Forged in Fire (Destiny's Crucible Book 4)

by Olan Thorensen

  “Good,” said Gullar. “Istranik is to use his men and those of General Akuyun to reopen the supply line at least as far as . . .” Gullar stopped to look at the map. “ . . . Moreland City.”

  Gullar called for pen and paper and began to write—talking to the lieutenant and his staff at the same time.

  “All right, Lieutenant. I’ll give this to you verbally as well, so there’s no misunderstanding. General Istranik is to take his men and any that General Akuyun can spare and move first to Hanslow, the Eywell capital, bringing enough supplies for this army. From there, move on to Moreland City. I leave it to General Istranik’s discretion if he can move closer to Orosz City, but he is not to put his force in major jeopardy.”

  Gullar paused in writing to address his staff.

  “Even if Istranik comes only to the Eywell-Moreland border, our total distance back to support is less than two hundred miles. I assume the islanders will continue to harass us, but once we clear Orosz City, the terrain is flat enough and well known now to us, so we can move faster. I would estimate the same four to five days back to Orosz City and then four more to Moreland City.”

  “With us staying here for two days, that’s going to cut the rations short,” cautioned Avan.

  “All right, then, eighty percent rations as of now,” ordered Gullar. “The men are in good condition, so cutting back slightly will give us . . . what . . . another sixday’s rations? If necessary, during the last part we could start eating the horses.”

  The marshal’s last comment stunned half of the staff—the others accepted the possible necessity. Yet all the officers now clearly realized, if they hadn’t earlier, that the army’s status had changed dramatically. Instead of quickly subjugating the island, they found themselves on the defensive—at least, for the moment. Once they reached Preddi and reestablished contact with the main base and the navy, they would be invulnerable to anything the islanders attempted and would switch tactics. But they had to get back to Preddi.

  Chapter 46: Return to Orosz City

  Orosz City

  “It’s confirmed,” Denes said to the others. “The Narthani army is headed back this way. Stent reports the Narthani are pushing harder this time. At the rate they are moving, Stent estimates they would have covered twenty-five miles the first day, so he’s decided to engage them more than planned.”

  “We have to increase all efforts to get ready for them,” asserted Yozef, “and Welman needs to delay them as much as he can. Every day is critical.”

  Denes frowned. “To slow them down more will mean more casualties.”

  “It’s the price we’ll have to pay to save more lives later,” Yozef said firmly. “Every day they’re delayed will mean the blocking wall and other defenses we build will get stronger. Better a thousand die slowing them down than hundreds of thousands if we fail to destroy this army.”

  Denes nodded. He didn’t like it, but he understood. “Let the land in front of the defenses be the graveyard of the Narthani,” he spat.

  That’s a good line, Yozef thought. I should have thought of it. “The word also needs to go out to every single Caedelli here in Orosz City, especially those working on the defenses,” he said. “The Narthani army is coming back this way, and this is as far as any Narthani in that army lives. Right here. On the plain in front of the city. Reemphasize to everyone that how hard every single person works in the next few days will determine whether they and their families live, die, or spend the rest of their lives as slaves of the Narthani.”

  A growl rumbled through the room. Those with confirmed tasks hurried out to spread the word. A few waited for updated assignments or to confer with others about their tasks. Maera had left, too—heading back to the intelligence staff to go over the messages from Stent and to update maps. Yozef stood alone.

  I’ve done all I can. There’s no time to change plans at this point. I’m not going to be leading men out to slow the Narthani. I’m not particularly good at anything that is ongoing. But I have to do something.

  A body bumped against him. A big body. He stumbled and looked to see who it was. Carnigan. Standing there with a raised eyebrow.

  “I assume you’re starting to feel useless again. It’s about that time. Wondering why everyone listens to you when you know so little and certainly have no good advice. Maybe even getting surprised you’ve taken command. Well . . . SNAP out of it!”

  Yozef looked blankly at his friend and bodyguard. Damn big oaf is getting to know me too well, and it’s getting irritating, was the first thought through his mind. He’s right, of course, was the second thought.

  Yozef sighed. “Yes, I know. It’s just that there’s nothing for me to do now. At this moment.”

  “You can let yourself be seen.”

  “Seen?”

  “Yes! Merciful God! Get your butt out where people can see you. I don’t give a graeko’s ass if you don’t think you’re a Septarsh, but many of the people do or at least wonder at the rumors. Let them see you’re real.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you—”

  “Tens of thousands . . . no . . . hundreds of thousands of islanders are putting their future in your hands, because you’re mainly responsible for the plans we follow. Thousands are out there right now digging in the ground with every fiber of their strength. Thousands are going to die, either slowing the Narthani army or fighting it once it gets here. And you’re worried about people thinking you’re a Septarsh. How about giving some thought to someone besides yourself?”

  Yozef felt his face redden. First with anger, then chagrin.

  “God damn it, Carnigan. I hate it when you’re right. You’re supposed to be a big dumb oaf we only keep around to scare people.”

  “Oh, I can still scare people. That doesn’t mean I don’t recognize self-pity when I see it,” Carnigan stated airily.

  “Okay, okay, okay.”

  Carnigan smiled at the “okays.” Yozef never tried to explain where the expression came from, but “okay” had spread throughout Caedellium in the last few years, along with numerous other expressions “originating” from Yozef Kolsko.

  For the next three hours, Yozef, accompanied by Carnigan and a cadre of messengers insisted on by Denes—just in case Yozef had an “idea” (or a whisper)—toured the ongoing digging and building from the corner of the city walls toward the river.

  They would approach a cluster of workers digging the main trench, filling sandbags, and hauling sandbags up to where others built ramparts, cannon emplacements, and ammunition stock sites. The workers would stop as they approached, Yozef would praise their hard work and emphasize to keep working, and then he’d move on. It became depressing. He still felt as if he weren’t doing anything. Finally, they moved on to another grouping, where a boy who couldn’t have been more than nine years old struggled to carry a sandbag up the forming berm. Yozef helped him up the slope, then followed him back to the trench and began carrying two sandbags at a time up the slope. Carnigan watched quietly for a couple of trips, expecting Yozef to move on. When he didn’t, Carnigan joined in—in his case, carrying four bags at a time. At first, the other workers stopped to stare at Yozef Kolsko, then pitched in with even more effort than they had before.

  After two hours, Yozef could hardly move. He’d tried to stay in physical shape, but too many demands and too little time had curtailed his workouts. What must it be like for all these people working all day?

  When he started to stagger, Carnigan announced to everyone within earshot that Yozef was proud of their work but that he needed to move on to inspect other sites on the line. He then pushed Yozef along, and they walked back toward the city. They arrived at the Kolsko house right at sundown. Most workers outside the city would continue for another hour. Some would work by torch and lanterns until their bodies demanded rest.

  It was Anarynd who first saw Yozef, with his dirty clothes, face, and hands. He simply went to the balcony and sat down. Anarynd gave Carnigan a questioning look, and he b
ent down and whispered in her ear. She nodded, and Carnigan left.

  Anarynd heated water and prepared the small bathtub that one person would just fit in. She then took Yozef’s hand, pulled him to his feet, and led him to the bath. He smiled sadly when he saw it but undressed and stepped into the tub, sinking down until only his head showed above the water. Anarynd brought Aeneas into the room, set him on the floor, and let him explore and play in view of Yozef. She sat behind him in a chair and massaged his shoulders when he sat up. The water had just started to approach room temperature when Maera returned from the headquarters.

  Anarynd picked up Aeneas and walked out to Maera. Yozef heard whispers. He rose from the water, dried himself off, put on clean clothes Anarynd had laid out, and walked out to the balcony facing the interior courtyard. He sat in the darkness on the rocking bench Maera had ordered. The otherwise loud drum of city sounds at this time of day was reduced to background noise. He sat there for some time. When he finally heard steps, he didn’t look around but felt someone next to him. Anarynd laid sleeping Aeneas in his lap. He reflexively cradled the infant in his left arm and began to slowly rock the bench with his feet. Anarynd then sat on his right, Maera on his left. Neither spoke. Both put an arm over one of his shoulders and pressed their bodies next to his. Anarynd took his right hand and placed it on her abdomen. The four of them sat rocking slowly as night fell.

  Yozef felt both comforted and almost angry. Comforted to hold Aeneas and have his wives touching him. Almost angry as he unavoidably dissected their motives.

  Are they trying to make me feel guilty for being in a funk? Reminding me of responsibilities to them, Aeneas, and the one to come? Why can’t they just leave me alone?

  Rock. Rock. No words. Time passed. A shard of objectivity intervened.

  Maybe they’re worried about me. Maybe they’re a little scared—what with the biggest actual battle coming up and me sitting here, unresponsive. Maybe they actually care for me, and it’s their way of comforting. Maybe I’ll wake up and be back in my bed in Berkeley. Maybe pigs will fly.

  When he choked a little laugh, Anarynd gripped his hand tighter. For the first time, he acknowledged their presence. His head turned to her. He gave her a little smile, containing more than a hint of sadness, but still, a smile. He rotated his hand in hers so they gripped palm to palm. He turned to Maera and gave her the same smile. He looked down at oblivious Aeneas, sleeping the sleep of an infant secure in his world.

  He felt a pang of hunger and remembered he had not eaten or drunk since morning. I guess I’m going to continue living, he thought wryly. I’m hungry, and so must they be.

  “I’m okay,” he said aloud. “Just a little overwhelmed at the moment. I’ll be fine.”

  Anarynd relaxed. They had been married only six months, and this was the first time she had experienced one of his “episodes.” They tended to come every month or so and lasted anywhere from a few minutes, like this one, to a whole day. He had unconsciously avoided letting Anarynd see them. It was Maera who recognized an episode and did what she could for him but basically waited for him to come out of it. He let Maera see him at these vulnerable periods—but no one else, until now.

  Maera also relaxed. This episode was quick but had a depth of feeling to it that alarmed her. He had confessed his doubts on just about everything happening. At first, she was taken aback to have her husband unload on her in that manner. She didn’t expect something like this from a husband. Certainly, her mother was her father’s confidant, but Hetman Keelan seldom expressed serious self-doubt in his actions. His confidence was part of his role as head of sixty thousand clanspeople.

  But Yozef . . . for Yozef, it was different. Maera didn’t count herself among those ready to proclaim him a Septarsh—not quite yet. But she saw him up closest of anyone, even Anarynd. He remained full of doubts about almost anything he did and discounted any suggestion that he had a special relationship with God or of being a “Septarsh” to whom God whispered. Unbeknownst to Yozef, she had spoken with Rhaedri Brison about Yozef. The old theophist had not shared an opinion as to what Yozef might be but emphasized to her that there was no requirement for a genuine Septarsh to know he was one or not to have reservations about himself and his actions. He advised her simply to support Yozef when she could and to understand that he was different from other men. She tried.

  He gently pulled his right hand from Anarynd’s belly and shifted Aeneas to the right arm.

  “I think I need to eat and then get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be another long day.”

  Maera raised an eyebrow to Anarynd and tilted her head toward the inside of their rooms. He had come out of whatever dark place he’d been in. As was his habit, he would not talk about it, at least at that moment, but would pick up a routine as if nothing had happened. Sometimes he would talk to her about it later that day or the next day or sometimes never, as if it had never happened. Maera wondered what he saw at those times and whether it was something she wanted to see.

  Stress

  The next day, Maera found Denes a mile south of Orosz City, as he oversaw laying a minefield section. Yozef had scheduled a full day of one meeting after another.

  Denes heard his name and found her standing behind him. “Maera,” he greeted her.

  “I know you’re busy, as is everyone, but I have to talk with you about Yozef.”

  “Yozef? Is something wrong?”

  “Nothing physical. Oh, he needs more sleep, but that’s all of us. He’s just so wrapped up in worrying. He’s afraid he forgot something to help against the Narthani or has given bad advice. It’s wearing on him, and he’s not as mentally sharp as usual. That’s what I wanted to talk with you about. Anarynd and I do what we can, but it might help to give him a break. He needs to spend time with men when it’s not about building fortifications and killing Narthani. Maybe he could have an evening at a pub, as he did in Abersford. I know how much he enjoyed those. He usually went with Carnigan, Filtin, and occasionally others, including you now and then. Carnigan thinks it a great idea, naturally, but Filtin’s still in Caernford. Of the men here in Orosz City, you’re one of those he’s known you the longest, so I’m recruiting you to help.”

  Denes ran a hand over his shaven head and looked back at the mine-laying crew.

  “I know,” said Maera hurriedly, “it seems a frivolous thing to do at a time—”

  “No, no,” interrupted Denes. “Just that I was surprised. I’ll admit it does seem like something inappropriate, but we need Yozef at his best. We can’t afford a distracted Yozef Kolsko. The few hours lost at a pub would be more than compensated if it keeps him fully functional.”

  At precisely eighteen bells, when normal workdays were ending, although work on the fortifications would continue after dark, Carnigan Puvey and Denes Vegga walked into a meeting of Yozef and the balloon fabrication and manning teams. The crews that would ride in the balloons to observe Narthani positions insisted the gondolas were insufficiently secured and wobbled too much. The men making the balloons insisted the manning crews moved around too much and shifted materials without considering the gondola’s balance.

  “Time for Yozef to go to another appointment,” boomed Carnigan. He and Denes picked a surprised Yozef out of his chair and marched him out of the room.

  “What other appointment?” asked Yozef. “Not that I don’t appreciate being rescued. I confess I hardly listened to them argue, after meetings all day.”

  “We have orders from higher command,” said Denes, declining to elaborate.

  Ten minutes later, they were sitting at a corner table in the Five-Legged Krykor, the finest pub in Orosz City, according to their visiting expert—Carnigan. Balwis Preddi and Wyfor Kales waited, along with five steins of beer.

  Yozef hadn’t inquired further about “higher command,” often a key phrase identifying Maera, and he had only a momentary qualm. By God, I do need this, he thought. I didn’t realize how much I missed the evenings at the Snarling Graeko in
Abersford until I smelled the odors of hops and people, the sounds of good cheer, even if fueled by alcohol, and being able to forget everything else, even if only for an hour.

  “No thinking, Yozef,” ordered Balwis, shoving a full stein into Yozef’s hand. “Drink up.”

  Yozef complied. The long, cool draught rolled over his tongue and down his throat, taking with it part of the day’s worries. Several more draughts followed as the men talked of anything but what was supposed to be on their minds every minute.

  A second stein arrived, and Balwis groaned. “Shit. Look who walked in. That Landoliner asshole.”

  Yozef glanced up. Rhanjur Gaya stood by the main door and checked out the surroundings but missed seeing the five men’s table. He walked to what passed for a bar counter and began talking with men Yozef assumed were Oroszian merchants. Gaya had dressed as usual—in an ornate jacket, brightly colored trousers (green today), and enough jewelry for half a dozen wives of wealthy Caedelli.

  “Shame on you, Balwis,” said Carnigan. “Such disrespect for assholes that serve a purpose—as opposed to the honorable Rhanjur Gaya, whose purpose remains unclear.”

  Denes grunted in agreement. “He can’t open his mouth without letting you know how everything is better with his people. The food is better. The women are more beautiful and compliant. The land better. The worship of God more correct. Shit. And speaking of shit, he probably thinks Landoliner turds smell better than a Caedelli’s.”

  Yozef was halfway into his second stein and definitely feeling loose. “Reminds me of a story,” came out of his mouth without permission.