"Oh, yes, certainly, brother!" Lheo looked west beyond the line of Salients and the rear guard, who had halted at a hundred paces behind. That he was making a quick tally was obvious. "We should be able to get everyone here in one trip! I will happily return to fetch the other half of the cloister!"
"That will not be necessary. Brother Khimech and the three other teams have done their Duty."
Lheo's face fell for just a moment, then exploded in joyous rapture. "Praise be to the Work! The Great Phaelle will surely reward their dedication!"
"As is their just due," Whorlyr replied with a straight face. "The Work!"
Lheo was the loudest as all of the others gave the response. "The Duty!"
"The Restoration!"
"Brother Lheo, turn your algar about and let's get moving," Whorlyr ordered.
Once again only for the sake of appearances, Whorlyr chose to ride upon the outside. As the benches tended to bounce and swing as the algar rushed along, he had to keep a firm grip on his seat. The sight of the pavement flashing beneath his boots gave him much cause for concern. He was definitely more comfortable riding within than without.
Coordinator Bheeb, as his default second-in-command, had automatically taken a place on the bench adjacent to him.
"The brethren will not have had much time to fortify their position in Parill," he commented, speaking in a loud voice to be heard over the road noise, as the algar left Lhinstord behind. There was no implication in his comment; it was a simple observation.
Parill had been founded as an Imperial fortress to discourage banditry on the highway, but over the last two centuries its walls and towers had been mined down to the foundations for building stone.
"The cellars of the old keep will provide protection against bombardment from the air and thus it would serve well as an assembly point," Whorlyr said. "Once all the reinforcements are in place and all stragglers collected, I expect if the Apostate's advance proves too difficult to contain that the Archdeacon will direct us to make an orderly withdrawal."
"Algars cannot outrun flying boats." This was another emotionless observation.
All of the Combatants would know at this point that no combat capable Shrikes remained and all of them would understand the extreme vulnerability that this lack conveyed.
"The new manufacturing methods will be applied to the Shrikes soon," he promised with no inner conviction. "The Apostate's advantage is only temporary."
Bheeb did not reply and his expression did not change, but Whorlyr had the feeling that the Salient remained unconvinced.
The seven leagues to Parill passed quickly. To the east of Lhinstord, the effects of the great detonation, though considerably lessened, resumed, once again as if a line had been drawn a giant hand. As he reflected on this strange thought, it occurred to him that the line clearly represented the effect of some sort of magical ward and that the hand had not been that of some unseen giant, but could only have been that of the Apostate.
More properly, he should think of the sorcerer that led the Imperials as the Emperor.
But he would have to take great care to keep that adjustment in his thinking to himself.
At least as long as he was amongst the brethren.
He spent the rest of the journey trying to recall and tally the Salient cloisters that had been held back at Plythtwaelndt in order to guess the strength of his new command. The sum did not give him much hope. Even if all the security teams were recalled from the outlying towns and villages and the congregations in the city and in the fortress were pared to the bare minimum, he would be lucky if he found a full one hundred cloisters waiting for him in the town.
Likewise, if he received every algar that had come from the assembly line in the last several days, the total would not exceed that same century.
With only five hundred Combatants and a hundred algars, a fighting withdrawal would be impossible. Given those numbers, his best strategy would be to use the superior mobility of the armored conveyances to elude and harry the sorcerer Emperor's line of march. If he allowed the Mhajhkaeirii and their now proven superior magic to pin him down at any one point, the only likely outcome was annihilation.
They came upon the old Imperial bridge that crossed the stream before Parill just as the long, wearying day was coming to an end.
A section of conscripts, Mhevyrii by their dress and equipment, were guarding the western end of the bridge under the supervision of a haranguing and gesticulating Promulgator who Whorlyr did not know. He was disgusted to see that the Mhevyrii were lighting large bonfires in the fading light. The hapless Mhevyrii had put out no pickets or scouts along the highway and the algar breezed through their camp without so much as a token challenge.
With a hard frown, Whorlyr ordered Bheeb, "Once we stop, send a runner back to tell that idiot to put out those fires."
"As you say, Brother."
The Imperial highway was the main road of the town and it was abustle with other groups of Mhevyrii who were being quartered in the brick and wood houses by their officers. These were likewise lighting lamps and torches.
"Complete blackout tonight, Coordinator," Whorlyr emphasized with some fervor. "They are painting a target on us for any flying boats that pass over."
"I will make sure of it, brother."
Lheo stopped the algar in the central square of the town and it was here that Whorlyr saw his first concentration of brethren.
Five algars were parked around the edges of the space and their crews were idling outside. No other Salients were visible. The other score or so present were all low ranked brethren, Promulgators, Preceptors, and one very much out of place Academist.
Along with Bheeb and the other Salients, Whorlyr jumped down and then approached the nearest algar to ask the location of Senior Ascertainer Fhleoan. He was directed back across the square to find the man sitting at a simple meal -- without lights -- in the crew compartment of his command vehicle.
The distinctive color of Senior Ascertainer Fhleoan's long hair and full beard, a greenish-gold that was almost moss, identified him immediately as a Khilander, though he did not possess their reputed impressive stature and overlarge frame. Whorlyr's own height, Fhleoan was stocky, but likely in much better physical shape than the Director of Forces.
Lheo had said that Senior Ascertainer Fhleoan was a Strategist and the man's tattoos indicated that that was correct. However, those tattoos also revealed the full story. Fhleoan was a converted -- meaning failed -- Assassin. Nearly always, those that were expelled by the Division of Assassins were rejected because of their inability to approach killing in an emotionless manner. Fhleoan had to be an unrestrained sadist, or worse.
The Senior Assault Brother did not give any reaction to Whorlyr's appearance at his open hatch, but simply continued eating from the plate of beans and squash on his lap. The rest of his crew were outside, preparing pallets to sleep alongside their machine.
"Director of Forces, I was told by the zealots that an algar had been sent for you. Congratulations for making it back."
Lheo's attitude was not particularly disrespectful, but neither was it appropriately respectful. Only as little as two days ago, Whorlyr could have had the man placed under Scrutiny. Now, the man's insubordination was irrelevant.
"Where have you emplaced the remainder of your battalion?" Whorlyr asked. "If they are in the open, send orders immediately to have them get under the cover of trees or in barns or similar. We should expect flying boats at any moment."
His bland -- and obviously uncaring -- expression unchanging, Fhleoan said, "I am afraid that you have been misinformed, Director of Forces. There is no battalion here at Parill."
"Then how many algars do you have?"
"The five that you see here in the square, brother."
"Five algars? What in name of the Great Phaelle am I supposed to do with just five algars?"
"Again, Director of Forces, you have been misinformed. You have no algars at all. My group was assembled f
rom orphaned crews, that is misfits, trainees, and discards, and sent along with the last cargo carrier caravan to supervise the transport of the conscripts to Parill. We are only overnighting here and -- under the direct orders of the Archdeacon -- will return to Mhevyr at first light."
Shocked speechless, Whorlyr just stood staring at the Strategist.
Fhleoan stood. "Now, Director of Forces, if you will pardon me, I am going to sleep."
Barely containing his rage, Whorlyr stalked away, but by the time he reached Lheo's algar at the center of the square he once again had regained his equilibrium and derived his next course of action.
Bheeb had dispatched most of his men to enforce the blackout. Only he, Lheo, Zsii, and the two Holy Relic guarding Encouragers were still waiting at the machine.
It was nearly completely dark now. Clouds had begun to come in from the north and there would be little aid from Father Moon or the Cousins.
"Brother Lheo, I am commandeering this algar as my command vehicle. You will remain with it as drover."
The Promulgator broke into a pleased smile. "As you say, Director of Forces!"
Whorlyr swung to Zsii. "Have you made contact with Mhevyr?"
The Archivist nodded. "The response was: No further instructions at this time."
Whorlyr let that go by. "Coordinator Bheeb. You will be in command until midnight, after which you will have your highest ranking Salient relieve you. As soon as we finish here, I want you to make a full roster of the forces at our disposal. Have it ready to present to me at sunup. We are going to move the algar out of the square and put it under cover in a stable or barn and that will be our base of operations. I will need a full team, not including the two Encouragers here, assigned to it as crew and they should report at dawn. Find the highest building in town and set up a watch through the night. Detail two of the brethren to procure food and drink and make sure everyone eats well. I will be sleeping in the algar. Have me woken immediately at any indication of enemy activity."
"As you say, brother."
After an unappetizing supper of bread, sausage, and bad wine, Whorlyr actually spent a near restless night in the hayloft of the stable at the northern outskirts of the town. The hard deck timbers between the algar's benches had proven untenable. Zsii also found a likely looking hay pile, but Lheo did sleep inside, right beside the drover's bench lest he need to leap up during the night to drive the machine into battle, on a pile of horse blankets that Whorlyr had been certain harbored fleas.
None of Bheeb's Salients came to rouse Whorlyr during the night, thankfully, but when dawn came, the detachment that he had ordered to crew the algar failed to appear. In addition, the two guardian Encouragers had not returned from their turn on watch. Disturbed, Whorlyr ordered Lheo to head back to the square without worrying about breakfast.
Driving back through the town's narrow ways to the square with Zsii and Lheo, he saw no one out and about. While he had expected the townsfolk to have fled or gone into hiding, the lack of activity from the Mhevyrii conscripts that he had seen the evening before was disconcerting.
He found the Coordinator in the now vacant square; just as he had said, Fhleoan and his five algars had abandoned the town. Leading a team of his Salients, Bheeb stopped at Whorlyr's call from the open hatch of the algar and turned to trot near. He spoke before the algar had come to a complete halt.
"Director of Forces, Archdeacon Traeleon has arrived through the Emerald Gate. He has directed me to prepare the cloister to evacuate via the Holy Relic. I have ordered all of my men to assemble at the embarkation point at the eastern edge of the town."
Whorlyr nodded in undisguised relief. Having come to see the situation for himself, the Archdeacon must have arrived at the only realistic view: it would be impossible to stop the Emperor of the Mhajhkaeirii.
"Where is the Archdeacon now?"
Bheeb pointed to the south side of the square at an imperial styled granite and brick building with an impressive, though weathered, portico. "He is there talking with Brother Nu."
Whorlyr nodded in dismissal, the leaned back in to direct Lheo to drive to the indicated building. After ordering Zsii and Lheo to remain with the algar, he dismounted and hurried up the portico steps. There were no guards at the entrance and when he went through the open arch into the vaulted entryway, he found the Archdeacon speaking to about a score of the brethren, the very same group of incompetents and fanatics that Whorlyr had seen the evening before. Apparently in pride, Brother Nu stood at the head of the group.
Though, as he always was now, armed with a bolt thrower, Traeleon had no Combatants guarding him.
What did that imply?
Two men stood with the Archdeacon. Neither was a member of the Brotherhood. Both wore the armor and trappings of legionary officers. The man to the Archdeacon's left, harsh-faced and nearly ugly, was obviously the Mhevyrii commander. The one to his right was tall, dark in complexion and hair, and by default the commander of the Khai'loaghirii that Lheo had spoken of the day before.
The Khai'loaghirii were not impressed conscripts like the Mhevyrii, Whorlyr knew, but were veteran mercenaries. They were loyal to their contracts, but not to any particular prince or potentate. The Khai'loaghirii prince, too poor to maintain a standing army, had had no choice (if he wanted to keep his head) but to squeeze enough gold from his nobles to fund the two legions as his obligatory military tribute to the Brotherhood of Phaelle.
But regardless of their competence, the mercenaries were undoubtedly armed and trained for the old ways of war with swords, shields, and crossbows.
In the days before the rebirth of battlefield magic, two thousand such men would have represented an appreciable force.
Now they just represented so much fodder for the Emperor's scythe.
"My lord Archdeacon," Whorlyr began immediately, "I am greatly pleased that you have arrived!"
Traeleon swung about. The legion officers looked at Whorlyr. The Mhevyrii's look became uglier. The Khai'loaghirii's remained professionally distant.
"Director of Forces," the Archdeacon said in a cool tone, "I indicated that you were to take command here, but Brother N'aamou'clou'li'meh'no'p has told me that he has not yet spoken to you."
"I was unable to locate him yesterday evening when I arrived," Whorlyr lied. "I came here straightaway this morning to make contact."
"Indeed. You may greet your new command after I depart. As I was telling Brother N'aamou'clou'li'meh'no'p just now, the advance of the Apostate's forces must be delayed in order to allow the withdrawing algars and the Salients to reach Mhevyr in safety. If we are to hold the city, we must preserve every machine and trained brother. You will establish a line here with the three legions that I have placed at your disposal, stand, and fight to the last man. That is my express command."
As Whorlyr heard Traeleon's words, he felt as if his life were draining away, but all that he said was, "As you say, Preeminence."
Turning slightly from Whorlyr to once again face the few assembled brethren, Traeleon proclaimed, “Magic is supreme in all the world and those who render their lives to the Duty will reap a harvest of glory in the magical aspect."
The Archdeacon knew well enough that Whorlyr regarded magic with a rational eye rather than a spiritual one; practically all brethren that achieved the senior ranks of the Brotherhood mirrored that view. That quote from the Books of Phaelle had been solely for the benefit of the zealots present.
The Archdeacon turned back, slowly raised a hand, and made the sign of the Tripartite over him. "The Work!"
Though his heart threatened to seize in his chest, along with the other brethren, Whorlyr joined in the dread response and chorus.
"The Duty!"
"The Restoration!"
Traeleon made a second and final benediction, then walked out of the building while Whorlyr could only stand in stunned silence.
Lheo ran in after only a few moments. "Director of Forces, I just heard from Promulgator Goe! Most of the Mhev
yrii have absconded during the night!"
The Mhevyrii commander burst out laughing. The Khai'loaghirii remained unperturbed.
Brother Nu scurried near. "Those cowards shall suffer the wrath of the Great Phaelle!"
Whorlyr looked at the less than a score, many now with looks of consternation or worse on their faces, who had been condemned to die with him and wondered briefly what offence had brought them here. He shook off that reverie almost immediately. These men did not matter. They never had.
He, on the other had, had mattered and would matter.
There was only one way to survive this debacle.
"Brother N'aamou'clou'li'meh'no'p, I am going to inspect the disposition of the Khai'loaghirii. You shall be in temporary command of our forces until I return."
Nu stood straighter at the imagined honor. "As you say, brother!"
Whorlyr looked at the Khai'loaghirii, who came to attention and gave the imperial salute.
Whorlyr smiled. "Commander, lead me to your legions."
THIRTY-SEVEN
7026 by the Common Reckoning
(Twelfthday, Waning, 3rd Springmoon, 1645 After the Founding of the Empire)
Plythtwaelndt Fortress, north of Mhevyr
Nearly the height of a five storey building, the massive, slightly back-sloping, brick pile walls of the fortress had been built under the assumption that men could not fly.
Or port.
Erkron and Laabyz had the military grade skry stone mounted upon its portable stand and both men were studying the display.
Two hundred paces out from the base of the walls, this overgrown knoll was as close as they had been able to sneak to the fortress. The flat ground in between was clear cut, but a thicket of span thick saplings had been allowed to sprout on the knoll amongst the stumps left by the last logging. This had given them cover from the sentries on the walls and gates and had provided the luxury of a leisurely two hour scan of the entirety of Plythtwaelndt.
Erkron ran a hand through his sandy hair, then pointed at a string of orange circles on the display. "This is a couple of storeys below ground level. It must be where they manufacture the motive devices for their lorries."
Thief (The Key to Magic Book 7) Page 20