“We have not ridden hundreds of miles just to turn back because you tell us to,” Anvaram declared. “We ride to war! We will cross swords! Our honor demands it!”
“Your honor is not my concern,” I dismissed. “But I cannot allow it. Leave, or things will get altogether too exciting for you,” I promised. “My army is only twenty miles north. Do not make me use them to clear you from the hills.”
“And how many are in this army of yours?” Anvaram asked. “For we have five thousand lances, and two thousand crossbowmen!”
“About twenty-five hundred,” I conceded. “But they are Vanadori. You are only Gilmorans. So, I would say the odds are fairly even.”
That made all of Anvaram’s men bluster. “You are fortunate that I do not take this opportunity to capture you and ransom you back to your men!” Anvaram said. “I will treat this as a courtesy and allow our differences to be determined on the field. But I will say this: not only do I demand the return of Lady Maithieran, but I demand that you publicly apologize for smearing the honor of Gilmora!”
“Well, you and your wife must both be getting used to disappointment, by now,” I sighed. “Very well. But if you advance further into the Magelaw, there will be consequences. Good day, gentlemen,” I said, turning my horse. My men followed suit, and we rode out of the Gilmoran encampment as peacefully as we’d ridden in.
“I think that went very well,” Jannik said, pleased, when we were back on the road again. “Now we have two invading armies to contend with.”
“Oh, Minalan has been contriving to get Anvaram to invade him for a year, now,” Astyral explained. “It’s really been a joy to watch. I never thought he’d do it,” he confessed.
“Is this really a war we need?” Jannik asked, confused.
“This isn’t the war that Count Anvaram thought it was,” I explained. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t make use of him. Indeed, I hope he’s ordering the immediate deployment of his army to catch us in the open and destroy my army quickly. He wants my head, badly, to please his friend the Prince. And ransoms and loot to fill his purse. Avarice is far more compelling than outrage. Or honor,” I pointed out.
“In other words, he’s doing precisely what you want him to do,” Mavone concluded. “Much of last year begins to make sense, now.”
We continued to explain to Jannik and the others what I had been doing in cultivating this feud. The bard was impressed and even giddy at the possibilities for song that would arise from this – one reason that I’d wanted to include him in my party, when I went to confront Anvaram.
“What I was afraid of the most was that he would make it as far as Vorone and then decide he’d had enough campaigning,” I explained. “I had a few agents of mine infiltrating his forces since they left Gilmora. When he came at last to Vorone, and I knew there wasn’t enough food or fodder to supply his army, I had the shadowmage Atopol and my apprentice Ruderal, tour Anvaram’s estates in Gilmora and secure an immense supply of hay and foodstuffs from his own storehouses with transfer wands . . . and then Planus, in disguise, sold his own food back to him.”
“And now you’ve taunted him publicly, in front of his staff, and all but dared him to attack you,” Jannik concluded. “He would lose their respect if he backed out, now. Well played, Minalan.”
“I did,” I sighed, with a feeling of satisfaction. “Now, let’s see if it works.”
***
We returned to our own army in short order, getting updates on the progress of our various foes along the way. The bad news was that most of Shakathet’s army had, indeed, successfully crossed the Wildwater at the ford at Yellin. They were now massing just north of the twenty-five hundred troops I had camped, under the command of Mistress Marsden. The Keeper of Eastguard Tower was resolutely preparing her position, though everyone was nervous about the thousands of gurvani gathering a few miles up the road.
The good news was that, thanks to the Sky Riders’ surprise attack, the siege of Megelin was broken. Azar sallied forth with five hundred riders and a thousand infantry and crushed the gurvani, in the wake of the attack. He was marching east with his troops, now, toward the swollen Wildwater, along with a number of warmagi from Forgemont. And Tyndal was leading a contingent of cavalry from the north, where Sandoval’s seven thousand infantry troops were deploying once most of Shakathet’s horde had passed.
The other bad news was that there was still a lot of horde left to contend with. The sheer numbers of gurvani, particularly the great goblins who made up his heavy infantry, were disturbing. Those who had survived the attacks on the ford and the road still numbered forty thousand. Though most of his beasts were lost, his engines wrecked or mired in the mud and his giant fled into the wilderness, he still had a sufficiently robust force to destroy us all. It was gathering on the east bank of the Wildwater like a stain.
Terleman had moved his headquarters from Megelin to the field, electing to run the battle from his campaign tent. While he had decided against taking direct command over the smaller army –Marsden was doing an excellent job – he did take over the Magical Corps. I found him reviewing the battle plan in his tent when I returned from the south.
“I think this will work,” Terleman said, tapping the scroll of parchment. “If you were able to deliver those troops . . .”
“They will be here within the day,” I nodded.
“Then the rest of this should work,” he repeated. “When we used his own stolen bridge against him, he had no alternatives. I give Shakathet credit for being a good strategist, but when he took the bait at Stanis Howe, he committed himself.”
“So did we,” I said, as I took a seat at his campaign table. “Let’s not forget our new Sky Riders. What have you learned about that?”
“Only that Ithalia was approached two years ago by one of the high lords of the Alka Alon – likely Lord Letharan of Anas Yartharel – to repeat and refine the experiment of the giant hawks in his realm, to help guard against dragons. She just failed to mention this important fact, or the forty Alka Alon Sky Riders she was training, until now.”
“When their strength would do the most good,” I sighed.
“They should have told us what they were doing, Min,” he said, clearly still upset. “I appreciate the unexpected help, but . . .”
“I know,” I agreed. “It’s not a sign of a healthy alliance. Still, I might be able to get some good out of it, politically speaking. Letharan is no friend of humanity, yet he takes advantage of our ideas. And we effectively stopped an army from attacking his city.”
“Two armies, if we win this battle,” Terleman reminded me.
“The terrain is sufficient for you?” I asked, knowing that was important to him.
“It will work,” he shrugged. “No rain for three days, and it’s relatively flat for our cavalry.”
“And the Magical Corps?” I prompted.
“We’ve dug out the very last of our constructs,” Terleman admitted, a little guiltily. “As well as combat enchantments. The bouleuterion can only produce so much. But Carmella is sending Salik Tower’s field engines, and we do have the Sky Riders. I’m hopeful,” he said, confidently.
“As am I. When do you think Shakathet will send his emissary?” I asked.
“Likely at dusk, tonight or tomorrow morning,” he guessed, after glancing at a map. “But that could change. I’ll keep you informed.”
I pitched my own pavilion near the center, close to the headquarters tent, and then spent the rest of the day inspecting troops and going over battle plans with Marsden and her command staff.
At dawn, the next morning, there was no emissary from Shakathet, though his patrols came within bowshot of our northern lines. But there was a line of two-dozen gentlemen from Gilmora, in full armor, lances at rest, under Anvaram’s canine banner waiting four hundred yards beyond our southern line. They bore a white flag, no doubt of finest bleached Gilmoran cotton.
When the heralds brought news of the delegation – and the large
number of mounted knights filling in behind them – I assembled my staff, all in full armor – and rode out to greet them.
“I see Count Anvaram actually made it to the field,” Astyral said, as he surveyed the growing number of Gilmorans arriving to the field. “I recognize a few of his staff by their devices . . . oh, look, it’s our friend the Lion of Gilmora!” he said, chuckling. “You know, the one that Terleman beat the snot out of in Barrowbell and won us all that money? He actually showed up for a real war!”
“Just not the one he was planning,” I agreed, as I held up Blizzard with a white cloth tied at the other end. “Shall we?”
When we came near enough to speak, I lowered my staff as Anvaram called out.
“Count Minalan, it seems your troops are deployed facing north!” he laughed. “Are they confused, or just poorly led?”
“They face north because of the horde of gurvani about to march down that road and tear into us,” I answered, calmly. “Indeed, more than forty thousand gurvani. Great goblins, not those little guys who invaded Gilmora. They are led by a Nemovort named Shakathet, who is among the sworn enemies of the Kingdom of Castalshar,” I reminded them. “Therefore, Shakathet’s horde endangers the kingdom,” I concluded.
“Forty thousand goblins?” scoffed Anvaram. “You exaggerate! I was told you were putting down a minor uprising,” he said, skeptically.
“You were informed exactly what we wished you to be informed, and no more,” Mavone called.
“What is this?” Anvaram asked, his skepticism growing. “Is this some kind of a trick?”
“Smart one, isn’t he?” Astyral asked, amused. “Yes, my lord Count. It is the very definition of a trick. For, you see, Count Minalan is sovereign over the Magelaw, save for duke and king. As such, he is also a permanent marshal of both Castal and Alshar,” he reasoned. “During a time of crisis when the security of the kingdom is at risk, all such marshals have the designated royal authority to conscript any lawful troops for the purpose of defending the kingdom,” he lectured.
“You are all sworn troops of Castalshar,” I reminded them. “Your oaths of fealty extend to the King and his laws and charters. As of this moment, every man in your army is conscripted for service – immediately,” I emphasized, glancing back at the northern horizon. “Until the threat is abated, you will be under my command and the command of my subordinate officers.” I paused for a moment and surveyed the knights thoughtfully. “I did warn you, Anvaram, there would be consequences if you did not leave the Magelaw.”
“This is outrageous!” burst out Anvaram, angrily. “I will not serve you! This is your war, not mine! I have my own quarrel with you!”
“I suggest you put it aside, my good count,” Astyral suggested. “For our lord is very thorough. He has sent a letter to the Lord Steward of Vorone indicating that any man who returns from your army through the ducal capital without written leave from the Spellmonger will be arrested and imprisoned to face the King’s justice,” he concluded.
“As you really can’t go south to Gilmora without going through Vorone’s territory, you may find it difficult to desert,” Mavone pointed out, reasonably. “Of course, the Lord Steward is a stern man, and he has a low opinion of deserters. He may well hang them out of hand.”
“He would do no such thing!” sputtered Anvaram, as his men looked at each other from horseback, angry and confused. “Why, I would lay waste to Vorone if he tried!”
“And risk war with all of Alshar?” reminded Astyral. “Over the fate of deserters? Vorone is not part of the Magelaw. It is Duke Anguin’s summer capital. Indeed, he may well come to reside there, in a few weeks. To assault it would mean war with the duke. And with a duchy that is eager to reclaim your lands under its banner.”
“You would sunder the kingdom and plunge us into widespread civil war, if you acted so rashly,” I counselled, reasonably. “Tens of thousands would die. Or,” I said, turning to face the north, “you can stand next to my men on the field of battle, obey my orders, and defend the kingdom like honorable knights. At the conclusion of the battle, we can . . . reassess this enmity you have developed for me,” I said, softly. “Until then, you must submit. Or you will be labelled a coward and a traitor.”
“I suggest you discuss the situation with your men, Count Anvaram,” suggested Mavone. “But I would caution you to make it a brief council, as the forty thousand goblins marching down the road will not care what banner you fly, what oaths and coin you have taken from which prince, or what your godsdamn honor looks like. They will just see another humani warrior and pursue you to the sea, if they can.”
Mavone’s words fell like arrows amongst the Gilmorans – as he knew they would. The immediacy of the gurvani threat was compelling. The Gilmorans murmured among themselves and began gesticulating wildly after a few moments as their arguments rose. I suppose I could have listened in with the Long Ears, but, in truth, it was more fun to watch them. They continued discussions for five minutes, then ten, then fifteen . . . when the goblins helpfully began beating those huge war-drums they like to lug around more than artillery.
“Your time to deliberate is coming to a conclusion, gentlemen,” Mavone urged. “The gurvani dislike the midday sun. That means they will attack near dusk, when it is cooler and less bright. And when they have their horde drawn up into battle formation,” he added.
Anvaram finally rode forward, alone, and gestured for me to do likewise. Wary of a surprise attack – unlikely, but not unheard of – the Magolith rose protectively behind me. The Gilmoran count’s face looked wrought with anger and worry.
“Gods damn you, Spellmonger, you have us trapped!” he admitted. “Half of my staff favors retreating and letting you deal with this mess, but the other half are too afraid of dishonor or arrest, or are genuinely willing to fight for you,” he added, distastefully. “You speak truly, about yon army?” he asked, nervously casting his eye north.
“Have your magical corps scry them for themselves,” I invited.
“We brought no magical corps,” he admitted, shaking his head. “Too many felt it would have invited the enemy into our camp.”
“And you suffered repeatedly because of it,” I pointed out. “Oh, you’re not wrong – few warmagi would want to fight against me, and I doubt any High Magi would. And they would think little of betraying you. But that did not mean I lacked spies in your train. In any case, if you accept my word that, yes, there is a massive horde of goblins that we have been fighting since spring first bloomed actually less than a mile away, then I swear by the Magolith and Briga’s bright red bloomers that it is, indeed, true. In fact, if you wish some of your scouts to ride ahead with Constable Mavone, he will show them himself.”
“Even so,” Anvaram said, his eyes troubled, “between us we have, what, nine thousand troops? Against so many? I mislike those odds, Spellmonger,” he said, anxiously. “As do my men.”
“Rest easy,” I dismissed. “For I have the greater portion of my strength to the north, descending the escarpment and forming up in Shakathet’s rear. He has been confused from the beginning about the size and nature of my troops and their positions. Because I do have a magical corps, Anvaram. Indeed, I have the greatest magical corps in the world.”
He looked at me, sourly. “I cannot believe that you are doing this! When Prince Tavard finds out, he will be livid!”
“When King Rard finds out, he will reward me with more lands, most likely. Magelands,” I emphasized. “Until we can determine the disposition of the court, shall we put aside our differences and fight together? Every moment is precious, now that we have Shakathet’s forces where we want them. If we are poorly prepared, it will not matter how many men we have on the field. That is an axiom, in the Magelaw.”
“Agreed,” Anvaram sighed. “I did not bring my men here to be slaughtered, but to be victorious. We will place our grievances on the shelf, for the moment. What can we do?” he asked.
“Send your captains of horse and bow to Terl
eman’s tent, the large one, there,” I directed, pointing back toward our camp. “He will give them instructions about deploying your men. They will remain under your command, of course,” I added, “since you did the sensible thing and submitted to my authority.”
“I didn’t have much choice, did I?” he asked, angrily.
“You could have tried to run. In which case I would have had to do to you what I’m going to do to Shakathet, which would have been politically awkward. But I tried to steer you to the choice I needed you to make. The one in which you were greedy for my head, and the fame and glory it would have brought you.”
“So, it was all a wizard’s trick!” he snorted. “All of it! That duel, the insults, the—”
“Some of it,” I conceded. “Some of it was not. The five thousand ounces of gold Prince Tavard paid you to press your claim was not my doing. Nor was how your men reacted when placed in a certain situation. Wizardry involves subtlety, Anvaram, both to plan it and to detect it . . . and knights are anything but subtle.”
“I am no happier with you now than I was an hour ago, Spellmonger,” he said, through gritted teeth. “But I will follow your command.”
“Do so faithfully,” I urged, “lest you invoke a wizard’s true wrath. This battle has been planned to a fault by one of the best strategists I know. Fail to stand, or withdraw prematurely, and you will not find anywhere on Callidore that my men won’t find you.” I dug in my belt and pulled out a signet ring. Anvaram looked at it with recognition.
“That’s mine! You stole it! It was gone from my bedside in camp days ago!” he accused.
“Have it back,” I said, tossing him the gilded ring. “If my men can take your seal from your bedside in the middle of a crowded and well-patrolled military camp, and no one saw them do it, they can take your head, too,” I informed him. “Betray us and they will. Even if I do not live to see the sun set.”
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