Tae turned his attention back to the cat, gently freeing his hand from Mistri’s. “Please accompany me, Imorelda. As usual, I’m going to need you.”
Imorelda turned her head in his general direction with slow disdain.
“Please?” Tae repeated.
Imorelda sent, *Carry me.* She made no move to assist, curled up in the same position she had chosen to relax.
Tae indulged her. He had little choice, and he owed her a lot more. First, he petted the length of her several times, enjoying the velvety feel of her fur beneath his callused fingers. He had stroked her for her comfort, but he found his own heart rate and breathing slowing and some of the tension leaving his shoulders. Despite the urgency of the situation, he took the time to say, *You’re beautiful and a friend beyond friends. I don’t know what I’d do without you.*
Imorelda rolled onto her side. *Press your fingers against my belly.*
Imorelda had directed his ministrations before, but never asked for such a thing. Tae did as she bade, sinking his touch into the bulge of her abdomen. He waited a few moments, feeling nothing. Then, something tiny twitched against his index finger. *What are you doing?*
*I’m not doing anything, you moron. The kittens are moving.*
Imorelda’s words made no sense. *What kittens?* It all came together in an instant. *You’re . . . with child?*
*Children,* Imorelda pointed out. *At least three, perhaps as many as five. I’m not sure yet.*
*But I thought you . . . * Tae caught himself. The last thing he wanted to do was discourage her, even at this difficult time. He burrowed his fingers deeper, feeling another diminutive kick. *By the gods, Imorelda. That’s wonderful news!*
*Is it?* Despite her words, Imorelda did not sound nearly as unhappy as when Matrinka had first suggested the pregnancy. *And stop poking me.* She rolled to her feet. *It’s uncomfortable enough having the little nuisances squirming around internally. I have to have someone squeezing me from the outside, too?*
Tae cradled the cat in his arms, suddenly afraid she might break. *Matrinka is going to celebrate!* He headed for the door, Mistri trailing.
“You not listening.” Mistri tugged on Tae’s tunic. “Why you not listening?”
*You can’t tell Matrinka!* Imorelda vied for Tae’s attention as well.
*What? How can we keep this from Matrinka? She’ll go mad with excitement.* Still carrying Imorelda, Tae looked at Mistri. “Remember, Mistri? When I’m concentrating on other things, I can’t hear anari. I need you to use usaro for a bit. Please.”
Imorelda could obviously tell Tae was speaking to Mistri, but that did not stop her from talking over and around the conversation. *That’s exactly why we can’t tell her. She’ll hover all over me. And poke me, like you did.*
Tae knew it was useless to point out Imorelda had instructed him to feel her abdomen. He saw other reasons to keep Matrinka ignorant that Imorelda would never verbalize, even if they occurred to her. With pregnancies, too much could go wrong, especially in a time of war. Tae needed Imorelda with him, even at the most dangerous of times, and the loss of the cat or her future progeny would plunge Matrinka deeper into grief. The queen had enough to worry about without focusing on an animal’s life in addition to her subjects’.
“What about Poppy?”
Wanting to take some of the burden from Imorelda, Tae faced Mistri. For an instant, he started to crouch, then remembered the youngster stood at his eye level. “Can you let me know if he says anything before I contact him again?”
Mistri nodded, and Tae smiled.
“Thank you,” he said.
Imorelda seemed content to purr in his arms. Despite her previous protestations, she looked unusually happy.
The threesome headed toward the king’s private quarters.
A short sword can easily beat an extra-long sword. The extra length hinders the warrior’s resolve and makes it easy to close in on and defeat him.
—Colbey Calistinsson
WAR CRIES, THREATS, SCREAMS, and the din of clashing steel gave way to the moans of the injured, conversation and sobs of sorrow, hopelessness, and outrage. Saviar, Subikahn, and Calistin examined the two enormous casualties they had forced the Kjempemagiska to abandon. Lying still, they did not seem quite so large, perhaps half again Saviar’s height and double his weight. Their boots looked like enormous replicas, the fabric of their jerkins woven with a closeness and skill that obviated the need for armor. The continental clothiers could never have matched the precision. An enormous, curved sword lay near one’s outflung hand and a second sword was half-buried beneath the other’s body.
Calistin had eyes only for the weapons. He hefted one of the swords, and it overbalanced him, forcing him to take several uncoordinated sidesteps to regain his equilibrium. Saviar stifled the urge to laugh. He had never seen his agile brother appear so graceless.
Subikahn tugged the other sword free, then liberated a utility knife from each of the dead Kjempemagiska. “We need to find someone who can wield these.”
“These?” Calistin examined the weapon in his own hands. “Who could? A solid sweep would put the wielder on his ass. The only way it could kill an enemy is if he died laughing.”
Saviar grinned. It was the closest he could remember Calistin coming to a joke.
But Subikahn did not, apparently, appreciate the humor. “They were forged by and kept with magical beings, which means they probably contain shadow magic. Like our special weapons . . .” He patted the hilt of the sword Calistin had given him. “. . . they will work against the giants. We need as many magic weapons in as many hands as possible.” He glanced around, brightening suddenly. “There’s Thialnir. He’s the biggest Renshai I know.”
Saviar knew he rivaled the leader of the Renshai for size, and his youth probably made him the stronger, but he kept the thought to himself. He already had a sword that functioned against the Kjempemagiska. He set to freeing his boots from beneath the body that had pinned him earlier.
The giant corpses had drawn many curious onlookers from every part of the combined armies, but the other Renshai arrived first as they were already close at hand from the battle. Subikahn scrambled toward Thialnir, but Calistin beat him, offering his prize to the leader of the Renshai.
“What’s this?” Thialnir asked suspiciously, though he surely knew the source of the weapon.
“Can you wield it?” Subikahn asked as Thialnir accepted it from Calistin’s hand.
Thialnir gave the curved sword a mighty swing as others dashed out of his way, granting him a wide berth. “Not as well as my own. Why would I want to?”
Subikahn repeated his explanation as Thialnir lowered the blade, testing the balance in both hands, ending with, “The weapons sanctified by the elves can cut the giants, but only with great difficulty. These . . .” With effort, he raised the massive sword in his own hand. “. . . work like regular weapons on them.”
Thialnir reached for the other Kjempemagiska sword. “Do you mind if I take them both? I’m headed to the commanders’ meeting, and I imagine Captain Galastad can find an unusually large Béarnide who might find use for the other one.”
As he pulled on his boots, feet and legs restoring the crushed leather to its proper shape, Saviar nodded agreement. No people on the continent came naturally bigger than Béarnides, and they had to have a few who made even Griff and himself look small. “You might consider my father, too. Tae gave him a giant’s utility knife; but, knowing him, he probably handed it off to someone he considered more skilled with a sword.”
Saviar hopped to his feet, appreciating that he no longer had to fight barefooted with sticks, rocks and debris stabbing and bruising his soles. “Give him one of these, and he’ll have no one to pass it off to. Meanwhile, we’ll see if we can find some takers for their knives . . .” He jerked his thumb toward the bodies, now being swarmed with examiner
s. “. . . among the Renshai. They refused previously when Subikahn’s father offered similar ones; but, now that they’ve had a chance to notch their current weapons against our enemies’ iron hides, they may change their minds.”
Thialnir juggled the enormous swords, then headed into the thick of the armies. Unlike most of the commanders, he did not need to assess the situation or rally his troops with promises or sanguine speeches. Renshai gave their all to every battle; they knew no other way. They would eagerly plunge into any war, no matter their odds, and fight to their dying breaths. Thialnir knew his people would handle any casualties with proper dignity, would tend the salvageably wounded and dispatch any Renshai who sustained fatal injuries in a way that allowed them the glory of Valhalla. At the moment, nothing else mattered.
By the time Knight-Captain Kedrin arrived, nearly all the other officers were already gathered in a selected clearing at the edge of the woodlands, beyond the infantry and cavalry. They had learned to treat one another with distinction and respect, no matter the title. Some places had multiple generals, others a single general with lieutenants or captains beneath him, while still more, like Béarn and Erythane, reserved the title of general for their kings, regardless of whether or not they served in combat.
Though only titled captain, Galastad of Béarn’s infantry took the lead role in Griff’s absence. He was an enormous man with a tight-cut mop of curly black hair and a bristling beard. Only Kedrin, Valr Magnus, and Thialnir came close to him for height, but he carried significantly more weight than any of them. Kedrin noted that only eight of the nine tribes of Northmen were represented. General Elgar of the Erdai was notably missing.
For the Westlands, Erythane had Kedrin as well as Hansah, ranking lieutenant over the infantry and regular cavalry. General Sutton of Santagithi had gathered several smaller towns under his command, nearly all the ones spanning the area between his own city and massive Pudar, which was under the authority of the experienced and skilled General Markanyan. Nearly all the other villages and hamlets of the West had added soldiers to the armies of Béarn, Erythane, Pudar, or Santagithi rather than attempt to form a command structure of their own. Notably absent from the West was a representative for the twin cities. They had come to the war outraged and insistent on taking the front and center positions. Now, it appeared, few if any remained.
The entire Eastlands had united under a single general, Halcone. Kedrin knew the East divided their army into multiple units under several lieutenants, including a Renshai named Talamir who had served as Subikahn’s torke while he lived with his father. Only General Halcone attended this meeting, and Kedrin felt sure the other officers were handling the necessities: the dead, the injured, the dispirited. Weile Kahn also hovered in the background. He claimed no title, yet no one suggested he did not belong.
The oldest of the elves, known simply as Captain, came to the meeting as well, accompanied by an elderly mage from Myrcidë called Jeremilan. Rumor claimed the elf was as old as the gods themselves, though the mage looked more the part. He walked without assistance, yet he appeared terribly frail, his skin grotesquely wrinkled, his gray eyes faded, his fingers gnarled. It appeared as if a strong wind might scatter him into dust, swirling away the bits until nothing remained. Captain, on the other hand, seemed as ageless and timeless as most elves, his amber eyes canted and strange but also clear and bright.
Captain Galastad of Béarn took command, as the situation warranted. “It appears we are all in attendance. Having spoken with each and every one of you, aside from Knight-Captain Kedrin . . .” There was a bare hint of displeasure that Kedrin might have missed if it had not referenced his own conduct. He had been the last to arrive, but only because his position required certain formalities the others did not. Although he had experienced no casualties, he had assisted the other units with their own. He considered claiming the floor for an apology but saw the irony of such a thing. Doing so would only waste more time, presumably the reason Galastad was rebuking him in the first place.
Galastad continued, “I regret to inform you that we have taken significant casualties, upward of a tenth of our warriors. There has been a near devastation of the Erdai, including General Elgar, and of the army of the twin cities of the West which had already suffered the full loss of its home force and civilians.”
Murmurs followed. Several whispered fervent prayers, although Kedrin was not one of them. He had never turned to the gods before, and it seemed hypocritical to start doing so now.
“The enemy has also taken some losses, which we estimate at one tenth of a percent of their total force.”
Kedrin did some quick math. There were two dead Kjempemagiska, which meant the general estimated them at two thousand strong, about the same number as the casualties on their own side.
“Obviously, we need to deviate somewhat from our present strategy. We have some new facts to facilitate that process. First, we now know that, though the enemy considers us wholly expendable, they don’t have the stomach to tolerate casualties of their own. The first death caused them to stop fighting. The second came as a result of trying to retrieve the body, and it sent them into retreat.”
“Are they gone?” asked General Sutton of Santagithi, with small hope in his tone.
Captain Galastad of Béarn responded, “Unfortunately, no. Captain of the elves assures me they have not gone far. They’re regrouping and, probably, changing their tactics as well.”
General Markanyan of Pudar demanded, “Do our scouts have anything to report?”
Galastad glanced at Weile, who currently seemed to control most of the worthwhile spying information.
Weile stepped from the shadows. “They could come at us again at any moment. I can guarantee us only a half of an hour of warning. They are conversing aloud but in a tongue no one knows, and as I understand it, they have a mind-language as well.”
Galastad now acknowledged Captain with a wave. “Can you decipher that?”
Captain remained close to the woodlands, as if he might flee at any moment. “We can’t hear it, either, General. We might have magic that could make it audible, but we barely have the numbers and strength to contain their offense. If we start throwing chaos around, we risk not having it when it’s urgently needed. As it is, we’re not preventing the small, healing magics they’re using right now in order to conserve our strength.”
Thialnir of the Renshai stepped in. “Can we afford to allow them to heal their injuries? Doesn’t it mean they can keep coming at us full force?”
The general of the Northern Gelshni spoke next, though Kedrin could not recall his name. “As it is, the elfin magic isn’t working. Our weapons are worthless against them.”
“Not worthless,” Thialnir argued. “They cut. It just takes a lot more force than one might expect. You have to sweep hard and true, put weight and muscle behind the potentially lethal targets, drive in and don’t give up until the job’s done.”
General Sutton shook his head. A clever strategist, he saw the problems immediately. “That’s fine for large, experienced warriors, but I’ve got an awful lot of citizen soldiers who are becoming tired and discouraged. Does anyone have a problem with moving up the cavalry before the next strike? I don’t think hunting down men who break through the ranks will be the issue here, especially considering the thickness of the forest and brush surrounding the battlefield.” He turned toward the elfin Captain, though this put his back to Captain Galastad. “Given the giants’ reaction to casualties, it’s my considered opinion that we need to put our strongest forces at the edges of the forest. They surely know it’s the elves keeping them from standing a safe distance from our weapons and wiping us out with magic.”
Galastad nodded sagely. “As you must realize, the battlefield was well-chosen to keep our users of magic safe. We’re all but surrounded by dense woodlands, leaving our enemy only one opening for attack. The elves don’t have the same difficulti
es the giants, or even we, would have moving around the forest.”
“Understood,” General Sutton replied. “But I’m still concerned the giants might focus attacks on the front edges of the forest. With their enormous swords, they might take down enough trees to make some headway. We need to slow them down so our users of magic have time to safely retreat without losing control. If the elves and mages drop their spell negating the enemy’s magic, we’re all doomed.”
Galastad took the information under advisement. “Are we all agreed on moving the cavalries to the fore and fortifying the edges of the forest?”
Several “ayes” and no “nays” greeted the proposal, so he continued, “To that end, I’d like to put the Renshai on the southwest corner at the forest edge, Béarn’s army beside them, then Santagithi and allies, with Pudar toward the center. On the northwest corner at the forest edge the Knights of Erythane, then Erythane’s main forces, and the various Northern armies in whatever order they please. The Eastland armies will fill the second rank, along with the citizen soldiers and smaller armies I might have missed.”
Valr Magnus stepped up. “The Aeri will take the central position, beside Pudar.” It was a brave stance given that, during the previous assault, the forces in the middle had been all but destroyed.
No one, including Kedrin, argued with the suggested positions. He considered Santagithi the greatest general in history, and Sutton seemed to have all the strategic instincts of the man for whom his town was named. The Knights of Erythane would have a difficult time, and he prepared himself for the inevitable loss of men.
As the fighting forces seemed settled, Captain Galastad of Béarn turned his attention to Captain and Jeremilan. “Are we still strong on the magical front?”
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