Arcanist

by Terry Mancour

  ***

  I don’t know how far or how fast that giant ran, that night, but there were reports of him still moving west for weeks. Whatever control Shakathet thought he’d had over the creature was gone, after his bout of ornithophobia. As secret weapons went, this one was a failure. He had done significant damage to that portion of Shakathet’s army, on his way out.

  I was thankful about that. The chaos caused by the giant’s reckless dance through the horde provided perfect cover for another sneaky assault. While the first of our infantry troops were quietly marching down the back of the hill, my team and a score of other magi took the battle to the foe, for the first time. Sneaking around and slitting throats, along with the occasional magical duel, was a lovely distraction from what our troops were doing in the background. We didn’t throw around a lot of active spells, either. We didn’t want to stir up an organized response if we didn’t have to.

  We gave them Duin’s own special stock of hell, that night. Of course, Shakathet pulled many of his magical corps back to protect the wain he was using as a headquarters, which left the others without either a plan or reinforcements. Those were perfect conditions.

  Caswallon, alone, slew scores of gurvani while he chased a shaman through the camp, screaming impressive oaths at him the entire way. Tamonial and Buroso attacked one of the Enshadowed and relieved him of his stone by the simple expedient of cracking him over the head with an axe handle. We took four more Enshadowed irionite spheres that night and two gurvani shamans’ shards.

  Meanwhile, thousands of our men were marching away. Volleys of arrows got less frequent. By the time we returned to camp, much of camp had already packed up and begun the journey to the river.

  Dara and Nattia brought both wings back to Megelin with only a few injured. A rider and his bird had been struck by the giant’s hand during the battle, but both were expected to recover quickly. Our entire army was talking about the brave Sky Riders and how they drew the giant away, which was better for morale than Caswallon’s soliloquy on the subject.

  In all, the Battle of Stanis Howe was a victory, though we did little to stop the onslaught of Shakathet’s hordes. But that wasn’t the point. We had successfully lured Shakathet into deploying – and wasting – a strong asset. And we had successfully allured a good portion of his forces away from the castles where they had been laying siege.

  In fact, though those reinforcements were still arriving at Shakathet’s chaotic camp, they would have to set out almost immediately to have any chance of catching us. The three-day rain had swollen the region’s rivers to flooding capacity. There would be mud for a week, and with that much rain the nearest ford they could use to cross was north, in Yellin, just below the escarpment. Meanwhile, our troops would scoot across Shakathet’s magical bridge and gain days on them, as we headed for the next battlefield.

  I was starting to think Terleman’s strategy was working, after all.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The Goddess and the Merchant

  “Outrage fades. Avarice is eternal.”

  Magelaw Folk Saying

  From the Collections of Jannik the Rysh

  The retreat from Stanis Howe was about the most orderly retreat I’d seen. I credit the incredible efficiency of the Hesian Order that controlled the Towers. Tasked with logistics and supply, in addition to the defensive works they built, the warmagi and attendants of the Towers ensured that there was adequate water, food and medical attention for the infantry that streamed down the eastern side of Stanis Howe that night. Troops departed by unit in an orderly fashion, shepherded by representatives of the Hesian Order, who kept track of everything. I wasn’t sure who was overseeing the complicated logistics for Mistress Marsden, but they deserved ennoblement for how well and how quickly it was handled.

  When my team and the other warmagi hunting fresh witchstones in the chaos of the gurvani camp returned to the top of the howe, there were less than a thousand troops still present. These comprised the rearguard Marsden had selected to cover our escape.

  My fellows and I had done our best to sow as much disorder in Shakathet’s camp as possible, to buy as much time as we could, and by that mark we were successful. The giant’s dance through the gurvani lines had killed scores and wounded hundreds. Mounting any kind of offensive was out of the question, until order was restored.

  The thousand men who lingered provided a tempting target, I’m sure, but when your organization is smashed, and there’s a foot of mud to slog through before you might reach them, it’s going to be difficult to rally your troops. No matter what kind of undead lord is screaming at you.

  Come dawn, my men and I were sleepily packing up our camp and preparing to follow the last of the infantry down the eastern slope. We were exhausted, and I was tempted to pop back to Spellgarden for a nap, but I didn’t think that would set a good example. The retreat from the howe to the river was an essential part of Terleman’s plan. Being seen with the troops would do a lot more for morale than taking a nap.

  It only took an hour to make our way to the banks of the river. The Wildwater was swollen with the runoff of three days of rain, and the swirling waters looked dark and dangerous. The banks were far too steep and the river too deep at that point to consider crossing . . . had not Shakathet provided us with the incredible bridge that spanned the river.

  Strong and sturdily built, the timber construction was designed to allow siege worms to cross. Bearing our troops, wains and horses was no problem. Mavone and his company of Ravens had placed it perfectly, so that the stream of marching infantry could go from one hellish battlefield to a relatively protected position in a few hours.

  “Compliments of his dark and terrible lordship, Shakathet,” Mavone called out from the other side of the bridge, as he watched me and my men cross the span with the last units of infantry. “The way they have this bridge configured they could have crossed the Wildwater at nearly any point. Now they’ll have to find a ford, which won’t be easy. Not with the waters this high,” he pointed out.

  “Luckily for him, most of Shakathet’s artillery and baggage is bogged down in muddy roads or lies ruined around our castles,” Landrik pointed out, as we dismounted on the eastern bank. Mavone had set up a table and canopy to make his waiting more pleasant, while the last of the troops were crossing the bridge. “He doesn’t have a lot of heavy equipment left to lug around.”

  “He can still cross at the fords of Yellin,” Mavone frowned. “Even with the added rain, the river widens there so that it’s only a few inches deep, most of the time.”

  “That ford is miles and miles up the river, however, and his troops are scattered all across the land, now,” Astyral said, pleased. “It will take him a few days to regroup before he can even attempt that. Conversely, he could regroup and then reinforce the siege at Megelin, ignoring us entirely.”

  “Then we would attack him from the rear with this army,” I pointed out. “I don’t like being ignored.”

  “That’s probably Terleman’s plan,” Mavone agreed, producing goblets and wine for us all. The rain was still pouring, though not as fiercely as it had been. I could see that some enterprising wizard had taken the time to cast spells to keep the roadway – well, it was a roadway now – relatively dry and clear of mud, but those spells only work so well.

  “Well, we struck them a hard blow by driving their giant away,” Buroso considered, as he gratefully took a goblet and poured wine. “In all my life, I never thought I would see such a thing. Legends walk the land,” he said, shaking his head in amazement.

  “Just be thankful that they didn’t use that poor beast at Megelin,” Astyral pointed out as he took a gentlemanly sip of his wine. “That thing could have torn apart the walls far easier than the siege worms, I would wager. Although I regret that Azar did not have the opportunity to fight it. He’ll be so disappointed.”

  “Azar has plenty to occupy him,” Mavone reported. “Indeed, when the bulk of the troops withdrew from the sieg
e, he led a sortie of cavalry and warmagi in a surprise raid against the besiegers. It was highly effective, though not decisive. It did, however, free a postern door that they had been guarding. Azar has kept it clear, and now the Megelini Knights are able to move much more freely.”

  “So the siege is not broken, just cracked,” Buroso nodded.

  “Cracked enough that the enemy commander must wonder whether it is productive to continue it,” I agreed. “Especially when we have a large army in the vicinity that could attack him from the rear. And plenty of fight left within Megelin Castle. Much will depend on how Shakathet responds to the loss at Stanis Howe.”

  “Was it truly a loss?” Landrik asked. “Apart from the giant, it was a glorified skirmish. Our casualties were light, and we escaped without inflicting much injury on the foe. Yet we did little to change the course of the war. From his perspective, it may seem that he drove us from the field.”

  “From our perspective, we lured his troops away from where they were being most effective to where they were nearly useless,” Astyral countered. “While we assemble an even greater army on the eastern bank, he must gather his forces and cross the Wildwater to meet us. The moment he does so, our garrisons will be able to attack them from the rear while he turns to face the army. I’ll be happy to consider Stanis Howe a ‘loss’ if the final result is a ‘win’ for the war.”

  “That appears to be Terleman’s thinking, as well,” Mavone agreed.

  “Fair will be the day when our wily commander’s strategies lead to this foul Nemovort eating the bitter bread of defeat, spread with the relish of humiliation!” Caswallon affirmed, adding nothing to the conversation.

  “Where to from here, my lords?” Tamonial asked, politely. “Eastward, I know. But to where? Magelord Terleman has a talent for selecting battlefields that suit his purpose. I’m eager to know what stage he has chosen to enact this next act.”

  “While Terleman has not given me the boon of that information,” Mavone said, thoughtfully, “I have spoken with Mistress Marsden about this. Once the bridge is banished and we are safe behind the river’s current, we are to encamp and take the rest of the day to rest and replenish ourselves. On the morrow we march north,” he revealed. “Likely to the pass up the escarpment east of the falls of Yellin. If we press hard, we can reach it before they do.”

  “I wish Terleman would be more candid about his plans!” Landrik said, shaking his head.

  “It is likely he is laconic in that regard because they are still evolving,” I pointed out. “This game has many pieces across a wide board. And Shakathet has proven a crafty opponent. Every move requires a countermove, and there is only so much planning you can apply to it.”

  “The Spellmonger speaks wisdom,” Caswallon pronounced. “The fickle winds of circumstance oft alter our plans and require of us to swiftly react with wit and valor.”

  “Either that, or Terleman just doesn’t want to commit to a plan,” Astyral suggested. “I might have tried to lure Shakathet back into the hills, but then I’m no grand strategist. But if we can place a force at the fords and contest his crossing, well, the Nemovorti don’t have a good history of crossing rivers,” he reminded us.

  “Regardless, Marsden made clear that the speed of the march is essential,” Mavone informed us. “The closest unit Shakathet has is a day away, should they realize the necessity of capturing the ford. It is one legion, but it would make contesting the ford easier if there wasn’t anyone there defending it.”

  “So, we have a lot of marching ahead of us,” sighed Buroso. “That is my third least favorite part of warfare.” I didn’t ask what the other two were, but it was fun to speculate.

  “Actually, my friends, the infantry has a lot of marching to do, the poor bastards,” Astyral observed. “We are High Magi. We are magelords. We can get sleep in real beds and eat hot food and restore and prepare ourselves for the coming hardships. Marching is so banal,” he said, shaking his head in disgust.

  “That seems unfair, to take rest when the infantry marches,” Landrik said.

  “You are free to join them in support of their plight, my lord,” Astyral proposed. “As for me, a bath and day’s rest in Vanador would put me in a far better mind than trudging miserably through the rain. The privileges of rank and station exist for a reason, gentlemen.”

  “As much as I’d love to march through the mud and rain again, toward an uncertain future and a possibly violent end, I reluctantly agree with Baron Astyral. With the defeat of the giant, it will be days before another engagement with the foe requires our attention. I give you leave to adjourn, gentlemen, with the request that you be willing and able to rejoin the fight at a moment’s notice,” I said, feeling a little less guilty about slipping away, now, because we were all thinking the same thing.

  “Aye!” Caswallon said, enthusiastically. “Let us rest, repose, rearm and then return to the fertile fields of victory . . . perhaps when they aren’t quite so muddy,” he conceded.

  “I bid you gentlemen to enjoy your respite,” Mavone said, cheerfully. “I’ll be remaining in the field to coordinate intelligence. I will not hesitate to rouse you from your soft, warm featherbeds at the first hint of trouble. Ah, I believe that is the last of them,” he said, noting the tired dregs of the rearguard crossing the bridge, taking the Eastguard Tower standard with them. “As soon as they cross, I can pack up, put the bridge in my pocket and be on my way.”

  ***

  I did desire sleep and food and the comforts of home, but not at the expense of my duty. Instead of Spellgarden, I used the Ways to return to Megelin. Despite the conjecture, I needed to know what Terleman had planned. At least an outline. Or an inkling.

  I used the main hall stone to come through and was quietly appalled at the number of wounded being treated there. It was more than double than the last time I arrived, and the pile of bodies and amputated limbs at the far end was daunting. But that is war, and in war, men die.

  On the way to the headquarters chamber, I paused to survey the ongoing battle in the outer bailey. From the battlements above, the situation appeared to be dire. The breach in the wall had allowed hundreds of gurvani and maragorku to advance within bowshot of the inner bailey wall, but they had yet to progress beyond that.

  Three dead siege worms and a scattering of smaller corpses proved how fierce the fighting had been. The bailey yard was churned from the fight, and pools and puddles were starting to build in the mire. The gurvani were not attacking in a sortie, but they were still active. Crossbows rang out from behind heavy blinds as the goblins tried to sweep the sentries from the walls, but the archers in our towers were answering them shot for shot.

  All in all, it was a depressing picture . . . but it was misleading. While there were nearly a thousand gurvani in the bailey, they had yet to erect any siege engines to make a serious attempt to gain the walls. At best they had dragged two small mangonels into the yard and were making half-hearted attempts at finding the range of the wall. Not that it would do much – Azar and his warmagi had been continuously strengthening Megelin’s keep and inner bailey for years, now. Even aiming a shot at the wall was proving difficult for the gurvani engineers.

  Terleman had let them in, I realized. He’d allowed them to force their way through the weaker bailey wall and all but begged them to try their mettle on the thick walls of the keep. They had not bothered to open other areas within the castle. They were still using the ragged breach in the wall to bring in supplies by porter, over the rubble. The gatehouse was still in our hands, I saw, and was holding out valiantly against a few hundred gurvani who were trying to bring it down. They did not look like they were being very successful.

  I felt better, as I mounted the stairs to the headquarters chamber. Despite the dire word from Megelin, I saw that the castle was still intact, still fighting and not particularly ruined, at this point. That brought me some hope.

  Terleman wasn’t in residence, as he was checking on the preparations we were ma
king on the east bank, and Bendonal was organizing another sally from the postern gate, but a few moments spent reading dispatches and staring at the map gave me a much better picture of where things stood in the war.

  According to the reports, most of Shakathet’s forces that weren’t engaged in siegework were spread out in a rough crescent that stretched from the fields of western Yellin to just north of Salka, almost a hundred miles of territory. Our troops, on the other hand, were in three main large groups: the reserves gathered near Eastguard Tower, the cavalry and field soldiers patrolling north of Megelin, and the four thousand reserves who would be marching up the east bank of the Wildwater toward Yellin. Yes, I could see, whoever controlled that ford would control the battle.

  I played out a variety of possible scenarios in my head and even used Insight to give me some perspective on things. Shakathet would have to unite his troops if he wanted to cross the river and challenge our army. Sending them piecemeal would invite attack. Without his giant and with a diminished magical corps, his troop strength was not as much as an advantage as I’m sure he thought it would be.

  The news from the Wilderlaw was less sanguine. Preshar Castle was under heavy siege, now that the lake that guarded it had been drained. Marcadine was holding out well, for now, but the valiant Wilderlords were being outmatched by sorcery as much as numbers. Still, he endured, and that was a hopeful sign.

  Satisfied, for the moment, on the state of the war, I spent a few hours visiting with the Sky Riders to praise them for their excellent work, particularly against the giant. That made both Dara and Nattia happy, especially when I threw a couple of purses of silver at them to drink to my health. The Mewstowers had done exemplary work throughout the war, and I knew their services would be vital in the coming days. Perhaps even pivotal. Keeping the moral up was essential.