The general, despite his composure, blinked in surprise at this. “Sir?” he asked.
“Bring them down, general,” Raeth repeated. “Leave only the archers, and I want them to retreat when the enemy gets too close. Arrange our forces like this.” He took a stick from a surprised mapkeeper and began to maneuver blocks of men. He put the regular Aedin and the Shorriken in the core, where the High Aedin should have been. The High Aedin he put at the extreme flanks, a reserve position.
“Tell them to be ready for the creatures,” Raeth said as he changed the pieces. While his other order had prompted whispers, this one created mutters of outrage which grew louder as the Senate and War Counsel realized what he was proposing.
“When they start to come down off the wall, that is when we hit them,” Raeth said, speaking only to Taenen and Darro.
Darro and the Bestarin general regarded his plan with consternation.
“We let them in,” Taenen said, “and then crush them back against the wall.”
“Exactly,” Raeth said, still ignoring everyone else. “What do you think?”
“It certainly is a different way to use a defensive wall,” Darro said musingly. “They’d only be able to attack us a few at a time. We’d lose our best defensive fortification, though.”
“I have a feeling that the wall won’t do us much good as a fortification,” Raeth said. “So far the Forgotten have proven to be stronger and more endurant than men, not to mention the fact that they’re hard to kill. They seem to be made of smoke—who’s to say they won’t just float over the wall?”
“The plan is clever,” Taenen agreed. “If we assume that they’ll be able to bypass our fortifications, our men could easily get divided and overwhelmed. Anyone caught on the wall would be trapped and killed at the creatures’ leisure.”
“And,” Raeth added, “if they don’t have a way over the wall—or if they move up it slowly—we can just order the men back up to the top.”
Taenen nodded. “A valid point, sir. I think it might work.”
Raeth turned to Darro, who shrugged. “Sure, why not? Nothing else we’ve tried has worked against them. I don’t think the Senate will be as quick to agree with you, though.” Darro nodded over Raeth’s shoulder at the group of nervous politicians.
“They’re the ones who put me in charge,” Raeth said. “Taenen, I want you to lead the main block, those dressed in the High Aedin cloaks. We’re going to have to depend on the Bestarin—so far, they haven’t appeared to be any less effective against the creatures. Darro, your job is to hold the High Aedin back and to prepare for our retreat.”
Darro paused. “Retreat?” he asked. “Hern, we’ve never retreated from the border before.”
“We may not have a choice,” Raeth said. “Prime the Mahallens to harry again if necessary, and make sure you gather a good group of Vo-Dari just in case. All right?”
“All right,” Darro said, shaking his head slightly. Taenen saluted, and the two stepped up for Sending, leaving Raeth alone with the room-full of hostile aristocrats.
He turned, handing the pole back to the petulant mapkeeper who, with several others, immediately began moving all the pieces back where they had been—though, of course, in a few moments he would just have to move them all back.
The Senators were arguing quietly, and several—all of whom had supported him in the vote—were beginning to speak of another vote.
“We cannot vote again,” Laene said, ignoring Raeth as he spoke to the others. “The old vote isn’t finished yet.”
The room grew quieter as many of the Senators turned to Rall Hannin. The Mahallen sat near the back of the group, his hands clasped contemplatively, his eyes interested as he studied the map.
“I don’t think I’ll vote just yet,” he decided. “Let us see how our young Emperor’s plans progress, shall we?”
The grumbles began again, but Raeth ignored them all, turning and looking again at the map table. He almost wished Rall Hannin had removed him. How many people were depending on him? How many soldiers would die if his plans were flawed? The burden grew larger as he watched the pieces move, trying to visualize the hundreds of men each one represented.
I’d better be right, he thought to himself with increasing apprehension. Oh, Ancestors, please let this work.
A few moments later he found himself a stool and sat quietly, thinking and planning as he nervously awaited for the enemy to approach.
Chapter Fourteen
The brides, for the most part, were extremely annoyed at their regulation to the secondary building. Even though messengers arrived periodically to inform them of the battle’s progress—or, so far, the lack thereof—Alean and the other still felt they should have been given special privilege.
“Take him another message,” Alean ordered a young Shorriken page. “Lord Hern must not understand. There’s so much confusion in that room that he must not have noticed that I’m not in attendance.”
D’Naa sat quietly in her chair at the side of the room, listening to Alean haggle. She wasn’t the only one. Tae and Hannin—the Bestarin bride—had both sent messengers of their own to demand admittance into the Counsel room. Even the quiet Shorriken girl had sent a request, though she had stopped after the first rejection. In fact, the only one other than D’Naa who hadn’t made any demands was Nahan.
D’Naa glanced to the side. The room was some sort of military training room, filled with uncomfortable chairs. Nearly every seat was taken—those who hadn’t gotten into the main room at least wanted to have a place in the secondary room, though D’Naa wasn’t certain why it mattered. There wasn’t anything special about this room besides the people it contained.
The noble occupants had immediately rearranged the chairs into smaller groups, and now sat talking quietly within their cliques. Not a few had ordered servants to bring them cushions for the chairs, and other were complaining at the cold, though the room’s Corpates seemed plenty warm to D’Naa.
Only one person was independent of the groups—D’Naa’s grandfather. She was gaining new respect for the old scoundrel as she watched him poke through the room, joining different groups of people, whether they be Mahallen, Shorriken, or High Aedin. Somehow, he managed to wiggle his way into every one, and soon he was laughing and theorizing with them as if he had always been part of the group.
“He was quite the politician, once,” Shaad said wistfully from beside her, where she sat embroidering a handkerchief.
“Still is, from the looks of it,” D’Naa noted, watching her grandfather animatedly tell a story to a group of Bestarin High Aedin.
“He loves people,” Shaad said. “That’s why he became a Hlaa. It gave him the chance to travel and learn. There was a time when he had an open invitation to visit the homes of the most powerful people in the Imperium.”
D’Naa paused, frowning slightly. “I’ve always wondered, grandmother. Why isn’t he a Senator? Kavir could do much worse, I think.”
Shaad lowered her embroidery hoop for a moment, turning fond eyes on her husband. “He was, for a very short time. He got tired of it though, dear. He couldn’t force himself to stay in one place so much, even if that place was Vae Annitor.”
D’Naa smiled, looking from her grandmother to grandfather. She could see so much in Shaad’s eyes—a lifetime of experiences, of travel and wonder. All of it spent with one special individual.
“You have potential in you, child,” Shaad said, still looking at her husband. “You could be like him.”
D’Naa blushed. “I doubt it,” she replied. “I always feel so awkward—like I don’t fit in.”
“Everyone does, at first,” Shaad said, turning back to her sewing. “But, there’s a reason your cousin sent you on this mission, as opposed to someone else. He trusts you. Whenever he sent you as an emissary to one of the villages, he knew that you would strengthen the people and restore their confidence. You have your grandfather’s personality, but you also have a sense to keep going after
the excitement quiets down. That’s a good trait in a politician.”
D’Naa flushed. The only way she’d become a real politician was if Hern chose her, and she was increasingly doubtful that would happen. Unconsciously, her eyes flickered to the side, toward Nahan. The Mahallen girl sat alone—the only one in the room who was sitting by herself. Apparently, removing her hoops while there was still two weeks left on Hern’s Ynaa had been a poor political move. Most of the non-Mahallens didn’t believe that she had actually seduced Hern, and those who did were angry at her for throwing a wrench into their political maneuverings. If that weren’t bad enough, her own people seemed to be politely shunning her for some reason.
The door opened and a messenger stepped into the room, causing the groups to quiet in anticipation. “The battle has not begun yet,” he announced. “The Forgotten are still approaching.”
The people sighed and turned back to their business, a few grumbling at the long delay. D’Naa’s eyes flickered to the side again, toward Nahan. She couldn’t help feeling sorry for the woman—she looked so lonely. Even if she had seduced Hern, it would be his fault as much as hers. Besides, wasn’t that the way her society taught her to get a husband?
D’Naa, you’re a sentimental rustic, she chided herself. Still, despite the inner derision, she found herself standing. “I’ll be right back,” she told her grandmother as she walked over to where Nahan was sitting.
The Mahallen girl looked up immediately, jeweled earrings glistening, her eyes hostile. D’Naa ignored the look, instead just seating herself on a chair facing Nahan. There was an uncomfortable silence before D’Naa finally spoke. “This waiting is difficult, isn’t it?” she said.
Nahan’s eyes flickered suspiciously to the side, as if she expected that D’Naa had been sent to bother her for someone’s amusement. “What do you want?” the Mahallen finally asked.
D’Naa shrugged. “You looked lonely,” she said honestly, feeling a bit foolish. This woman didn’t want her company. “I figured talking to someone would pass the time.”
Nahan didn’t look convinced. “You’re mad at me,” she challenged, “because I slept with the Emperor.”
“Maybe a little,” D’Naa admitted. “But, to be honest, we both know I never had a chance with him. So, what you do doesn’t really affect me.”
Nahan frowned. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “There are rumors in the court that say he favors you.”
“There are rumors in the court that say he favors all of us,” D’Naa guessed.
Nahan paused, then smiled slightly. “I suppose there are,” she said. Then she shot a look at a group of Mahallen businessmen sitting a short distance away. “Though, you still might not want to talk to me. Whatever I have might be contagious.”
D’Naa followed Nahan’s gaze. “I don’t understand,” she admitted. “How can your own people treat you like this? Aren’t you kind of on the same side?”
Nahan, frowned as she watched the Mahallens. “They don’t know what to make of me,” she explained. “In our land, when a woman makes an accusation, the man responds immediately. Hern hasn’t said a word, and that confuses them. I’m either their next empress or I’m a dead woman—if they make any missteps now, it could be embarrassing for them later on. So, they prefer just to ignore me.”
“That’s horrible,” D’Naa said.
Nahan shrugged. “It’s a very Mahallen thing to do. We’re good at ignoring problems. How else do you think we could marry ourselves off to Aedin, when we consider their Aethers to creations of evil? Maybe we should be more like the Khur, always fighting.”
“That doesn’t seem to get them very far,” D’Naa noted. “You have five seats on the Senate, they only have two.”
“Yes,” Nahan agreed, a slight cynical edge to her voice. “We make wonderful politicians. I believe he’s coming for you.”
D’Naa paused, following Nahan’s nod. Her grandfather was approaching with his characteristic spry step. He smiled pleasantly at Nahan and seated himself with them. “Very, very interesting,” he mumbled to himself.
D’Naa raised an eyebrow. “What was that, grandfather?”
“Our Emperor,” Hlin explained. “A few of the more important attendants of our little function here have managed to slip personal aids into the Counsel room. Apparently Lord Hern is causing quite a stir.”
Nahan frowned. “What is he doing?” she demanded.
Hlin smiled mischievously. “Well, apparently he’s taken away the High Aedin troops’ cloaks, and given them to the regular soldiers instead.”
“What?” Nahan asked. “Why would he do that?”
Hlin shrugged. “No one knows. Some speculate he’s trying to embarrass them for some reason—apparently, embarrassing people is one of Hern’s favorite pastimes.”
D’Naa shook her head. “Not at a time like this,” she said. “Even he wouldn’t do something like that.”
“Why, then?” Nahan asked.
D’Naa paused. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe he wants to make a decoy of some sort. If he disguises the High Aedin, he can use them to attack the creatures by surprise.”
Nahan frowned. “That seems like it would give the Forgotten too much credit. They’re supposed to be mindless demons.”
“Well, whyever he did it, Hern didn’t stop there,” Hlin said, his aged eyes twinkling like they did when he had news to share. “He also ordered the defenses to abandon the wall. He has them arranged down below, in the courtyard.”
Nahan shot D’Naa a surprised look. “But, that would leave us exposed,” she said. “We’ll lose for certain.”
D’Naa shrugged. She couldn’t make much sense of it either. What good would it do them to surrender the wall?
Further speculation was interrupted, however, as the door opened to admit another messenger. “The battle has begun,” he announced in a clear voice.
#
The Forgotten crashed against the border wall—or, at least, their pieces did so as the mapkeepers moved them. The Forgotten slowed as they reached the fortification, bunching up against it like water pooling against a dam.
Well, Raeth thought, at least they can’t pass right through it. He waited, sweat trickling down his brow, as the Forgotten progressed. Despite his position as battle commander, there was relatively little he could do until the creatures forced him to react. He’d ordered the archers retreat a few moments before. Now he could only watch and hope his plan worked.
Light flashed from the Sending platform, and every quiet head in the room snapped toward it.
“They’re jumping!” the messenger exclaimed. “The creatures are jumping—they’re leaping right up onto the top of the wall.”
Raeth let out a held-breath. He’d been right. He’d been wrong about the method, but he’d still been right. If there had been men on top of that wall, they would have been quickly overwhelmed. His suspicion was confirmed as another messenger appeared and gave directions to the mapkeepers. In seconds, the top of the wall was flooded with Forgotten.
“Tell the men to hold their position!” Raeth told the messenger. “They aren’t to attack until the Forgotten have begun to jump down from the wall. Under no circumstances are they to try and take the wall back.”
“Yes, sir!” the messenger said, then disappeared.
Raeth ground his teeth as he waited for further information. The first part of his plan had worked. Would the second? Could they really pin the creatures against the wall? If there was no space for the Forgotten to descend, the men could fight them in small groups, neutralizing the creatures’ number advantage.
Updates continued, and the plan set into motion. Raeth’s troops rushed forward, pinning a group of Forgotten against the wall, stopping their flow. It was working.
Then Raeth noticed something. Large groups of Forgotten were pooling at the very edges of the wall for some reason. He hadn’t noticed them at first—he’d been to focused on the main group. But, something about th
eir formation bothered him. It was almost as if they were… .
Raeth’s eyes opened wide. “No!” he yelled in the quiet room, causing Senators to jump. Even as he spoke, the mapkeepers moved a group of Forgotten down from the side wall—right next to the High Aedin troops.
“Tell the High Aedin not to engage!” Raeth snapped. “I want them to retreat, right now. Bring the Mahallen horsemen in to plug that group on the far right.”
However, another group trooped down on the far left, next to the other group of High Aedin. Seconds later, Raeth realize he’d been duped. The first Forgotten had attacked his fake High Aedin, but the bulk of the army was flowing to the sides, moving incredibly quick.
How did they know? Raeth thought with frustration. They lined up that way from the beginning—as if they knew what was on the other side of the wall… .
His messenger scampered away, but Raeth already knew he was going to be too late. The High Aedin wouldn’t be able to restrain themselves, not with enemies before them. Sure enough, the next update put the Amberite Bonds mixing with the Forgotten on the right flank. The Verdant Bonds on the left flank soon moved similarly. More and more Forgotten poured down the sides of the wall.
They knew, Raeth thought with somehow stark clarity. Somehow they saw through my ruse. They knew where the High Aedin were the entire time. And, just like before, they’re striking where we’re weak.
Raeth could see the disaster before it happened. There were too many Forgotten, especially for the poorly-trained High Aedin. Their lines would buckle quickly, and they weren’t used to being defeated. Even when it was apparent they could be hurt, they fought on, their head-strong Aedin natures asserting themselves.
Both flanks collapsed. I need to retreat, Raeth realized. Like a game of Jaenya, he could see his defeat dozens of moves before it came. But, if he retreated, the Senate would certainly remove him from his place of leadership.
Raeth looked up, turning eyes toward the War Counsel. Men are dying, Raeth thought. Political position means nothing in the face of that.
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