“Numbers, Master Arad,” Josel told him patiently, as they gathered their gear from its place near the rail. “We have them outnumbered here and probably everywhere. They may have concentrated to wipe out one of the other landing parties, but they couldn’t match the group from this ship. They knew that, so they just sent a shock group to meet us. Slow us down, do some damage, get away. They’ll be regrouping somewhere else.”
Arad strapped on his helmet and shouldered his shield. He took a moment to revel in the sense of power that filled him, armed and armoured as he was. He was not, he pondered grimly, entirely unlike his father.
Or unlike Gallord-Smit, he considered with a slightly lighter heart. Or Josel. These were men he respected who were good soldiers. Perhaps it wasn’t about the military; perhaps they were just men, with all their strengths and failings. As was he. “We didn’t pursue, because they may well have set ambushes,” he guessed.
“Correct,” Josel confirmed. They reached the rail, and the boat came alongside. Men began scampering down the netting into it. “After you, Master Arad,” he said, a bit louder than he needed to, so the men could hear.
Arad nodded, stepping over the rail. “Sure you don’t want to stay here and pour out some wine, Captain-General?” he replied, climbing down. The men laughed, and Josel nodded appreciatively, then followed.
He took his place at the stern, and sat with his shield before him. Josel joined him a moment later.
“My lord, have you joined battle before?” one of the men before him asked. It would normally have been a rude question, but battle changed the rules. Men needed reassurance, and often looked to their leaders for it.
Arad examined the young man. He was Sayri’s age, perhaps a year older. “Not in this heat,” he replied, wiping his forehead in an exaggerated gesture. “I’ll look forward to a cool swim when we’ve finished up.”
It was an obvious boast, but the men liked it and he got another laugh, as well as a few wry replies. It also avoided the question—Arad had fought, but never in a battle of this size. He wasn’t about to admit it if he could avoid doing so. Humour was always a good substitute.
His comment about the heat wasn’t entirely untrue; the sun was strong, and he was already sweating under his helmet and armour. He imagined how hot it would be when fighting, and how drenched in sweat he might be from exertion, fear, and the hot, sticky air. He’d soon find out.
The boat drifted from the ship as men released it and took up oars. Arad held tightly to his shield, half expecting a hail of arrows to strike them as they came within range, but of course none fell; his countrymen had captured the beach and the jungle nearby. A few hundred heartbeats later they beached and he climbed out after the soldiers.
Elsano approached them, pride evident on his face. “Waterfront is secure within two hundred paces, Master Arad, Captain-General Josel, as is the jungle a hundred paces in. I have scouts on their way to the other landing parties, and further inland.”
“Well fought, Captain,” Josel praised. “Minimal losses, considering.” He turned to Arad. “Master Arad, I recommend a rendezvous point five hundred paces directly toward the mountain. Call in all our men and form up, to best advantage our greater strength.”
“Yes,” Arad agreed. “We need to know where they are, though.”
“The scouts will find them soon enough, exec,” Elsano said.
Arad nodded, and Elsano excused himself to carry on.
“What do you expect Gallord-Smit’s goals to be here, Captain-General?” he asked Josel. “He can’t be hoping for a victory.”
“No, he can’t,” Josel agreed. “At least not if he imagines any level of competence on our end. He’s hoping to do as much damage as possible, I’d imagine. He may even have hoped to seize one of our ships and get home afterwards.”
“I assume you’ve taken the appropriate precautions,” Arad said, frowning.
Josel smiled lightly. “Of course, Master Arad. He won’t get me that easily. Our ships will fire on any boat that fails to identify itself properly, and only our officers know the codes.”
“I see.” Arad sighed. He wondered what the men on the other side must have been thinking. They could not have expected to survive. They certainly would not be hoping to win. Or would it be a matter of blocking out the truth, and blindly believing in themselves, regardless of circumstance?
He looked up at the towering black cone of the mountain, standing over the island like a silent god. Had ancient people stared up at it, imagining what it meant, or where it came from? Had men like him stood beneath it, wondering if they would live to see the sun rise over it another day?
Perhaps that was it. A man could not go on expecting his own failure and death; it would destroy him. A man could only go on.
・ ・
The scouts had found the enemy, eventually. Josel was surprised by their location; by the time the Somrians had formed up at the rendezvous point five hundred paces inland, the Lordslanders were gathered at the base of the mountain. Arad didn’t think anything of it, but Josel was confused.
“It doesn’t make sense, Master Arad,” he was saying. They were seated on large roots in the jungle; the area was full of them. It was good that they hadn’t brought cavalry—Josel had decided against it after hearing of the island’s small size from the Proselyte—because if they had, they would have been completely useless. The beach sand was too deep for a charge, and the jungle was thick with the twisted roots; the horses would have broken their legs and fallen, crushing their riders.
Elsano had had the soldiers clear an area of the thick brush, then begin clearing paths for campsites. Josel wasn’t taking any chances; he wanted a well established base camp from which to launch attacks, and into which he didn’t need to worry about being overrun by enemy skirmishers. They had scouts out a thousand paces in every direction, pockets of archers as ambushes for any enemy incursions, and a solid defended route back to the coast in case they needed to retreat or send word to the ships.
Josel had been correct about the Lordslander defense strategy; they had struck each of the Somrian landings briefly, then retreated—all except one. That beaching had landed without being fired upon, thinking the enemy had missed them. Then they been ambushed and decimated by an enemy army numbering well over a hundred men, by survivor’s estimates. Gallord-Smit, if it was indeed him, had thrown almost everything he had at it. The ship’s Master, seeing its troops wiped out, had taken up anchor and sailed back to the Dissolute.
“They had to make a stand somewhere, Captain-General,” Arad suggested. “They’ve done their damage, perhaps now they’re planning to climb the mountain and use it as best they can.”
“That I could understand,” Josel said dismissively. “So why aren’t they up the mountain, then? Besides, it’s too obvious a move. Gallord-Smit wouldn’t keep it that simple. He’s up to something.” He shook his head, drawing in the dirt with a stick, as he had been doing for a while.
Arad smelled smoke; clearly the men had started up campfires to prepare their evening meal. “It’s nearly sundown, Captain-General. As you’ve said, they won’t attack at night, because you’ve prepared for that. Why won’t we just take our evening meal, and discuss it over a glass of wine. I’ll have Elsano’s men set up the command tent.”
Josel sighed. “Very well, Master Arad. Perhaps a rest will help me think. And the men are no doubt hungry, so—” He cocked his head to the side, frowning. “Do you smell smoke?”
“Yes,” Arad said. “Cookfires, no doubt. Just the thought is—”
Josel leapt to his feet. “Fires!” he exclaimed, then he bellowed out, “CAPTAINS TO ME!”
“What is it?” Arad asked.
“Master Arad, I ordered a fire ban until we had the enemy movements confirmed. I haven’t recalled it.”
Arad stood nervously. “They’re trying to burn us out?”
“No,” Josel said, his eyes darting about as his mind raced. “The jungle is too wet. They�
�re trying to smoke us. But what for?”
Arad shook his head. He could see the smoke drifting through the campsite, now, and it was getting thicker. “We should pull back,” he said. “To the coast, maybe?”
“That would be the prudent thing to do,” Josel replied thoughtfully. “But no experienced commander would do it. The correct choice of action would be a charge.”
“A charge?” Arad was shocked. “But they’d likely have ambushes laid. And the smoke would make it harder to see them.”
“Correct,” Josel agreed. “But with vastly superior numbers, losing track of the enemy is the greater danger. So we spread out to contain, and advance quickly to keep them within striking distance.”
“Okay,” Arad said slowly. He was beginning to expect the back-and-forth thought process that Josel used in strategizing. “But we aren’t going to advance.”
“No. I won’t do what Gallord-Smit wants me to.”
Elsano had appeared in the area sometime ago, speaking with scouts as they came and went. Now Vatinyu appeared with a group of skirmishers, and Kollivar emerged from the thickening smoke coughing lightly. He was heavily armoured, and had his sword drawn, but carried no shield. He was alone.
“They won’t dictate to us,” Kollivar boomed, slashing at a leafy plant with his sword. “What do, Captain-General? Form up and advance in unison?”
Vatinyu didn’t speak, but he glanced back and forth between the two officers, then looked at Arad.
Josel turned to Arad as well.
“No,” Arad said, resisting the urge to glance at Josel for approval. “They’d expect that. Captain-General Josel has a different idea.”
“Thank you, Master Arad,” Josel said curtly, bowing his head momentarily. Then he turned to the other Captains. “We form up into two equal divisions. Captain Kollivar, you take one. I’ll lead the other. Elsano, you’re with me. We move in opposite directions, circling the mountain while keeping the same distance. Heavy scouting, archers on our flanks. Be ready for a sudden ambush. If it happens, stay tight, maintain contact with the enemy, and call for support from the other division.”
Vatinyu nodded; Elsano shrugged. Kollivar frowned, sheathing his sword. “No disrespect intended, Captain-General. But that’s an odd strategy. What are you expecting the enemy to do?”
If Josel was put off by being challenged, he didn’t display it. “I’m not sure what he’s up to, Captain. My intent is to maintain a safe defensive formation, and move us out of this smoke. They can’t have ignited the entire coastline, and even if they did, the smoke will blow out to sea on the other side. I will not cater to the enemy commander; he’ll have to face us directly.”
Kollivar nodded slowly, considering, his hands flat against his broad torso. “Well thought out, Captain-General. I’ll form my division and march north then.”
“Very well, Captain,” Josel replied. “We shall meet on the east side.”
As Kollivar vanished back into the smoke, Arad wondered incongruously if he would see the man again. He shook off the morbid thought, and gathered his gear.
Elsano was howling out commands; he likewise disappeared into the smoke, but his voice was clear.
Josel picked up his shield and helmet, called commands to men somewhere nearby, then made to start off into the haze. “Shall we, Master Arad?”
“Shouldn’t we wait until your men have formed up?” Arad asked.
“They’re formed up, Master Arad. We’re ready to move,” Josel replied casually. He gestured ahead, and the two began advancing into the smoke.
Arad shook his head in wonder. How could the man tell that his soldiers were ready? How did he even know where they were?
He was suddenly very glad that Josel was leading the campaign and not him, however it might appear to the men. He had been uncertain and confused from the start, and now he was completely disoriented. He didn’t even know which way they had come from, much less which was south!
If he truly had been leading this army against Gallord-Smit, he and all his men would have been in deep trouble, superior numbers be damned.
44 SAYRI
Wissa had been very quiet. It was a bit frightening to Sayri, the way she had transformed from a meek servant girl into a murderess and then, after a brief show of emotion, into a cold, hard, Collector. She had sworn an oath to protect Sayri, but seemed so torn up inside herself that Sayri wondered if she would have the strength to protect anyone. At times, when she caught the taller girl at the rail gazing out over the sea, she though Wissa might be about to throw herself into the sea.
Sayri struggled to find words to comfort her, or at least distract her, but it was no use. Her new guardian had no desire for conversation. She followed Sayri below when she went for food, and up on deck when she longed to feel the breeze on her face. She ate and slept at night just inside the door to the Master’s cabin. Sayri had no idea when she used the head.
The weather had turned bitterly cold the first few days after they departed. It wasn’t freezing, but the wind was wet and gusted sharply, often pulling her cloak from her body, and it rained enough that she found it uncomfortable to stay on deck long. In those days, she sat in their cabin. She meditated and tried to urge the Link to her bidding, but for some reason found it difficult. She was distracted by thoughts of Arad, and was only able to enhance her awareness enough to hear Wissa breathing across the room.
Eager to arrive at their destination, Sayri tried to reach out to Arad, to feel him or even talk to him, or at least to see where he was, but in this too she failed. The Link had no range; even outside the door of the Master’s cabin was beyond her. She sighed in frustration—it seemed, somehow, that she should be able to do more, but she could not.
After those first few days of going nearly mad in her cabin, the weather cleared and the rain stopped. The air also became warmer; they were making superb time, running at a sharp angle from the wind, and the change in climate was immediately noticeable. Sayri began spending the entire day up on deck, watching the waves race by and the occasional fish jump alongside the bow. In the distance, fluffy white clouds beckoned; overhead, long white streaks pointed the way south. She began to feel a sense of anticipation, and desire. Soon she would find Arad. Soon, with luck and the Great Link willing, she might convince him to end this war and they could return home.
The Lords’ Lands, of course, was not Arad’s homeland, but she felt certain that he wanted to be there, with her. His own land had been less than forgiving to him, and he clearly despised his father. She couldn’t even begin to understand the rift between the two of them, but of one thing she was certain; Arad would never want to be near him. After what had happened in the Overlord’s palaces, she felt equally certain that he would want no place in Somria. No, he would return with her to the Lords’ Lands, to the Lower Valley. To her family.
Her thoughts drifted to her family often. On the portside rail, she would stare out in the direction of the Lords’ Lands, and imagine going home. Were her family well? Had they made it through the winter without serious loss of the crops or livestock? Had her brothers found women—could they already be married? With children, even? So much time had passed, she couldn’t know where they might be, what they might be doing. Her parents, at least, must still be in the same house, living the same life. Did they think of her often? Did they even know what had come of her?
Before they had departed for Somria, Sayri had asked that one of Lord Perrile’s messengers be sent to the Lower Valley, to seek them out and bring them word of her. At that time, she had been safely in Arad’s arms, and in the company of the Lordsguard. In truth there had been no safety there, but surely they had no reason to be worried for her.
In the evenings, when the weather was clear, she would stay on deck until the stars shone clear and the Spiral stood bright against the sky. The stars, in all their multitude, reminded her of the Link; like the swarm of bees from her dreams they danced together, connected and yet apart. If one touched the nex
t, and that one the next, she imagined, the entire sky would move as one. It was just her imagination, yet it felt somehow the same as her connection to the Link. If I was one star, and Arad was another across the sky, shouldn’t I be able to touch him through the rest?
It seemed that it should be so, yet she could not.
Wissa’s shadow was always there, on the edge of her awareness, but she eventually stopped trying to talk to her and simply accepted her presence. It was disquieting to recall the ease with which the taller girl had taken the Collector’s life, yet it also comforted Sayri. That same murderess was guarding her now, sworn to protect her. It bothered her while simultaneously giving her ease.
There were disadvantages to having the robe-clad guardian hovering over her, however; when she sought to speak to any of the crew, they were nervous and tried to escape her as quickly as they politely could. After her first few days out on deck, they began to move away, if they could, as she approached. The ominous presence of Wissa, clad both in her Collector’s robes and her suspicious scowl, was enough to turn Sayri into a pariah. She soon gave up and spent her time alone; she was no longer trapped in her cabin, at least, and could enjoy the fresh air and the view, if not the company.
All through it, she longed for Arad. Knowing that the ship was dashing southward through the seas only heightened her desire. She imagined finding him alone, walking in the sand under a hot southern sun, his armour discarded and his chest sparkling with sweat . . . she would run to him, throwing her arms around him body, tearing off her clothes and pressing her skin to his . . .
She didn’t know what would happen next—not truly, though she had been schooled somewhat on the responsibilities of a young wife from her mother—but she felt certain it would be glorious. Not like what the reeve had done, but tender; loving. A sharing.
Thoughts of the reeve brought her back to cold reality with a jerk, and she glanced over to confirm Wissa’s presence. Yes, she was there. Yes—Sayri was glad for her being there. She was not a victim! But it was nice to know that Wissa would make sure of that.
Sayri's Whisper: The Great Link Book 1 Page 54