The Shasht War

by Christopher Rowley

  "We disposed of the past," said Nuza holding his hand. "What of the future?" Thru's eyebrows flashed as he shrugged. Dark clouds hung across the future.

  "Well, I must go to Glais day after tomorrow. After that I don't know. Will the enemy attack again this year? We can't be sure, but we must be ready in case he does. We have no way to bring him to battle, we must wait for his attacks."

  "Oh, I wish this war was over and we could have our real lives back."

  Thru nodded as he finished his tea.

  "I feel that way, too. Sometimes it seems like that life will never come back. That this will be the way we will live forever now. Always at war."

  "Let us talk of other things," she said. Their time together was short, and she wanted to make it as pleasant as possible.

  The rain had ended, and they walked back through the darkening streets of the city while lamplighters plied their rounds, lighting the large lamps on street corners that lit up most of the inner city after dark until the midnight hour. On Whiteflower Lane they caught the scent of summer flowers and heard the croaking of frogs in the pond. The small white houses glowed softly. For the moment they were left with their love and the light of the moon.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Another long day in the camp of Sixth Brigade was coming to its end. Thru signed off on the last few bits of paperwork and noticed that the afternoon was verging into the warm evening of late summer. Thru got to his feet, stretched, pulled on the lightweight deep blue jacket that was the new summer-weight uniform, and made sure his red pin was clearly visible. He pulled on his blue cap, preferring it to the big hats worn by many other rank officers. The single glossy red button on the front was all the evidence of rank he needed.

  He took a turn around the camp, observing the few formations of soldiers who were still drilling on the parade square. Sergeant Burrum bellowed orders in the near distance. Thru went the other way, walking down a lane between tents, acknowledging salutes from officers as he went. The mots, brilbies, and kobs of the brigade sat out around the tents; a few campfires burned to brew up tea. The camp had a good feeling to it. These last few weeks had seen a steady improvement in training levels. They'd recovered quickly from the mauling they'd taken at the Sow's Head and gone on from there.

  He reached the orchard. Tents were set up among the trees. Thru strolled through the area looking for the plum trees that the Alvil claimed had been "mutilated." Down by the water's edge he found a stand of plums. Two tents were set up beneath them. No damage was visible, but there was a downed tree limb beside one of the tents. He strolled closer and discovered that it was oak, its few remaining leaves withered and brown.

  He made a mental note to ask Major Ilb to investigate. Someone had probably found the wood out in the forest and dragged it back here for the fire. But he wanted to be sure it hadn't been cut from any tree of the Alvil's. He turned at the edge of the orchards. Tents in more or less orderly lines were all he could see. Trees seemed undamaged. Typical. The Alvil had probably seen that oak branch pulled up by the tents and gone on to her own wild conclusions.

  Back in the main part of the camp, he quickened his pace. After getting something to eat, he planned to write a letter to Nuza. Writing to her always improved his mood, and he gave thanks to the Spirit that she was part of his life.

  Then a sudden shout interrupted his thoughts. Mots nearby pointed up, and he caught a flash in the golden light of a white pigeon, homing on the tower in the center of the village.

  "Messenger bird!" was the word flashed around the camp. Thru watched it go on, over the trees, heading for the constable's tower.

  Back at his command post Thru found Sergeant Burrum drinking a mug of cool tea.

  "You heard?"

  "Yes, sir. We're about to get some news. I expect everyone in camp knows that a pigeon went over."

  Thru nodded. A pigeon meant news from Sulmo, or the coast. A pigeon meant war. Nor did they have long to wait before a young mot came running up, out of breath, having sprinted all the way from the constable's office. Thru broke the seal, read the contents, and turned to Ilb.

  "The enemy has landed in force on the shore of Chenisee, near Farnem. We're to rendezvous with the Eighth Brigade at Telsher. The Meld is leaving Sulmo with four brigades. He marches toward the village of Chillum."

  "Maps," said Thru. "What have we got of Chenisee? Where is Farnem, exactly?"

  "There are good maps of the entire county, sir." Ilb motioned to the map rack. "Good, we'll take a look at them right away. Get orders out to every unit commander. I want everything ready to move at first light. Everyone should eat a hearty supper and get some sleep. Tomorrow we march."

  "Right, sir."

  "And what are the chances of sending a bird down to the coast tonight? I want Grys Glaine to move the twelfth regiment up to the Chenisee Gap at first light as well. He can't get there before us, but he can be close behind. I'd like for the entire brigade to be in one place by the time we reach Telsher. Understood?"

  "Sir," snapped Major Ilb.

  The regiments were filled with seasoned soldiers now. The next day they kept up a swift pace, and the columns left dust trails through the Chenisee Gap. The supply train was left far behind, plodding along at the pace of the oxen.

  In the tiny hamlets they passed, the entire population came out to wave and cheer them on. Even up here in the wilds of the gap, the folk had heard the terrible news. The army of men was ashore down past Farnem and busy destroying everything in its path.

  Through the hills they went and on down into the forest of Chenisee. The road dwindled to a trail through endless stands of oak, beech, chestnut, and pine. Where soils were sandy the pines predominated. The wet areas nurtured groves of mighty willows, their girths as much as those of houses.

  Disturbed by their presence the animals of the wilderness had fled, though the wolves called out at their passing and the packs carried the news across the forest and into the hills of Glaine.

  Off to their right lay Sulmo, perhaps forty miles over the hills. On their left, just ten miles separated them from the sea. Ahead, perhaps fifteen miles distant, was Farnem, a small town of fisherfolk and weavers.

  The enemy was down there somewhere, near the coast.

  A new determination filled the regiments. This time it would be different. This time they would do the job. They would take hold of the enemy and keep him fast while they pounded him to pieces. They would end the threat to the Land. They knew what they had to do. They had met Man on the battlefield, and they had beaten him. They knew they could do it now.

  Morale was high; every single soldier was determined to keep up the maximum pace. Complaints had dropped away to almost nothing. No one wanted to hear them anyway.

  Thru saw the contrast with the march he'd made in the Meld's army on the way to the Sow's Head. Those had been green recruits, barely into the second month of their training. Those mots had spilled out of line every few miles, forced to rest a little by their sore feet and aching limbs. The soldiers around him this time were seasoned by battle, and hardened by months of marching.

  Down the narrow trails they came, hurrying through the forests. Ahead, they could see out across the trees to the distant chalk bluffs of Norfarnem. They quickened the pace. The target for the day was to reach Telsher, a village several miles ahead. There they would hook up with the Eighth Brigade, which was marching up from Blana. Together they would proceed toward Farnem.

  In command would be the Grys Blana, his rank confirmed by a message under the seal of the King of Sulmo. The King had been anxious from the beginning to maintain control of the army through the native nobility. Blana had a reputation for being "difficult." Thru hoped for the best, knowing that he had far more experience of war than the Grys. But the King always gave the nod to a Grys or Meld rather than a Northerner for such a command. And so it was the Grys who would have titular command of the two brigades when they came together.

  A shout came from the head of the c
olumn.

  "Smoke!"

  Away to the north, across the forest green, a column of thick black smoke was rising into the warm afternoon air.

  "Farnem?"

  "Yes, sir. By our reckoning that's Farnem all right."

  The smoke continued to billow up and then to slant inshore, caught by a breeze off the sea. As they watched it rise, cries of anger bubbled up from the ranks. Here was the Hand of Man again, invading their land, burning another ancient village.

  Thru felt that anger, and also a renewed certainty. The enemy was here. They would have another chance to destroy him soon.

  They followed the trail into a valley and could no longer see the distant smoke cloud. When they climbed the far side of the valley the smoke was still rising, and separate clouds had drifted farther inland. Farnem was burning to the ground.

  Again they descended into a wooded valley, finding polder at the farther end, and soon after that entered the village of Telsher.

  They were the first to arrive. Thru set about organizing the camp and set the Sixth and Twelfth regiments to camp in fields of stubble just outside the little town. Water was brought up on oxen carts, food was quickly prepared, and the mots ate a large meal and settled down to sleep. They'd covered twenty-five miles and climbed the Chenisee Gap into the bargain. They deserved a rest.

  A messenger came in after an hour to say that the Grys and the Eighth Brigade were hurrying up the road from Blana and would be with them inside three hours.

  Thru had a party fetch more water while others built cook fires in the fields across the road, where Thru assumed the Grys would want to camp. Thru met with his own regimental commanders, Ter-Saab and the Grys Glaine. The Grys had made up the extra miles from south Glaine. Thru made sure to praise him in front of Ter-Saab.

  Ter-Saab smiled at Thru to let him know that he knew what Thru was up to. Thru gave him the merest raised eyebrow in return.

  Later, Grys Glaine returned to his own command post. Thru and Ter-Saab took some tea, bread, and sour butter by the campfire while they discussed the coming campaign.

  "Please excuse my presumption, sir, but I wonder what you know about the Grys Blana?"

  "Very little. One of the Blana regiments is fully trained, the other is not. The Meld told me I could expect the Grys to be very enthusiastic, very driven to succeed."

  "Ah." Ter-Saab sipped hot tea.

  "Yes? Go on."

  "Blana is a part of Sulmo that has often been independent, you understand."

  "Mmm."

  "Independent people with a certain arrogance is how most folk in south Sulmo think of the Blanans."

  "You're suggesting that I'm going to have trouble with the Grys?"

  "I would just like to suggest that you be prepared for those particular traits of personality. The Grys and his entire family are rather famous for them."

  "Ah." Thru nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you for warning me."

  Thru had reason to remember Ter-Saab's words, when the Grys Blana came marching up at the head of his regiments a scant two hours later.

  The Grys was a full-fleshed mot of late middle age. His cheek fur had whitened early and his eye tufts, too. He came surrounded by banner holders with a drummer out in front. Thru was partly amused, partly concerned. Something about this little group—the Grys, his senior staff officers, three brilbies carrying banners, and a fat mot banging a drum—made Thru think of the army of Shasht.

  "Welcome to Chenisee, Grys," said Thru after offering a salute.

  The Grys returned the salute with a frown on his face, unhappy at being spoken to first by someone of lower social rank.

  "I am disturbed to find your regiments in their tents. We must crack on at once and march through the night to Farnem."

  Thru felt his eyebrows shoot up at hearing this. Farnem was nothing but smoldering ruins at this point.

  "We're not sure yet of the exact location of the enemy army. I have reports from around Farnem, but they are inexact as yet. We will know much more in the morning when scouts return with some identifications of enemy units."

  The Grys was dismissive. "Pah, this is much too cautious. We will march up the road, and if we find the enemy, we will get started on him right away. Let the Meld come and join the hardy mots of Blana, for we will be in the thick of it."

  "I'm sure they will be. However, Grys, I would suggest a little caution in attacking the entire enemy force with only four regiments."

  "It is our responsibility to smash the enemy as soon as possible. Every moment that they stand on our sacred land is a horror to me and my soldiers."

  "Yes, of course, I understand. But isn't it also our responsibility to hold this force together? The Meld will need our regiments."

  "Bah, where is your courage, Colonel? If we surge to the attack at once, we will seize the initiative. That is all we'll need. When the Meld comes up to join us he can take care of mopping up."

  Thru heard these words with mounting horror.

  "Grys, if we attack the men with such a small force, they will counterattack very quickly. They are skilled at battlefield maneuver and quick to adjust to changing conditions."

  "My regiments have trained intensively. Our morale is so great we are ready to take on twice our own numbers of these evil men."

  "With all respect, Grys, you have not seen men in battle. They are more formidable than perhaps you imagine."

  The Grys made a face. "Bah, I cannot understand such faintheartedness. Rouse your troops. I want to continue the march at once."

  "At least inform the Meld of Daneep of your plan. He would expect you to notify him of our presence here. We should send messengers at once."

  "We will send him a message from Farnem. That's if the sound of our swords beating on the enemy has not roused him already. I expect he will be in Chillum by then, so he'll hear us loud and clear."

  With a sinking feeling in his gut, Thru sent the orders out to wake his regiments and put them on the road in the dark.

  The fact that they were miles from Farnem and that the route there would pass mostly within the dense, dark forest of central Chenisee didn't seem to matter to the Grys. He was determined to find and attack the enemy at once. Alas, the Grys Blana had been given command because of his title not because of his brains.

  Thru told Major Ilb to find a local messenger who could find a way to reach the Meld during the night. Thru was outranked by the Grys and could not disobey without serious consequences. But he was concerned that this ill-considered attack would put the entire army at risk.

  Ilb proved once again that he was a master at anticipation. He produced a brilby from the nearest village who claimed to know a good route along the hill scarp to Chillum village. Thru sent him off with a message and a prayer.

  Several hours later, in the depths of the night, the four regiments lost their way in the dark woods. They were on forest trails, barely able to see the back of the soldier in front of them. The wagons and carts could not be pulled through the thick forest so their supply was lost for the foreseeable future. Thru wondered if the Grys Blana had much experience of dealing with hungry soldiers.

  Thru and Ilb worked their way through the gloomy woods until they found the Sixth Regiment gathered together in a glade. Ter-Saab, proudly in control.

  "Well, Colonel, let me congratulate you first on keeping the Sixth in one piece."

  "Thank you, sir, but I'm missing at least fifty stragglers."

  "Well, the Grys is missing about half the Twelfth. Seems they took a right fork somewhere back there, and who knows where they are now."

  "Poor old Pook, I know he'll be mortified."

  "And I haven't heard from Blana in a while. I've sent scouts out to the left, looking for him, but still haven't heard anything positive."

  "They're probably ahead of us. The stream crossing has tracks. Looks like a lot of them went over ahead of us."

  "Major Ilb?" Thru turned back to his chief of staff. "Perhaps Blana is ahead of us. Have sco
uts sent forward right away. I want to send a message, too. We're getting hopelessly strung out in these woods."

  Messages were sent to the Grys Blana and to the Grys Glaine. With mounting impatience and concern, Thru waited at the crossing of the stream while tea was brewed and dried bread handed around.

  The sky had cleared, the crescent moon shone a wan light over the world. Thru thought back to the time just before the ambush at Chenna. Marching up the road straight into a trap. Poor Colss had paid for his mistake with his life. That ambush had happened fast, and the men had pressed their attack with their customary ferocity. If that ambush was repeated now, with Blana out in front with his two regiments and Thru strung out in the woods like this, they would face disaster.

  Except that the enemy would be just as lost as they were in these dense thickets. Thru chewed his lips. The danger would come when they came out into open space closer to Farnem.

  The message to the Grys Glaine brought a swift response, borne by the Grys himself who came hurrying up the trail. He reported that the missing companies of the Twelfth Regiment had realized they were going in the wrong direction, had backtracked, and were now following up at a trot. They would rejoin the rest of the command in less than an hour.

  "Thanks be given for that."

  Ter-Saab snorted. "Now if we just knew where the Grys Blana was."

  The Grys Glaine blinked nervously. "I don't wish to criticize our commanding officer, but I do have questions about this advance in the dark."

  "Well, I don't have questions," grumbled Ter-Saab. "I think this is plain crazy. The men are likely to be sitting in ambush up there at Farnem."

  The Grys Glaine blinked again.

  "How far to Farnem, anyway?" said Thru, peering at the map. It was hard to read in the faint light. On the map the trails were a morass of dotted lines.

  "No more than four miles ahead, by our reckoning," said Ter-Saab.

  "Listen," said Thru. "If my worst fears come true, then the enemy will be waiting for us at Farnem. They'll be hiding in the trees, and as soon as we move out into the open, they'll attack. That's what they did at Chenna. So I'm going to warn the Grys Blana, and we're going to hurry to catch up. As soon as we hit the open space, we must be ready to form a battle line."