The War Counsel’s troop arrangement was a clever one, designed to give the Imperium forces the greatest possible height advantage. If the Forgotten continued their habits from before, they would rush directly us the hills to attack. For a regular army, it would be a very difficult battle.
They creatures have only a rudimentary knowledge of tactics, Raeth thought. They know the value of flanking, but they don’t understand how to engage, or how to use their strengths. Raeth could think of dozens of ways to monopolize on having an army as difficult to kill as the Forgotten, but apparently such strategies were too complex for the creatures. If the Forgotten didn’t have that strange ability see through our ambushes, we probably would have destroyed them long ago. Of course, if they had a better understanding of tactics, they probably would have done the same to us.
It was an imperfect trade-off. If things continued as they had, the Forgotten would have no trouble reaching Vae Annitor by the end of the week. Raeth turned to the side, looking out at the horizon. In the distance, he could see the dark shadow approaching. The Forgotten continued forward, as inevitable as the weather.
Raeth shook his head, then turned to follow Taenen through the slush. The day was warmer than the past few had been, a blessing for the Imperium, since the creatures appeared to ignore weather. As he walked, Raeth thought back to Tarrinon’s words, and those of the soldier the night before. The people appeared to trust Raeth, untried though he was.
“We have to stop them, Taenen,” Raeth said quietly as he took his position with his honor guard. “We have to stop them soon. We don’t have the strength to last much longer.”
“I know, my lord,” the tall general agreed, then turned to leave and take his own position. A short distance away, Darro—in full armor—waved toward Raeth, his pair of soldiers at his side ready to defend him.
It’s not going to be enough, Raeth thought. We have to do more. In order to stop the barbarians, D’Naa’s people went looking for tools. We have those tools already. We just have to find a way to use them.
“Taenen,” Raeth said slowly, watching the advancing hoard of darkness. He had to fight to keep himself from feeling the same dullness he could see in some of the men’s eyes, the sense of inevitability. In many ways, it was worse than fear.
“Yes, my lord?” the general asked, pausing and turning back toward him.
“Do those groups of Amberite and Verdant Bonds have any leaders?”
Taenen shrugged. “They’re High Aedin, my lord—they’re so stratified they could probably quote off who’s more important than who right down to the last man.”
Raeth paused, looking at the advancing Forgotten. He hated to pull out of the fight now, but… . I can do more than provide another sword, no matter how powerful it is. I can’t destroy every one of them by myself.
“Tell the ten leaders of each Line that I want to meet with them immediately,” Raeth said.
#
They came. Raeth was more than a little afraid that they wouldn’t. However, twenty men waited for him beside the command tent, where a constant flow of messengers was being sent to and from the Counsel room. The sounds of battle rose from behind him. Shields clinging, men screaming.
“Emperor,” the lead High Aedin said, nodding slightly as Raeth approached the tent. Raeth recognized him—Avaekon, son of the aged Karril, one of the Amberite Line’s Senators. There was hostility in all twenty faces—the Amberite Bonds resented him for sending them into battle the day before, and the Verdant Bonds resented him simply because of who he was.
This isn’t going to be easy, Raeth thought. However, the yells from behind spurred him on.
“I need your help,” Raeth said flatly to the group of twenty men. All were, of course, older than he, and he could see their dismissal of him in their eyes.
“You killed several hundred men with your stunt yesterday, Lord Hern,” Avaekon said stiffly.
“And I saved ten times that many by blocking the Forgotten movement,” Raeth snapped back.
“The men lost were High Aedin.”
“Whose sworn duty it is to protect the Imperium,” Raeth informed. Faces darkened among the Amberite Bonds.
Raeth took a deep breath, calming himself. This is one time he couldn’t afford to act like Hern.
“Lord Avaekon,” Raeth said, “I apologize for my actions yesterday. They were underhanded. I should have approached you with my request first, rather than pressing you into service.”
“They wouldn’t have gone,” one of the Verdant Bonds—a man named Ferr—sneered. “They were too busy cowering.”
Avaekon turned with enraged eyes. “Verdant isn’t joining the battle either, I’ve noticed.”
“That isn’t our duty,” Ferr said sharply. “We are Verdant—our vines are meant to attack from a range, and that we have done. Who was it that provided cover for your retreat yesterday, lord Avaekon? You would be dead without Verdant.”
“Gentlemen!” Raeth snapped, drawing their attention. “This isn’t the time for partisan squabbling. Listen? Can’t you hear the screams? Those are men, supposedly lesser men, who are dying to protect the Imperium. How can supposed High Aedin stand back in cowardice and watch this sacrifice without lifting even an arm in aid?”
This brought a silence to the group, and to Raeth’s heart. The words sat bitterly in his mouth. He knew the truth. ‘High’ Aedin were nothing more than charlatans.
“My Lord,” Avaekon spoke softly, his eyes slightly downcast. “Can’t you see? We know that men are dying for the Imperium. It isn’t cowardice that holds us back.”
Raeth paused, looking over the group of men. There was agreement in their eyes and something else. Shame.
“You want the truth, emperor?” Avaekon said, his voice harsh. “I’ll tell you frankly. All our lives, we’ve been taught that it was our duty to care for and protect the people. Yet, in their greatest time of need, what good are we?”
“I knew from that first day that something was wrong,” another man said quietly. “I saw Amberite Bonds in full armor fall. I kept trying to ignore it, to continue fighting, but it seemed that I was more of a hindrance than a help. Everywhere I stepped, I accidentally interfered with other warriors—soldiers who could actually do some good. I just lumbered around the battlefield, getting in the way, and taking wounds that should never have been able to hit me.”
Avaekon looked up, meeting Raeth’s eyes. “My lord,” he informed. “We don’t refuse to fight because we’re afraid, we refuse to fight because we’re useless. What are we without our Aethers? We’ve betrayed the Imperium.”
Understanding slowly sparked in Raeth as he regarded the twenty uncomfortable men. He could see the shame in their eyes, the lack of self-respect. He could also see the pain, uncharacteristically revealed in their faces.
I have wronged these men, Raeth thought, standing in the cold slush, wind whipping his cloak, the sign of his birth. The power of the Aethers may be a charade, but we are not.
“What does it mean to be High Aedin?” Raeth asked the solemn group. “Do you really think it’s the Aethers? Do we lead simply because we’ve been blessed with more power than others?” Raeth shook his head. “I tell you no. We lead, Aethers or no Aethers, because we took this duty upon ourselves. We rule because we accept the responsibility to protect and defend. What are we without our Aethers? We are a noble and good people, one who has provided the strength and leadership required to forge a peaceful empire that has lasted centuries.”
His words caused a few of the men to look up, a bit of pride stirring within them. Avaekon, however, voiced their latent concerns. “But, Emperor,” he said. “That still doesn’t change the fact that we’re useless in battle.”
“No you aren’t,” Raeth said firmly. “You’re like I once was—a man put into a position in which he did not think he fit. I thought I was useless, but I’ve since learned I just wasn’t being useful in the right way. Come with me.”
Raeth led the group a s
hort distance up to one of the watch hills overlooking the battle. The High Aedin followed quietly, pausing beside Raeth as he searched the battlefield. With an aid’s help, he soon found what he was looking for.
“Look there,” Raeth said, pointing down at a red-colored form moving in the affray.
“An Amberite High Aedin,” Avaekon said, squinting.
“My brother, Darro,” Raeth said. “He’s had no trouble dealing with the Forgotten these last few days.”
“But how?” one of the men asked.
Raeth turned. “You failed in previous battles because you fought as you always have, in huge blocks of High Aedin. The Amberite Bonds fell because the enemy overrun them. The Verdant Bonds failed because the enemy could quickly cut through their vines, eventually reaching them.”
“But what has changed?” a Verdant Bond asked.
“Darro fights with two regular soldiers at his side,” Raeth explained. “The two men fight completely defensively, never striking a blow of their own, but they keep any hits from reaching Lord Darro. He, in turn, pummels any Forgotten that gets within reach.”
Eyes widened with understanding.
“We might be noble,” Raeth said, “but we’re also arrogant. We never thought to ask aid from mere ‘regular’ soldiers. That was our undoing.”
“Never again,” Avaekon swore, his eyes growing excited. “Get me some soldiers to fight with. I’d carry their equipment and fix their meals if it would help us win this conflict.”
Raeth smiled. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask something more of you, Lord Avaekon.”
The man looked up with surprise.
“If an Amberite Bond works so well with a couple of regular soldiers,” Raeth said, “think how much damage he’d be able to do with an even better defense.” Raeth turned eyes to the side, toward the ten Verdant Bonds.
The two groups regarded each other in silence for a moment.
“I know our lines have been historical enemies—” Raeth began.
“Twins take that!” one of the Verdant Bonds said. “This is war. Politics is immaterial.”
Raeth’s smile deepened. “Lord Avaekon. How many Amberite Bonds are there left in your group.”
“About ten thousand,” the man said.
“And Lord Ferr?”
“About four thousand,” the Verdant Bond said.
“Gather your men,” Raeth said quickly. “Form them into groups—one Verdant Bond, two Amberite Bonds, and two regular soldiers from the Mahallen reserves in each group. The Verdant Bond’s job will be to vine everything black that they see. It will only hold them for a second, but… .”
Avaekon smiled. “It only takes a second for a hammer to fall.”
“Right,” Raeth said. “The regular soldiers will be there to catch anything that slips past both of you.”
The High Aedin nodded eagerly, their melancholy from before gone. Raeth knew how they felt—he knew what it was like to suddenly feel you had something important to do.
“Avaekon, take a thousand groups and cover the eastern flank. Ferr, you take the western flank. Split the rest into two groups and assign a leader for each; they will hold the middle. The last thousand Amberite will be reserves.”
“Yes, sir!” the twenty men barked, bursting into motion, practically running down the backside of the hill.
Avaekon held back momentarily. “I don’t know what happened to you, Hern,” he said, laying a hand on Raeth’s shoulder. “But I thank the Ancestors for it. Just tell me one thing.”
“What is it?” Raeth asked
“Did you know about this weakness earlier?” the man asked. “Is that why you ordered us to give our cloaks to the regular men during the border fight. Was it an attempt to humiliate us into accepting help?”
“No, of course not,” Raeth said quickly. “Twins! I apologize, Lord Avaekon. I should have made my intentions more clear. I was just trying to set up a decoy—I knew the High Aedin soldiers were a weakness, so I thought I’d try and tempt the Forgotten into thinking the regular troops were High Aedin, so they’d commit their forces backwards. They saw through the ruse, though.”
Avaekon blinked in surprise. “Oh,” he said. “Why, that was a clever idea, Hern. If we’d know that was your intention, we’d have been much more receptive.”
“I apologize,” Raeth said again. “As you might know, I haven’t been very good at explaining myself to people in the past.”
“It’s all right, Hern. And, before I go, I just want you to know that you’re forgiven. I don’t know if it even matters to you, but I forgive you for that…incident last year.”
Raeth paused. “Thank you, Lord Avaekon,” he said. “I should have been man enough to apologize for that long ago,” whatever it was… .
Avaekon smiled, then was gone, following the others down the hill.
Raeth turned back to the battlefield. It was going as it had before—poorly. Each battle was worse than those before it; the Imperium forces were not only tired and depressed, but they had taken heavy casualties.
I hope this comes in time, Raeth thought apprehensively.
#
Laene squirmed in his uncomfortable chair, looking over the inscrutable war map. He couldn’t really tell what was going on—the movements of the little colored pieces were beyond him. However, he suspected the Imperium wasn’t doing very well. After all, they had lost every other battle, so this one would likely be the same.
Of course, he thought, that’s what we want, isn’t it? That’s what the strange shadow said. These creatures will destroy only Amberite and Bestarin, but will leave Verdant alone. All I have to do is wait, and I’ll be Emperor.
It was a difficult thing to do. He was accustomed to the politics and backbiting of the Aedin court, but this was something different. Treason.
It’s not treason, he told himself, it’s the will of the Ancestors. Besides, you haven’t really done anything wrong, have you? Talked to a strange voice, voted for the Emperor to take command of the armies…nothing serious. Besides, that vote was useless—Hern got himself kicked out of command almost before he got it.
Still, Laene felt uncomfortable. Perhaps it was just the chair. He didn’t see any reason why he had to be in the Counsel room—all the battles went the same way. The problem was, a few of the Senators had decided to continue attending the battles after the Emperor’s decisive loss. And, of course, if a few Senators attended, they all had to, lest they risk missing out on some political opportunity.
Laene squirmed again, trying to find some way to sit comfortably. The room was too cold, as well. What was it about the military and discomfort, anyway? He could understand their lack of taste in decorations—they had to keep their minds on their all-important map. But at least they could order some chair cushions.
“What’s going on?” he asked one of his aids.
“We’re not doing very well,” the young Shorriken explained, studying the map.
“Even I know that,” Laene snorted. “Give me details, man. That’s why I pay you.”
“The eastern line is buckling,” the short man explained. “That’s bad enough by itself, but the creatures are monopolizing on the weakness by committing a large force to try and flank around the western side of the Imperium army. The generals have to split their reserves to block both weaknesses, and it will leave us far too open on the far eastern side. In addition, the western line is thinning—a little longer, an it will buckle, and there won’t be reserves to hold it. The generals will probably—”
“All right,” Laene interrupted. “Enough details. You’re going to give me a headache.”
As poorly as Emperor Hern had done in the border fight, the War Counsel didn’t seem to be doing any better. The Forgotten front was unstoppable. All things considered, Laene was just glad he was a member of the right Line.
“The western front is buckling,” one of the generals said, bringing Laene’s attention back to the battlefield.
General Gaedin
nodded in agreement. The aging general looked harried from his days of leadership—his eyes were hollow, his demeanor wan. “We need to retreat,” he said. “The Bells are lost—we’ll try and stand tomorrow at the northern fields.”
His tone was depressed. The other generals in the group nodded in unenthusiastic agreement, and began to wave over aids to run their messages.
Well, what did he expect? Laene thought.
“Generals!” a voice exclaimed. A messenger, a glowing trail of white disappearing behind him as he stepped off the Sending platform. “The Western line is holding!”
Gaedin and the others looked up with surprise as several other messenger appeared and gave instructions to the Mapkeepers. Pieces moved and rearranged, and for once Laene was curious to see what was going on. Apparently it was unexpected.
“What in the name of the Ancestors?” one of generals said. “The High Aedin—what’s happening to them? They’re disappearing.”
“Have they been Sent somewhere?” Gaedin asked.
“No, sir,” the messenger explained. “They’re intermixing with the regular soldiers.”
“What?” Gaedin asked. “Who gave that order?”
“It doesn’t matter,” one of the other general said with excitement. “Look, the eastern line is holding as well. In fact, it’s regrouping!”
“What is going on?” Gaedin asked with wide eyes.
#
“Lord Hern!” a messenger exclaimed. “The western line is holding!”
“Good,” Raeth said, pulling back from the conflict for a moment, wiping his brow. “Tell the reserve forces to pull back from the eastern line and let the High Aedin teams hold it. We might need reserves later.”
“Yes, sir!” the messenger yelled, turning his horse and galloping it across the slush to deliver his command.
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