Kasari Proverb
From the Collection of Jannik the Rysh
The interrogation of Khudoz left me disgusted, irritated and angry. Hearing of Callidore’s doom from the lips of the enemy – and then having it all but confirmed by the Alka Alon – began a simmering frustration that threatened to overwhelm me. It wasn’t that three thousand years was just too soon for the world to end. It had an effect on how I approached all the other problems that faced me, and it was frustrating that such vital information was denied to me.
It demonstrated the arrogance of the Alka Alon when it came to such things. Indeed, I extended that to the Karshak, the Enshadowed, the Nemovorti, even the Vundel. All long-lived species who saw us short-timers as fleeting novelties or ignored us altogether shared that same arrogance. We wouldn’t live long enough to suffer such a terrible fate. The implication was that humanity would likely be extinct on Callidore, by then. And that was just not part of my master plan.
Luckily, I was distracted from the fate of the world by the more pressing matter of the fate of the coming war. After our midnight meeting with Koucey – and subsequent divine blessing of our secret alliance with the Goblin King – it was time to turn our serious attention to the war. As much as I desired to indulge in more academic pursuits, there was an undead dark lord with an army out there who was determined to kill me and ruin my lands. That had to be dealt with before I could consider saving the rest of the world. Or even discovering the nature of the threat.
Mavone was aggregating the many fonts of intelligence that had been rolling in and was close enough to having an assessment of Shakathet’s forces, their disposition and likely destination that we needed to start planning, based on that knowledge. He’s the one who called the War Council of the Magelaw. The council was necessary. Vanador had defeated the horde of Gaja Katar just before Yule, but this was not a victory party. We had to arrange our defense from the threat from Shakathet, who promised to punish my realm. Mavone wanted the commanders and major lords to convene to discuss strategy and tactics.
I could spare the time, I found. Things were getting settled at home. Alya was involved in her creamery, the children were enjoying the first clear days of the season and there was nothing pressing requiring my attention in Vanador. It was time to hold a war council. Thankfully, mind-to-mind communication and liberal use of the Waystones made arranging such a thing much easier than the organizing the Council of the Wilderlands.
Megelin Castle was not an ideal place to hold a meeting of the Magelaw’s aristocracy, but it had two things that made it superior to any other location: it was secure, with more than three thousand knights and men-at-arms guarding its walls, and it was centrally located to my new realm. Considering how difficult it is to travel in the Wilderlands in winter for those without witchstones, it was the logical choice for the meeting.
Mavone, my constable and chief of military intelligence, had not taken more than a few hours to celebrate our victory over Gaja Katar, before scurrying off to aggressively scout our next foe. He had given us enough information in the ensuing weeks to have some understanding of the danger we faced. It was at Mavone’s prompting that I called the council. I wanted to inform and consult with my senior nobles, those responsible for the security of the lands they held, and prepare them for the second attack. That’s what counts do.
There was little question of attendance. Most of my nobles were good friends and long allies of mine, and they were eager to respond. Others, like the Baron of Fesdarlan and the Lord of Yellin, were mundane lords who recognized the vital importance (and political prudence) of attending the Count Palatine’s first war council. While Gaja Katar had been a threat for Vanador, in the north of the province, Shakathet promised to menace a wider range of territory when his legions began to march.
I had encouraged participation by sending High Magi to the mundane lords to facilitate transport by means of the Alkan Ways, where possible. There was no need for anyone to get delayed by a late season snowstorm when we had the power to teleport.
Azar was all too happy to host the event. He loved showing off his massive keep, undergoing its second major expansion since he took power. A third bailey was being added as well, encompassing the Iron Band depot and a number of new barracks for Azar’s growing army. The complex within contained the kernel of a second keep he planned for, someday. While Megelin looked severe and dire against the gray sky, it was also an imposing symbol of our defiance against the darkness in the west.
He hosted the council in a large chamber in the main keep, what used to be the baroness’ old apartments. It had undergone a radical redecoration since Azar took power. He used it as a trophy room for his victories, now, and captured goblin banners and the broken staves of gurvani shamans were prominently displayed. A dragon’s fang, his reward for his brave assault on the beast that razed the palace in Vorone, was set in a place of honor in a specially-built case that was magelight enchanted to perpetually illuminate the savage reminder of Azar’s personal valor. And Azar’s personal collection of mageblades and other weapons lined one curved wall of the chamber, in case anyone was in danger of forgetting what a badass he was.
Magelord Bendonal, called the Outlaw, was Azar’s castellan, and the one actually running most of the castle on his behalf. He was therefore responsible for organizing and executing the council, and he’d prepared with the efficiency I’d come to expect from the man.
He’d arranged the chamber with five long tables, placed in a pentagon around a central space. Each table represented a region or interest of the realm. My staff and I were placed along the bottom of the configuration. The seven magelords in charge of the Pele Towers were seated to our right. Beyond them, the barons who ruled south of the Wilderlands Escarpment, the barons of the Pearwoods, Green Hill, Megelin, and a fellow from the small town of Lendine held forth.
The barons who ruled north of the Escarpment, the lords of Lotanz, Callierd, Vanador and a representative lord of the scattered and unorganized domains of the Wildwater Vale were seated at the fourth table. The fifth was comprised of the leading clergy of the Magelaw, an emissary from the Iron Band, and a representative from the Lord Steward of Vorone. While I had no command over the summer capital, including them in my councils, concerning a war which could well involve the city, was only prudent.
There were others present. As the council in Vorone, the walls were lined with lordlings, captains and interested parties who didn’t merit a seat at the council, but were invested in the results, nonetheless. Jannik was there, as was a surly-looking Brother Bryte, as well as several Iron Band captains.
“That should be everyone with a stake in the conflict,” Bendonal explained, as he sought my approval for the arrangement the day before the council began. “Unless you want to invite the Alka Alon and the Goblin King.”
I looked at him sharply, trying to distinguish if he was making a sarcastic jest or was hinting at other, more secret matters. My backyard tacit alliance with the exiled Goblin King was a closely held secret, I thought. But it was possible Bendonal knew of it, already. It was hard. Bendonal’s face is difficult to read, by intention. He was a subtle fellow, for a warmage.
“Ashakarl sends his regrets, and Lord Letharan has a conflict with a prior engagement,” I said, because I’m a subtle fellow, too. “We can send them a dispatch afterwards. I think we have a sufficiency of representation.”
“Ordinarily, I’d settle out a council like this based on politics,” he admitted. “But with most of these postings being so new, there hasn’t been time for politics to take hold, as yet.”
“Don’t worry, it will bloom soon enough, like mold on bread,” I assured him, with a smile. “But, at a minimum, I hope we’ll be able to set a good strategy toward the war to come before it begins to do damage. I don’t want to give my speech before the entire council gets here, but from what Mavone tells me, I’m afraid that Megelin may bear the full force of the attack, at some point. At least it’s a possibil
ity,” I admitted.
“I’ve been working under that assumption for the last four years,” Bendonal nodded, grimly. “You’ve seen the construction. We’ve been preparing. Every village within a day’s ride will be pulled into the walls,” he boasted. “I have a store of a hundred thousand arrows and fifty thousand quarrels in our armory. We have food sufficient to withstand a siege of two years, as well as good, deep wells. An entire section of the great hall is now a hospital with space for hundreds of wounded. Not to mention the arcane defenses,” he added, with satisfaction. “Over the years, more than a hundred warmagi have strengthened the wards and spells on Megelin. And then there are our flanking castles.”
“Flanking castles?” I asked, curious.
“After Tudry was abandoned,” he explained, as we retired to his solar, “our means of reinforcement were gone. So, we devised a strategy of rebuilding or reinforcing the smaller keeps within a half-day’s ride of us. Iron Hill, Forgemont, the Iron Ring forts, Salka Castle and others in a rough circle around Megelin. Many smaller keeps were given over to veterans of the 3rd Commando. If we’re besieged, we’ll have plenty of outriders to harass and attack the foe.”
“You’ll also have outside support,” I pointed out. “But that’s a matter for the council, proper. How is Azar’s mood, since the last war?” I inquired, as we took seats in his cozy, neatly-organized chamber. There was hardly a lick of decoration there. Bendonal is as stoic as Azar is expressive about his glorious career.
“Azar? He’s eager for the chance to pit Megelin against a horde. Indeed, he’s impatient for the chance. That kind of confidence is infectious. Our men have high morale, particularly after our squadrons returned victorious from Spellgate.”
“My thanks for their service,” I said, with a slight bow. “They were extremely helpful, and wickedly effective in the field. But soon they may have a rival: Sire Tyndal of Callierd seeks to make an improved version of your corps in the horse country of the north,” I warned, teasingly.
“I wish him the best of luck,” chuckled Bendonal. “We have more than a thousand horsemen, here. Each one thinks he’s the incarnation of Duin. Only Azar’s ego keeps them in check. And stabling that many beasts is horrendously expensive.”
“Azar’s ego and your organizational skills,” I praised. “You may be quiet, Bendonal, but you’ve attracted more notice for it. My thanks for your attention to detail. And my assurance that, should we prevail, a higher position is warranted.”
“Let’s not parcel out prizes when we might all be dead in a few months,” he chuckled. “But the thanks are appreciated. Azar and I have a good arrangement, here. He keeps the men in line, and I tell them what to do. I keep the castle from falling down around our ears. We do our best not to complicate matters beyond that.”
“For the moment, then, I shall name you my thane,” I decided. “That’s an older Wilderlands title, from what Jannik tells me, a kind of administrative assistant to the sovereign. It hasn’t been used since the settlement, but it’s time for a revival. That gives you a post in my nascent court apart from your role as Azar’s castellan. But do not dismiss the threat of higher office,” I warned. “We face our second foe with the realm half-organized,” I reasoned, “and I need good people in the right places for us to survive. Let’s reassess the situation in the autumn,” I suggested. “Perhaps things will be clearer, then.”
Bendonal was too gracious to say so, but his stoic mask slipped briefly enough for me to tell he was pleased by both the praise and the prospect of greater rank. The Outlaw had an ego, too – it was just not as rapacious as Azar’s.
We began the war council the next morning, just after lauds – the Lauds of Duin, of course, in such a martial locale, and it was well-attended. When the religious service was over, Bendonal called everyone to the chamber, and we settled into our seats. Mavone took command, after Bendonal’s introduction. He gave everyone his best estimate of the force that we would be facing.
“Sixty-five thousand gurvani, at a minimum,” he reported, his voice grim. “Over a hundred trolls. A thousand draugen. Twenty-five siege worms – maybe more. And there seems to be some indication that Shakathet will employ the giant wyverns, though he is wary of them in battle. But our intelligence says Korbal has had enough of dragons, for the moment.”
“He’s not the only one!” Azar laughed. Everyone knew about Azar and the dragon at Vorone. Azar made certain of it.
“In addition, he’ll have a large contingent of Enshadowed in his magical corps and a few Alon Dradrien,” continued Mavone. “Whether these will serve as troops, sappers or field engineers, we do not know. What we do know is that there is a lot of construction in the fields around Fethkala. Siege engines. Scores of them,” he said, forebodingly.
“They’re coming against our castles,” Bendonal concluded.
“They would need more than this to assail Spellgate, at this point,” Terleman agreed. “But our normal castles are certainly vulnerable to siege. The most likely route of their invasion takes them directly through the central Magelaw – to this very spot,” he concluded, tapping the table in front of him. “In some ways, that’s a blessing.”
“We’ll be ready for them,” assured Azar. “Should they come to Megelin, they will besiege Death, incarnate!” he promised. “This castle shall not fail!”
“Not unless we’re ready for him,” Mavone said, shaking his head. “As much as you’ve lauded your great fortress, here, this place is not yet ready for a siege. I’ve toured the other flanking castles in the region, and neither are they. All will need to be strengthened with spells, provisions and men.”
“My keep has stood two waves o’ scrugs and not fallen,” said a dramatically ugly woman standing against the wall, smoking a pipe. “A third wave will make no difference – Iron Hill will stand!” she pledged.
“Forgemont is Cormoran’s keep,” Sandoval pointed out. “Where is he?”
“Overseeing the armory at Yltedene,” I answered. “That’s more important work for him. We’ll fill him in later. We need flash inspections of each keep and assess their needs. We can supply them from the reserves at Vanador and Vorone. Unless they make a sharp turn and head for Vanador or Vorone.”
“We need to plot contingencies for both,” agreed Terleman, as he studied his notes. “It is a mighty force. But every time it halts for siege, it presents opportunities for attack and disaster.”
He wasn’t wrong; armies who prepared to besiege a castle were themselves quite vulnerable to attack, and without the benefit of walls to hide behind themselves. You had to control the countryside and maintain secure supply routes, for one thing, as well as constantly screen for raiders and counterattacks. The possibility of starvation, mutiny and disease increased the moment an army stopped moving. If Shakathet intended to take each of our castles, we would just have to demonstrate that point to him.
We were well-prepared to do so, as it turned out. Bendonal’s foresight at strengthening the surrounding fortresses gave us something to work with. With Sandoval’s assistance, the Vanador Guard and the other military units we’d cultivated could strengthen them further. We hammered out a surprisingly complete strategy, on parchment, at the Council of the Magelaw. But no matter what the scenario, it became obvious that some lands would bear the brunt of the assault more than others.
“It just doesn’t seem fair: you faced down Gaja Katar at Vanador and got away with but a scratch,” complained Bendonal. “We’re going to have our nose bloodied regardless of what happens.”
“Better a bloodied nose than a broken arm,” counselled Landrik of Honeyhall. The villages and settlements can be evacuated,” he proposed. “Bring them back behind the river, to the Towers. They were intended to be places of refuge,” he pointed out.
“That’s an awful long way to move an awful lot of peasants,” the Lord of Yellin said, shaking his head. “Most will be reluctant to leave the holdings they’ve fought so hard for.”
“They can rebu
ild,” dismissed Azar. “If they are too tired to walk, they can pick up a spear or a bow and fight on the walls.”
“While their villages burn around them!” objected Ambarnos, the Lord of Yellin. I felt bad for the man. The fords at Yellin made it almost inevitable that his village would be struck in the war.
“I don’t think we’ll have to worry about general pillage, as much as we did in the first invasion,” Mavone countered. “Shakathet has definite military goals: to reduce the Magelaw, capture Minalan and prepare an assault on Anas Yartharel. Rifling through the peasants’ loose change isn’t going to be a priority.”
“True,” conceded Ambarnos, “but it’s not just portable wealth I’m concerned with. If the planting isn’t done, there will be no harvest,” he reminded us, grimly.
“If there are gurvani in the fields, there will be no planting,” Azar riposted, sharply. “Tell your people they live on the Count’s dole, this year. And thank the gods for their lives.”
It was the usual bickering that broke out after any proposed plan of war. Any disruption to the invaluable agricultural cycle usually meant famine and death for the peasantry and hardship for the rest of us. Losing an entire year of produce, without assistance, could condemn generations to poverty. I could appreciate their reluctance to leave the little bit of prosperity that they’d enjoyed since the invasion.
There was the beginning of a political divide evolving at that council, too, I noted. The more militant magelords congregated around Azar and Terleman, while the Wilderlords and senior clergy, as well as the masters of the Towers, were aligning around the soft-spoken Landrik and Carmella. There wasn’t much difference in policy between them, but the two parties often conflicted in their approach to the crisis.
I was pleased that all seemed in agreement about the necessity of meeting Shakathet with our full force. From Mavone’s reports and Terleman’s analysis, it was clear to everyone that no less an effort would stop the Nemovort’s invasion.
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