Lieutenant Renly entered. “The sun is up. What are your orders?”
“I’ll be out in a moment.” Will washed his face then went out to greet the day. After meeting briefly with the sub-marshals, he told them to stand ready. “Today will be boring, hopefully. Maybe tomorrow as well, but we have to keep ourselves ready.”
Sub-Marshal Spry nodded. “Boring is good, but if we keep the men standing on knife’s edge for too long it will hurt morale.”
“There’s no choice,” said Will. “Send someone out with a flag so they know we want to parley.”
“Who will you have meet them?” asked Sub-marshal Nicht.
“I’ll go myself.”
“We know nothing about the commander of the city garrison. What if he breaks his trust?” asked Nicht. “Shouldn’t you send someone else?”
“I don’t think they’d be foolish enough to ruin their chances at future diplomacy. Besides, I need to speak to the man face to face if I’m to—” Will stopped abruptly, remembering the possibility of a spy in their midst. Even a small hint might be too much. He rephrased his statement, “I want to talk to him myself.”
***
The sky was a barren dome of blue, bereft of any clouds, allowing the sun to shine mercilessly down on Will and his escort. The harsh light was welcome, though, for the wind was still bitterly cold despite the advent of spring. He and the man standing across from him were both squinting as they studied each other.
Klendon’s commander was a burly man with rough shoulders and a face that probably scared small children on a regular basis. It wasn’t that he was ugly, merely that his features lent themselves to a merciless expression. The intimidating appearance was backed up by rough, callused hands that were crisscrossed with scars.
“You shouldn’t have crossed the mountains,” said the commander.
Will narrowed his eyes further, then answered, “Who am I speaking to?”
There was the faintest of pauses, then the Darrowan responded, “The one in charge.” Then he added, “And who are you? Does the King of Terabinia send boys to negotiate for him?”
“King Lognion is still in Cerria. I’m the one in charge of this army, and the one empowered to negotiate with not only you, but the Patriarch himself when he eventually has to surrender,” said Will calmly.
The other man laughed, glancing back at his guards as he did. “I thought you’d be older.”
“At least I’m not hiding. I’m the one able to make decisions here.”
“Hiding?” The man raised one brow.
Will nodded, then looked at one of the men standing farther back. “Is that him? You’re one of his guards, aren’t you? Or his second? No, he’d leave his second in command inside, in case something happened.”
“Do you have something to say? If not, this meeting is over,” growled the Darrowan.
As the man spoke, the one farther back stepped forward, putting a hand on the pretender’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Darrell.” Then he gave Will an annoyed look before introducing himself, “Lionell Durant, Captain Commander of the Klendon garrison. You’re perceptive for a young man, but I’m not sure I believe you’re who you say you are.”
Will’s eyes lit with interest and he leaned forward slightly. “I doubt we’ll settle anything at this meeting. I am in charge of this army, and my purpose here is to give you a choice, and set my words in your heart when the time comes for you to choose again.”
“A choice? I’m not going to surrender to some wet-behind-the-ears boy, not when I’ve got every advantage. Klendon’s walls are unbreakable. The only choice here is yours. You can lay siege to Klendon, in which case you’re currently in a bad position with those bridges behind you, or you can cross and try to fight this war without your supply lines, because I guarantee we will disrupt them continually.”
He didn’t flinch at the man’s derision. Will’s face was intense, and he never looked away. Make him believe it. “If you surrender today, I will take you into temporary custody, and Klendon will serve as a logistical supply hub for the Terabinian army. Once the war is concluded, you’ll be returned to your lands and allowed to keep whatever titles you currently possess.”
“You’re insane.”
Will held up one hand. “I’m not done. This is your first chance, but I’ll give you one more in the days to come. If you surrender then, I’ll give you the same terms. Lognion wants to annex Darrow, not burn it, so the fewer people I have to kill the better.”
Durant laughed. “You know I won’t accept that. Nor will I change my mind, no matter what threats you make.”
“It’s not a threat. If you refuse the next chance, I’ll see that you lose everything, including your life. I won’t forgive a leader who needlessly sacrifices the lives of those he commands.”
“March back to Barrowden and I’ll let you go without a fight. If your army is still here tomorrow you won’t get out without losing a significant amount of blood,” said Durant coldly. Then he looked at his escort. “We’re done.”
As they began to walk back to Klendon, Will reiterated, “Don’t forget my words.”
One of the guards beside him, Mark Nerrow, let out a long sigh. “Told you that wouldn’t accomplish much. If anything, he has less respect for you now.”
Will smiled. “It works better if he thinks I’m young and foolish. If he respected me, he’d be more inclined to be suspicious and he might think twice before trying to close the trap around us when the fighting starts.”
The sub-marshal looked thoughtful for a moment, then replied, “Good point.”
Chapter 29
“Lustral must be losing his mind right now,” said Mark Nerrow. “The fact that you haven’t sent the other divisions across the bridges makes our position even more untenable.”
“Even if we did it wouldn’t be great,” said Will. “Since there’s three bridges, we’d have to split them on the north and south sides of the main river to guard both.” The sun had set hours ago, and unlike a more ordinary camp situation, the Terabinian army didn’t just have watches set, but rather the entire army was rotating their sleeping times in four-hour increments. The end result was that at least one-third of the men were awake and armed at all times. After eating and settling in, the other officers and command staff had retired to their tents, but Mark had come to sit with Will until he was ready to rest.
“But having them on the other side of Klendon where they can’t do anything is pure madness, at least to any normal line of thinking.”
“True,” Will admitted. “I’ve put us neatly in the trap.”
“If Durant is suspicious, your counter-trap may not work.”
“Being underestimated because of my age works in my favor. He’s more likely to think I’m a fool,” Will replied, trying to reassure himself with the words. Deep down, he wished he could run. He’d just as soon tell the king to go to hell and abscond with Selene—if it weren’t for all the consequences everyone else around him would have to suffer for his selfishness. Currently his greatest fear was that if his plan failed, a lot of decent men would die, purely because of his attempt at cleverness.
But if it works, many, many more will be spared, he reminded himself. Glancing up, he looked at the man who had sired him. He wasn’t particularly close to Mark Nerrow, but over the past year they had gone from passing strangers to friendly acquaintances, with some rough moments along the way. It was a strange relationship, but he trusted the man more than most of those around him currently.
“How long do you think we’ll have to wait?” Will asked, feeling anxious.
Mark lifted one brow curiously. “You’re asking me? You’re the genius who dreamed this wild plan up.”
He sighed. “I’m doing my best, but this is still my first time leading…”
“Scared?”
Will nodded. “I’ve been in the middle of a shield wall with spears aimed at my head, but this is a different kind of fear.”
“It’s new, but it�
��s still just fear,” said Mark. “You’ve done well so far. The most important thing for a commander is to present an air of absolute confidence. Letting them see your uncertainty would destroy morale.”
“I know. I learned that as a soldier—when I had to take orders rather than give them. But knowing it and feeling it are two different things. I’m just pretending.”
The older man snorted. “So is everyone else.” When Will started to say something, his father held up a hand. “Let me finish. It gets easier. When you’re my age and you’ve done it long enough, you might sometimes forget you’re not the unshakable leader you’re pretending to be, but when you’re sitting around a fire at night, or trying to go to sleep, you’ll remember. That fear never truly fades, you just get better at dealing with it.”
“Maybe,” said Will. “So, how long before you think they’ll attack?”
“The sooner the better. Having the entire force sleep in shifts like this is going to get old fast. Tomorrow would be best, but I wouldn’t count on the Darrowans getting their act together that quickly. I’d guess day after tomorrow.” After a few seconds, he added, “You were right about the ritual magic, by the way.”
“Huh?”
“The city walls are heavily reinforced with enchantments. Most of the tactical rituals would fail against them,” said his father.
Will had noticed that earlier, but he hadn’t felt the need to discuss it. “One of the rituals she brought would probably work, but I’m not willing to use that one.”
Mark Nerrow nodded. “The Creeping Death?” The ritual he referred to conjured a poisonous fog that could roll across an entire city, killing everyone indiscriminately. Just the thought of it sent a shiver up Will’s spine.
They talked for a short while longer before the baron left and Will went through his routine of astral spying. As before, it was a waste of time, costing him an hour he could have been sleeping. When he finally closed his eyes, it was nearly midnight.
He wasn’t sure how long it took him to fall asleep, but it seemed he’d only been asleep for a brief span before he woke to the sound of trumpets blaring. Will sat up, feeling annoyed. They shouldn’t be sounding the wake-up call before dawn, not with the shifts we’re sleeping in, he thought grumpily.
The horns sounded again, accompanied by the sound of men yelling in the distance. It wasn’t the morning call. We’re under attack!
Adrenaline shot through his veins and Will leapt from his cot, racing to the door of his tent. He nearly ran headfirst into Lieutenant Renly, who was entering to wake him. The two men got tangled up for a moment before Will hastily shoved the man away. “Report,” he commanded.
“I don’t know much. The horns are sounding, not just from the bridges but from the other side of Klendon.”
Will froze. Does that mean they’re attacking the other divisions? It made no sense. The bulk of their army was there, and there was almost no way the Darrowans could have smuggled a significant force across the river to attack from that direction. “Help me with my mail,” he ordered, trying to think as he dressed.
A messenger ran through the door a minute later, breathless and trying to report the same news Will had just heard from Renly. Will glared at the hapless man. “Shut up. Send runners to the sub-marshals. The plan is the same. They’ll just have to hold their ground until we can get the men up and in position.”
With Renly’s help, he finished shrugging into his mail hauberk. The helm was simpler, but he wondered for a moment whether he had time to don the breastplate. Selene’s face popped into his head for some reason. “Help me with the breastplate too,” he told Renly.
Arming took at least a quarter of an hour most days, but with Renly’s help and a few shortcuts he managed it in roughly ten minutes. It felt like an eternity, and all the while men ran in and out, shouting reports and waiting on his hastily considered commands.
It was surreal, but the urgency gave him little time to consider how strange it all felt.
“They managed to silence the pickets and overwhelm the bridge guard,” a young messenger reported, his excitement raising his voice to shouting level. “They’ve taken all three bridges and they’re bringing men across two of them in force.”
Will nodded. “Tell them to withdraw and hold the line. We have to give those who were sleeping time to arm.”
The young messenger was so full of adrenaline and anxiety that he started to argue, “But if we don’t take the bridges back…”
“Silence!” Will barked, and once again his magic inadvertently emphasized his voice, turning the command into a sound that shocked everyone in his immediate vicinity. “We don’t need the bridges. We need the men armed and ready.”
The messenger closed his mouth, stunned, then he turned and ran to deliver the message. Renly spoke hesitantly from Will’s side. “Sir, begging your pardon, but if we let them hold the bridges, they’ll be able to bring enough men over to put us in a perilous position. With the city walls at our backs, we won’t—”
Will cut him off. “I know. Are you finished with that buckle?”
He was, and Will left without continuing the conversation. Outside, the moonless night made everything worse. The darkness hung over them like a cloying blanket, smothering their senses and increasing everyone’s fear. No one thought they’d attack at night, he thought ruefully, which means we probably should have expected it. Will adjusted his vision, searching for the sweet spot that would allow him to see across long distances without blinding him when his eyes encountered a torch or lantern.
For once, having superior vision wasn’t such a big advantage. Beyond twenty yards, his vision was obscured by milling men, tents, and the general chaos of thousands trying to figure out where they should be. Ordinarily he wouldn’t have risked it, but the lack of light would hamper the enemy archers too, so Will cast the elemental travel-disk spell and lifted himself twenty feet into the air to get a better view.
With his height and vision, he had the best view, and what he saw was worse than he’d hoped. The Darrowans were slowly pushing the Terabinians farther back from the bridges. Although they’d attacked at night, it was still a hard fight for the Darrowans, for while the pickets had been weakly defended, the main body of William’s army had prepared a serious defense.
The main reason they were slowly being forced back was that two-thirds of their force was still getting dressed, but even that could be easily countered—if the bridges were brought down. The Patriarch’s forces were suffering just as many casualties as the Terabinians, but they were being constantly refreshed by new soldiers rushing across the bridges.
Will turned to look at Klendon. Eventually we’ll be pushed back into range of their bows and other weapons, but they have an even better option if they really want to punish us. He shook his head. He had to get in position—and quickly—otherwise the opportunity would be lost, if indeed it came at all.
He descended and found Renly. “If anything happens before I return, direct the messengers to Sub-Marshal Nerrow. He’ll be in charge until you hear from me again.”
The lieutenant’s eyes widened with fear. “Where will you be?”
“Hopefully at the center of hell itself.” Will reflex cast the camouflage spell and then adjusted his turyn in the peculiar way he had learned from Darla. Renly’s eyes struggled to focus on him for a second, and then they lost him completely. It must have looked almost as though he had vanished. Ignoring his assistant’s cries, Will walked deliberately toward his goal.
Now that he was in motion, his plan felt even more foolish. What if the enemy did what he expected, but they waited several hours before doing so? How would his officers cope with his absence? Nerrow, Nicht, and a few select others knew where he would be, but it didn’t mean they would be able to communicate with him. He might as well have vanished.
Will carefully threaded his way unseen through groups hastily donning armor and through other groups who were already prepared and holding their places. N
o one noticed him as he moved like a ghost in, out, and then beyond, until he was alone, marching across the dead, empty ground that separated his army from the walls of Klendon.
This was the moment of truth, and despite his armor he felt strangely naked as he moved quietly across the open area. Surely someone would spot him despite his protections.
But no one did.
At last he reached his place, beside the gates of Klendon, and began his vigil, which he hoped would be short. Being at ground level, he couldn’t see what was happening at the bridges; he was limited to watching the backs of Second Division. From what he could tell everyone was up and armed now. Staring across the empty ground to his left, he tried to spot Barrentine’s company, where Tiny would be waiting to pull his ass out of the fire, but there were too many people for him to spot even his massive friend.
More shouts of alarm and dismay rose up from behind, in the direction of the Terabinian forces on the other side of Klendon. Something was happening there, but Will had no way of knowing what it was. It has to be a distraction, he told himself. That’s the only reasonable explanation. They wanted to divide our attention while taking the bridges back.
He told himself that several times, but as the minutes stretched out into eternity, his worry turned into a gut-gnawing anxiety. The men of Second Division were beginning to take steps backward—moving them closer to Klendon, to Will—as they were forced to make room for First Division as it was slowly pushed back into them.
The air was cold, but Will was sweating profusely. What are they waiting for? If things dragged out for too long, the fight would turn into a brutal night of mutual annihilation. The Terabinians couldn’t easily run, being hemmed in by the city on one side and the Darrowan relief forces on the other. One thing Will had learned during his first taste of war was to avoid fighting an opponent that was cornered and couldn’t surrender. You might win, but the cost in blood would be higher than you wanted to pay.
Disciple of War (Art of the Adept Book 4) Page 26