Fort Destiny, the headquarters of the Iron Band, was the supposed jewel in the crown of the Iron Ring – that near-mythical attempt to encircle and contain the Penumbra. While the Band were decent soldiers, and well-trained at escorting caravans and patrolling the roads, they had only rarely endured a proper siege. With Sandy’s help they were provisioned for one, now, and had called in reinforcements from as far away as Lotanz to bolster the fortress.
Lastly, Bendonal and Azar had eagerly accepted what aid Sandy could provide, but in truth they had already done most of the work. The great baronial castle had been strengthened for years in preparation for a day such as this. Megelin was a garrison for thousands, including a professional infantry garrison and Azar’s Megelini Knights, more than five hundred knights magi, warmagi, Wilderlords and sergeants who had been training and fighting with Azar for years. They were all eager for a fight, and they felt well-prepared for the worst that Shakathet could throw at them.
I felt sorry for them all. Regardless of which castle he attacked, Shakateth would out-number our defenders.
It was clear that Shakathet was going to move through the region. He couldn’t very well leave places like Megelin, Forgemont, and Iron Hill intact as he advanced without imperiling his rear and his supply train. So, Sandy was determined to harden all three sites as much as possible to delay the invasion and bog it down. Once he realized what that entailed, he repositioned about half of the Magical Corps . . . and then fretted hourly on his decisions.
The Wilderlands didn’t seem to care about the struggles between Korbal and mankind. The season proceeded, heedless of our conflict, pursuing its own agenda.
All the Magelaw sprang into action the moment we could. Everyone worked with fresh purpose as the word went out: Muroshk had opened its gates and vomited a horde out into the countryside. A horde that was intended for the heart of our country. By the time I was ready to deploy to the field, myself, thousands had already pushed southward to counter the gurvani army.
Sandoval kept me informed of our progress in daily briefings, mind-to-mind. On the whole, I was pleased. Thousands of men had marched down the muddy trails from Vanador and taken positions along the line we proposed to defend. Thousands more had taken to horse and gathered at Megelin, where Azar and his knights prepared them for battle, and significant garrisons had arrived at Forgemont, Iron Hill and Fort Destiny. Militia units encamped at Yellin and beyond the Wildwater, mostly archers and light infantry, prepared to reinforce our positions as needed. Wenek and Rustallo led hundreds of men from the Pearwoods and the southeastern baronies in my realm, mostly on foot, to form the reserves around Anguin’s Tower.
The Pele Towers had contributed mightily to the effort. We had, perhaps, the most well-developed magical corps in history, and Terleman deployed them with precision. Hundreds of warmagi prepared spells at scores of fortifications and outposts across the land. Scores of combat warmagi drilled and equipped themselves with weapons and spells. In the east, Carmella’s great wooden engines were rushed to new emplacements, placed by hoxter or pulled by teams of oxen. Tyndal and Azar rode at the head of columns of cavalry, moving into position as Terleman dictated.
I came relatively late to the field, arriving at our field headquarters at Megelin with a small staff – Ruderal, Atopol and a few servants. Bendonal reserved a large chamber in one of the central towers for my use, close by to the impressive map room where he and Azar had guarded these lands for years. That allowed me to see the progress of both our defense and the foes who were pouring through the Penumbra like blood from a spurting wound. And they were marching far faster than we anticipated.
They marched day and night for most of a week, pausing only for a few hours in the heat of the noonday sun and driving themselves through the night. Their column stretched for miles and miles. They marched upon the barren track without opposition.
Shakathet’s army was favored by good weather and a lack of resistance. Mavone pulled our allies within the Free Lords of the Penumbra back from their flanks and sent his pet Kasari scouts into their concealed refuges as the ranks upon ranks of gurvani marched through. We’d anticipated that it would take them more than a week to reach the Anfal. It took them less than five days. They marched with purpose, toward a ford they knew they could cross and where we had no real defense. As we rushed troops to the garrisons across the eastern bank, the gurvani were quickly penetrating the western bank. For a few days everyone was so busy conducting their missions that we barely slept.
Terleman continued to stare at the maps and chew his lip as we all waited for the army to decide. For two days, Shakathet’s horde encamped in a shallow vale while the rear caught up and made the ford. He would not proceed, apparently, until he gathered his full strength.
While we waited, word came to me of another army on the move. This time, from Gilmora.
Count Anvaram has begun deploying his forces in a march northward, toward Losara, Planus reported to me from Nion. He was there ostensibly on unrelated business, but it was a trip he’d arranged at my behest. While it was generally well-known around Sevendor that the Remeran merchant mage and I were friends, I didn’t think Anvaram was aware of it. Planus was able to disguise himself enough to appear as just another Remeran cotton broker while he was quietly reporting to me, mind-to-mind.
How many forces? I asked.
At least five thousand horsemen, the wizard replied. About two thousand are belted knights, the rest squires and sergeants. The vanguard looked like a bloody tournament, he said, disdainfully. Or perhaps a festival ball. According to my sources, at least two units of mercenary archers are to join the force on the way north. I heard he gave quite the impassioned speech to his officers, on the eve of his deployment. But they are underway, he emphasized, cheerfully.
Seven thousand? I asked, with a sigh.
Thus far, Planus agreed. But His Excellency seems to be very generous with his purse. His agents are hiring every free man with a sword that he can.
That’s Tavard’s coin he’s paying with, no doubt. How fast is he moving? I asked. With Shakathet on our doorstep, I wanted to be certain about Anvaram’s level of commitment.
He’s planning to be in Losara by the end of week, if that’s any indication. After that, he should be able to take the Great Western Road. If he can find supplies enough, he added. He’s picked the local markets bare for this campaign. His men are buying plenty of fodder and food and paying a good price; I made a tidy profit on six barrels some Remeran salt cod and a couple of kegs of new wine I brought with me.
Wait, you sold provisions to my declared foe? I asked, startled.
It’s providing a good cover story, he dismissed. Besides, the man isn’t making war on me. Profit is profit, he reasoned. If Tavard is over-paying for last-year’s cod and this year’s wine, it would be a shame not to take his coin. He’ll need it, too. Once he gets to the northern baronies, he’s going to find supplies much harder to come by. He’ll be eating from his baggage train until he makes Vorone.
When I was done speaking to Planus, I spent a few moments in quiet contemplation before I spoke with Atopol and Ruderal. I had an idea I wanted them to try. The Cat of the Shadows was spending his time teaching my apprentice how to use his witchstone to transport through the Ways – a spell the young thief had found extraordinarily useful. When they heard what I proposed, Rudy was hesitant, while Atopol was enthusiastic about the mission.
“I’ve never been to Gilmora,” Rudy said, uneasily. “Not by myself.”
“It’s like Alshar, only with worse food and more conceit,” Atopol explained. “Believe me, no one will even notice us. Especially not with all the nobles off to war.”
“Be certain you aren’t noticed,” I insisted. “The last thing I need right now is to mount a rescue mission. And I don’t think you’d want to involve your father in such a thing, Atopol. So do look out for my apprentice.”
“It will be fun,” Atopol encouraged. “And it will get you out of all t
his mud for a few days.”
“Where are they off to?” Mavone asked, as he arrived just as they left to go prepare for their mission.
“An errand for me,” I dismissed. “You have news?”
“I do,” he sighed, heavily. “I just came from the front. Shakathet has chosen a destination. At dusk his vanguard began to march . . . toward Fort Destiny.”
I winced. The Iron Band fortress was the weakest of our strong points, the most lightly defended and poorly positioned castle in the way of the horde. I’d hoped Shakathet would elect to avoid it in favor of a direct assault on Megelin, but he seemed determined.
“How many men do we have there?” I asked, hoping to hear a larger number than I did.
“Just under two thousand. They have a little artillery. The walls are stout, and they can give some fight, but their defeat is inevitable, against Shakathet’s entire horde. There’s a Waystone there, and we could evacuate it, if we needed to, but it’s going to get hit.”
“As we suspected,” I sighed. “What’s Terleman’s plan?”
“He wants them to hold them as long as possible,” Mavone reported. “Lure them into a siege, if they can, so we can take them from behind. But it won’t be a long one,” he warned.
“If I know Terl, it won’t need to be. You’ve seen what he’s planned,” I reminded him. “And I know the Iron Band. They’ll hold. As long as we need them to. Those are the best of them, at Fort Destiny.”
“They’re going to need to hold, for this to work,” Mavone agreed, grimly. “Shakathet has deployed his advance in a different manner,” he explained. “Instead of leading with light cavalry and following with infantry, then artillery and supply in the rear, he’s included a bit of each of them in his advancing units.”
“That’s odd,” I admitted, considering the reasons our enemy might do so. A departure from a standard procedure during a military advance was noteworthy.
“It’s brilliant, in a way,” Mavone said, with reluctant praise. “The way sieges usually happen is a slow pull back and resistance as the light cavalry arrive, then a few counter attacks before the gates are shut, and then a lot of waiting around and sniping from the walls as the infantry arrives. Then more sniping and waiting around as the sappers and artillery arrive or are constructed. This way, Shakathet can force a more abrupt and vicious siege by bringing his artillery and infantry to bear at once. Each succeeding wave only strengthens and speeds the attack, while pressuring the besieged,” he explained.
“It also regulates the pace of march,” I pointed out. “They’ll go more slowly, with all that artillery, but it will ensure that no one part of the army outpaces another.” That had been a major problem during the Farisian campaign, I recalled.
Mavone nodded in agreement. “It solves a lot of problems, but it creates some weaknesses. Perhaps we can exploit them,” he suggested.
“How much time before they get there?” I asked, my mind calculating. Terleman didn’t have me playing a large part in the battle plan, but I did have a role. I wanted to be ready.
“Ordinarily, I’d say three days, but the way they’re marching, they can be there in half that time,” he said. “So, you have about a day before you will be called upon.”
“That’s plenty of time. I’ll be in place and prepared,” I promised. “Just make certain everyone else is, too.”
Terleman’s plan was actually fairly straightforward: he was trying to get Shakathet to become overly involved with a siege, where his forces would gather en masse and relatively few of our men were threatened. Once they were assembled, Terl would spring his trap, which involved a lavish amount of battlefield combat magic.
But before then, I had another duty to perform, to further the effort. I had to make peace between the two Mewstowers.
Upon Terleman’s request, I had called upon both Mewstowers to prepare their greatest force to fly against Shakathet’s legions. Nattia had been eager to continue the campaign – indeed, her birds had been flying continuously all winter, patrolling and spying, as well as making select attacks. Her wing now had three squadrons of more than a dozen birds in fighting shape. A fourth squadron was just beginning training.
Dara had been more reluctant to come to war, but she came prepared for battle. Her four wings brought twenty falcons west, and her riders were equipped with the best new battle enchantments Sevendor’s brilliant enchanters could produce.
The Sevendor birds tended to have more elaborate harnesses and were better armed. In contrast, the Vanador hawks were more sparingly harnessed and carried but half the armament. Only in the newly-fashioned spurs on their talons did they exceed their eastern counterparts: the spurs had been recently built by Master Suhi of Yltedene steel, to Master Cormoran’s design, and then heavily enchanted.
I needed all thirty birds in the air, flying and fighting for us, if we were to survive Shakathet’s hordes.
My exile did not prohibit me from hiring my vassals for foreign wars. Dara reluctantly agreed to fly for me, after some consideration and a little bargaining. But she did agree, and her Sky Riders were eager to test their skills in battle. Just as the foe was beginning to cross at Arreton, Dara transported her entire Wing and their birds through the Ways to Megelin, just before Nattia’s Wing arrived from Vanador by air.
The conflict began almost at once.
Nattia and the Vanador Mews were barely speaking to the Sevendor Mews and its commander, Lenodara the Hawkmaiden. Once fast friends, the two red-headed women had argued bitterly, a few years ago, resulting in a schism in more than distance or loyalty to corps. It had become political.
The split had seen acrimony on both sides, as the Vanadori Riders felt deeply insulted by Dara, and the Sevendori Riders largely saw Nattia’s corps as full of rebels. Neither captain was much inclined to make peace, but for this plan to go forward I needed some sort of reconciliation. I had planned a quiet drink and discussion with the two captains to relay my expectations, that evening, after I greeted both units . . . but they didn’t give me the chance.
Bendonal quartered them both in the cavalry barracks – Azar had deployed to the field with the Megelini Knights early on, and they were shadowing Shakathet the vanguard nearby. Most of the sergeants and light infantry of the Megelini were screening to the north. That left an entire square tower available.
Even though there was plenty of room in the empty keep, Bendonal naturally bunked the wings of Sky Riders together, unaware or uninterested in the rift between the two units. By the time I arrived to greet them, the two Mews were already at each other’s throats.
I don’t know what youthful comment sparked the fight, but when I arrived in the western tower, summoned by Bendonal, Nattia’s Sky Riders were actively engaged in an all-out brawl with Dara’s corps. As most of them were nimble, lithe young people, it wasn’t as punishing as most of the fights I’d seen around Vanador. But there was an element of viciousness that surprised and impressed me.
Sky Riders might not have a lot of weight behind their punches, but they were adept at hair-pulling, slapping and tripping their opponents. To their credit, they didn’t draw blades or wands, they used their fists to quarrel. But their birds were squawking and agitated on their perches, and a few had gotten loose and joined in the fray. By the time I was summoned to the hall to intervene, there were Riders pummeling each other all over the place. Feathers were flying.
I saw Alandreth, one of the new class of Nattia’s mews, holding down a boy nearly twice her size, punching him in the face with both little fists with an expression of utmost rage on her face. Laretha, Dara’s lieutenant, had young rider Karasa pushed into a corner and was kneeing her indiscriminately in the thighs and groin while she hollered the most vile of epithets at the older girl. The two Tal Alon in Dara’s third Wing were gleefully hopping on the abdomen of Nattia’s scrawny second-Wing commander while he desperately tried to roll out of the way.
I happened to be carrying my baculus. I slammed it into the wooden flo
or and activated a showy, loud cantrip that immediately announced my presence.
“STOP!” I bellowed, after taking stock of the situation. I was gratified that the Magolith echoed my sentiment with a sharp, sudden burst of light. It was doing a lot of that sort of thing, lately, independent of my stated desires. While it was concerning, it was also terribly helpful in the moment. “Everyone FREEZE!” I shouted, until all activity came to a halt. In at least one case, that meant a fist poised only six inches from a rather delicate nose.
“All Sky Riders, ASSEMBLE!” I continued, powerfully, hefting Insight over my shoulder like a hoe as I strode into the hall. There was a brief moment of confusion, but then the Sevendori and Vanadori riders sorted themselves out, congregating on each side of the barracks. Nattia’s company quickly lined up by rank, an arm’s length apart. Dara’s folk mostly clumped around their captain.
I surveyed them all with a steely eye, as their chests heaved, and their faces began to redden from the fight. Nattia’s Riders appeared more uniform, in the nearly-identical gear she insisted upon. Dara’s appeared more diverse, as they combined Riverlands style with their own, individual choices for their clothes. They continued to glare at their rivals across the gap between the units. But every eye was on me, fearful and outraged in equal degree.
“Thank you. You may not be aware,” I began, in a low, quiet voice, “but the threat I’ve summoned you to fight now outnumbers us by five to one. Perhaps more,” I lectured, as I fixed each individual rider with a stare in turn. “I’ve just spoken with Captain Mavone, and his report was dire. The enemy is singularly well armed, well equipped and well led.
“They are turning south from Arreton and headed toward Fort Destiny, the headquarters of the Iron Band. They will arrive in a few days. When they do, the two thousand men there will quickly be overwhelmed and the castle sacked, if they don’t receive abundant assistance from . . . someone. That someone is you,” I said, with emphasis, as I returned Insight’s butt to the floor with a thump.
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