all out scouting,” Hellamer replied, sipping at the wooden cup he held in his left hand, which contained what Gallord-Smit would describe as a fiery elixir. They had sampled a variety of the brews before settling on it, though not without the benefits of experimentation. Charese in particular seemed to be taking advantage of her free evening with the officers, and already showed ruddy cheeks. “We don’t have a lot of men, Front-Captain,” Hellamer added. “Since we are safe enough up here, I don’t keep any garrison. Keeping tabs on the enemy has proven much more important than keeping the base tidy.”
Gallord-Smit frowned, as much at the liquor he was drinking as at Hellamer’s words. “Then how do you communicate with them?”
“If I need to I’ll send Charese, or Util or Losly.” He motioned along the hillside as he mentioned the last two, as if the men were in sight. “Fact is; we always have a lot of warning when the Somrians decide to poke around up here. It’s just too slow going to ambush anyone. Well,” he appended with a smirk, “For them to ambush anyone.”
Gallord-Smit nodded. “How many bannermen do you have left? Is Fornay still with you?”
Hellamer’s eyes darkened; he shook his head slowly from side to side. Gallord-Smit saw that Charese also hung her head.
“When the Somrians first showed up, we had no warning at all, Front-Captain. Several transports anchored offshore right in front of the town, and groups of soldiers started disembarking. Not at a charge, you understand,” he clarified, his gaze drifting out to the jungle. “They wandered up on the beach and into town as if they were just visiting. We had heard nothing of any tensions. Nothing!” At that, he thumped his fist lightly on the makeshift wooden tabletop, anguish evident on his thick features.
“I sent Fornay out to speak with their commander,” he went on sadly. “I assumed they had been granted shore leave—they looked unorganized enough, you understand. Fornay found their commander.”
Hellamer poured himself more of the spicy, powerful brew and sipped at it with his eyes closed for a moment before continuing. “Front-Captain, they took his head off. He didn’t even see it coming, he didn’t even reach for his sword. I saw the whole thing from my command tent.”
“Those wasting swamp lizards,” Charese muttered, tossing back her own cup’s contents in a single swallow. “Too cowardly to just attack; they have to—” She cut herself off, clenching her teeth. Gallord-Smit wondered if she and Right-Bannerman Fornay might have been intimate.
“After that, it all went to rot,” Hellamer said. “They had enough manpower on the ground for a beachhead. I sent out a force to drive them off, but they had archers waiting on the ships in range. Decimated us. We had to pull out, fast.” He chewed his lip. “We left most of the townspeople. With the army gone, they would be safe in occupied territory. Right?” The last word came out as a breath, his eyes on Gallord-Smit pleadingly.
Gallord-Smit nodded. He had already heard how this ended. “It was honourable and wise, Hellrack. You gave ground to create a buffer zone, to prevent civilian casualties. It was the right thing to do.” Seeing the look on Hellamer’s face, he shifted forward and placed a hand on the man’s massive shoulder. “Delmes. You didn’t kill them.”
Hellamer shook his head slowly, his eyes down. “Why would they do that, Pilaeos? Why? For what . . . possible reason? For what gain?”
Gallord-Smit sighed. “Shock value, nothing more. So many dead suddenly, that the enemy pauses, stunned into inaction. Take the whole island swiftly, before you can prepare a defense. Negotiate later.”
Hellamer nodded. “They wanted to take the island quickly. So the Lords’ Council wouldn’t have time to think about a war.”
Charese laughed into her cup. Gallord-Smit could see her swaying slightly in her seat; her people were known as drinkers, but not as particularly good ones. “Well, that didn’t work. All they did was make Right-Precept mad. Makes us all is mad.”
“Charese, relieve Util. He needs a break,” Hellamer said.
If Gallord-Smit expected her to be displeased that the Right-Precept was cutting her off, he was pleasantly surprised; she leapt to her feet eagerly, and bowed sharply to the two officers. “My lords,” she said with only a minute slur, then she spun on a heel and marched off into the darkness.
“She’s hurt, Hellrack,” Gallord-Smit observed. “Bad.”
Hellamer shook his head. “She’ll stay strong, Front-Captain.” He sighed. “Forna
y was her Chosen.”
“Chosen? What’s that?” Gallord-Smit asked.
“A little tradition we started on the island,” Hellamer replied. Gallord-Smit saw a trace of pride on his face then; he had been a part of this colony, not just posted here. “It was the supply master’s idea. Civilian, you understand. He’s dead now,” he added unnecessarily.
“Good man?”
“The best. He came here on his own, to help get things going, start a new life. Older fellow, fifty summers if he had ten. Anyway, he had this idea that the undefined couples would end up a problem in a such a small colony. Jealously, competition. Bad for morale. Smart fellow, he would have done well in the army.” He sipped at his drink; Gallord-Smit did likewise.
“So he suggested that when a couple decided on each other, they would publicly declare themselves Chosen. After that, they were off limits to everyone else. Keep the peace, and all that. I was even thinking of placing a law against pursuing someone who was Chosen,” he added slowly, clearly unsure of Gallord-Smit’s perspective on the idea, “to discourage unfaithfulness.”
Gallord-Smit nodded, looking down into his cup, which was empty. He looked up at Hellamer, who was doing the same. “Hellrack, things aren’t going well here, are they?”
Hellamer laughed. “Front-Captain, I hope you can swim. Because I don’t know what ship you came in on, but this one is sinking. Fast,” he added.
“How many men do you have left?” Gallord-Smit asked.
“One hundred eight-seven,” Hellamer said.
Gallord-Smit blinked. “And the enemy?”
“Over a thousand. They may have received reinforcements; we have no scouting viewpoint on the southern tip of the island.”
Gallord-Smit grunted.
“It’s just a question of how long, Front-Captain,” Hellamer said quietly, frustration and irony in his voice. “Would you like to go out with a bang, or with a whimper? Or perhaps get back in your boat?”
Gallord-Smit’s eyes narrowed. “That’s quite enough, Right-Precept. Has the drink blurred your eyes that you can’t read my rank?”
Hellamer silenced, his eyes downcast. When they came back up, he was apologetic. He stood. “That was insubordinate, Front-Captain. I formally apologize, and welcome appropriate disciplinary action, at your discretion.”
“We’ll let it pass, this time. But I will tolerate no such talk under my command.”
Hellamer bowed, then sat again silently.
“All right,” Gallord-Smit continued, as if nothing had happened, “We have a serious numerical deficit. But, we have a strategic advantage; they don’t know where we are. Have they been scouting these hills much?”
“Not much, Front-Captain,” Hellamer replied, more formally now. Clearly he had realized that Gallord-Smit, however much his old friend and compatriot, was in command, and he took comfort in it. “A few single scouts along the ridge, and riders periodically down in the forest.” He motioned at the flat jungle terrain below them. “Never came close.”
“That’s odd,” Gallord-Smit observed. “They want you off the island, and have a huge numbers advantage. Why not just charge up here?”
Hellamer shook his head in uncertainty. “I assumed they didn’t want to take the chance of losing men to ambushes.”
“No,” Gallord-Smit said. “If the numbers were ten times what they are, that thinking would work. An army advance can be broken by a much smaller army on superior terrain, and the rout can result in huge losses. But we are talking about two companies against ten, here. They can still maneuver quietly with those numbers. It would come down to one-on-one, and we’d lose. They must know this,” he finished.
“Then why not attack us up here, right away? We’ve been here for tendays, and we’ve been doing some damage in the meantime. Outposts, supply depots, we’ve even hit horseyards and a shipwright,” Hellamer said.
“They’re waiting for something,” Gallord-Smit decided.
“What?”
“Not sure.” He stroked his upper lip in thought, and was again disappointed to find nothing but skin. Well—on further exploration he found stubble growing there. It’ll be back in a tenday, he assured himself, and this time I won’t let Rena cut it off. The thought of her, so far across the sea, saddened him and he squelched it. Stay focused, Pilaeos. “Something important. Reinforcements, maybe, of a type that would give them a decisive advantage. Or perhaps a commander, coming to soak in the glory of the victory.”
Hellamer’s eyes bugged. “You don’t suppose the Commander-General himself is coming to oversee the battle?”
“We’d better hope not,” Gallord-Smit replied with a sigh. “If he does, he’ll bring so many men we won’t be able to piss without watering one of his soldiers.” That brought a smile to Hellamer’s face. “Hellrack, we need to move on them, and fast.”
“Scouts report the main body of the enemy pulled back to the southern coastline,” Hellamer said. “Their northern skirmishers are still roving about. They are on horseback,” he added.
“How large?” asked Gallord-Smit, interested.
“Two companies, Front-Captain.”
“Two companies,” Gallord-Smit repeated slowly, allowing the words to roll around in his mouth. “That’s barely more than our full compliment.”
“They’ve been using it to pin us back at the foothills, Front-Captain,” Hellamer informed him. “We don’t dare move down into the flat forest. The low jungle brush is thick enough to slow down footmen, but the trees are well spaced and easy travel for horsemen. If we let them get behind us, it’s all over. Their main force can come out from the town and we get caught between.”
Gallord-Smit nodded. “Sounds like a perfect scenario. Recall all our men, except for the scouts ghosting the cavalry. I assumed you have those?”
Hellamer smiled. “Our best long-distance messengers. They can run all night. What’s the plan, Front-Captain?”
“Sacrificial lapizar, Right-Precept. They’ll catch us wandering from the safety of our hilltop retreat, right into their clenching jaws.”
Hellamer raised an eyebrow. “Front-Captain?”
“One thing I’ve learned in all my experience, Hellrack,” Gallord-Smit said quietly, “is that an enemy with all the advantages has everything to lose.”
Hellamer was still frowning, but he didn’t inquire further. He stood and bowed to the Front-Captain, then went off to find his scouts, leaving Gallord-Smit to his thoughts.
If his plan worked, they would strike a decisive blow to the enemy. Perhaps decisive enough to make them think twice about attacking again. If they truly were waiting for something, he intended to make it a costly wait.
Costly enough, he hoped, to draw critical attention to Sherzi’s ambitions, and to lend some support to Rena’s cries for caution—and peace—to the Overlord’s patrician supporters in Yalcinae.
34 WELGRAY
Benn’s Harbour had been abuzz for tendays. All of the Heartlands had been, in fact; since the Council had put forth their edict, soldiers and ships had poured into the lush southern province ruled by the Lady Carissa Odvacar. Welgray was her honoured guest, though only because he was Llory’s escort; the former Chamber Seat of the Spire of Rising may have been officially only his equal, but since sharing her “wisdom” with the Council and the uproar that followed, she had been treated as if she retained her former status.
Welgray was a mostly forgotten footnote, though he was not particularly dismayed by this. He received the appropriate respect due his rank, but was otherwise left to his own devices. Which invariably permitted him the freedom to monitor not only Llory’s activities and meetings, but also those of the Council of Lords, though most had departed for their estates as the Benn’s Harbour fleet began preparations to set sail.
If the freedom allowed him by going relatively unnoticed granted him a chance to spy on Llory, completely secrecy on her part took it away. Other than when she summoned him for a meeting—another subtle transgression agai
nst him, since he was, after all, her equal—he never saw her; as far as he knew she stayed within the generous apartments afforded her by the Council.
More distressing was the fact that Llory seemed to have taken on Wissa as a messenger girl. It began the day after her miraculous twisting; Llory asked Wissa to deliver a letter to Lord Arriola, and bring back any reply he saw fit to send. Wissa was ecstatic to comply, and it would have been left to Welgray to deny her permission, which would have been rude. Besides which, he hoped that it would help him to learn more of Llory’s clandestine activities.
Thereafter, however, Wissa began disappearing more and more to do Llory’s bidding, without any hint to Welgray as to where she had gone or when she would return. Wissa was not technically his servant anymore, so she was free to do as she wished—she certainly was not neglecting him; she always returned in time to prepare his evening meal, and was never lacking in lust for him in the sleeping room. The morning meal was likewise unerringly delivered to him at dawn, as soon as he finished his morning meditations, but Wissa often disappeared soon after.
Welgray thought to ask Wissa directly regarding Llory’s daily activities, but decided against it. As tempting as it was, her knew that to do so would give Llory more than he would get in return; she would know he had been asking, and would selectively feed Wissa what she wished him to know. And though Welgray had no lack of trust in his former serving girl, he did not wish to put her in the position of choosing in whom to lay her ultimate loyalty—though Llory was now merely a Collector, in Wissa’s eyes she likely remained a Chamber Seat, and thus a focus for the younger woman’s fears and suspicions. No, Welgray would have to rely on subtler means to learn of Llory’s business. Which, so far, had amounted to little or no information. He certainly wasn’t going to resort to wandering around outside her apartments to see if she went out, or who came to visit her. A Collector had to retain some self-respect.
Welgray was having considerably more success monitoring the activities of the Council Lords, mostly because they were making no attempt to hide their business. Lord Roxo had departed shortly after that fateful meeting with Llory; it was simple enough to determine that he was returning to the Northern Islands, where he would launch his fleet to secure the seas between the Lords’ Lands and the Sherzi’s North Province of Somria. Lady Minore, Lord Olistry, and Lady Larine had likewise left the Heartlands, making for their more distant lands to raise troops and send them west or southward. The Lady Odvacar had stayed in Benn’s Harbour, of course, as had Lord Arriola, who could send for troops and ships easily enough from his nearby coastal lands, and no doubt considered the advantage of maintaining a presence in the capital more important than retuning to his own province.
Sayri's Whisper: The Great Link Book 1 Page 41