“And now she has you seizing control of my army.”
“Your army? I thought this was Gaunt’s.”
“So did he. And the moment I’m away, Degan gets himself captured after putting that thing in charge. Royce with you?”
“Was—Arista sent him to contact Alric about invading Warric.”
While eating Parker’s ham and eggs, Hadrian provided Esrahaddon with further details about the rebellion and his plans for attacking Dermont. Just as he had finished the meal, there was a knock on the door. Five officers and the harried-looking sergeant who carried Hadrian’s swords entered.
Esrahaddon addressed them. “As Parker no doubt informed you, this is Marshal Lord Blackwater, your new commander. Do anything he says, as if he were Gaunt himself. I think you’ll find him a very worthy replacement for your general.”
They nodded and stood at attention.
Hadrian got up, walked around the table, and announced, “We will attack the imperial position immediately.”
“Now?” one said, astonished.
“I wish there was more time, but I’ve been tied up elsewhere. We’ll launch our attack directly across that muddy field, where the Imps’ three hundred heavy cavalry can’t ride, and where their longbow archers can’t see in this rain. Our lightly armored infantry must move quickly to overwhelm them. We’ll close at a run and butcher them man to man.”
“But they’ll—” a tall gruff-looking soldier with a partial beard and mismatched armor started, then stopped himself.
“They’ll what?” Hadrian asked.
“I was just thinking. The moment they see us advance, won’t they retreat within the city walls?”
“What’s your name?” Hadrian asked.
The man looked worried but held his ground. “Renquist, sir.”
“Well, Renquist, you’re absolutely right. That’s exactly what they will try to do. Only they won’t be able to get in. By then our allied forces will own the city.”
“Allied forces?”
“I don’t have time to explain. Don’t strike camp, and don’t use horns or drums to assemble. With luck, there’s a good chance we can catch them by surprise. By now, they probably think we’ll never attack. Renquist, how long do you estimate to have the men assembled and ready to march?”
“Two hours,” he replied with more confidence.
“Have them ready in one. Each of you form up your men on the east slope, out of their sight. Three regiments of infantry in duel lines, senior commanders located at the center, left, and right flanks in that order. And I want light cavalry to swing to the south and await the call of the trumpet to sweep their flank. I want one contingent of cavalry—the smallest—that I’ll command and hold in reserve to the north, near the city. At the waving of the blue pennant, begin crossing the field as quietly as possible. When you see the green flag, relay the signal and charge. We move in one hour. Dismissed!”
The captains saluted and ran back out into the rain. The sergeant handed over Hadrian’s weapons and started to slip out quietly.
“Wait a moment.” Hadrian halted him. “What’s your name?”
The sergeant spun. “I was just following orders when I chained you up. I didn’t know—”
“You’ve just been promoted to adjutant general,” Hadrian told him. “What’s your name?”
The ex-sergeant blinked. “Bently … sir.”
“Bently, from now on you stick next to me and see that my orders are carried out, understand? Now, I’ll need fast riders to work as messengers—three should do—and signal flags, a blue and a green one, as big as possible. Mount them on tall sticks and make certain all the captains have identical ones. Oh, and I need a horse!”
“Make that two,” the wizard said.
“Make that three,” Hadrian added. “You’ll need one too, Bently.”
The soldier opened his mouth, closed it, then nodded and stepped out into the rain.
“An hour,” Hadrian muttered as he strapped on his weapons.
“You don’t think Arista can hold out that long?”
“I was supposed to take control of this army yesterday. If only I had more time … I could have … I just hope it’s not too late.”
“If anyone can save Ratibor, it’s you,” the wizard told him.
“I know all about being the guardian to the heir,” Hadrian replied.
“I had a feeling Royce would tell you.”
Hadrian picked up the large spadone sword and looped the baldric over his head. He reached up and drew it out, testing the position of the sheath.
“I remember that weapon.” The wizard pointed to the blade. “That’s Jerish’s sword.” He frowned, then added, “What have you done to it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Jerish loved that thing—had a special cloth he kept in his gauntlet that he used to polish it—something of an obsession, really. That blade was like a mirror.”
“It’s seen nine hundred years of use,” Hadrian told him, and put it away.
“You look nothing like Jerish,” Esrahaddon said, then paused when he saw the look on Hadrian’s face. “What is it?”
“The heir is dead—you know that, don’t you? Died right here in Ratibor forty years ago.”
Esrahaddon smiled. “Still, you hold a sword the same way Jerish did. Must be in the training somehow. Amazing how much it defines both of you. I never really—”
“Did you hear me? The bloodline ended. Seret caught up to them. They killed the heir—his name was Naron, by the way—and they killed his wife and child. My father was the only survivor. I’m sorry.”
“My teacher, old Yolric, used to insist the world has a way of righting itself. He was obsessed with the idea. I thought he was crazy, but after living for nine hundred years, you perceive things differently. You see patterns you never knew were there. The heir isn’t dead, Hadrian, just hidden.”
“I know you’d like to think that, but my father failed and the heir died. I talked to a member of the Theorem Eldership who was there. He saw it happen.”
Esrahaddon shook his head. “I’ve seen the heir with my own eyes, and I recognize the blood of Nevrik. A thousand years cannot mask such a lineage from me. Still, just to be sure, I performed a test that cannot be faked. Oh yes, the heir is alive and well.”
“Who is it, then? I’m the guardian, aren’t I? Or I’m supposed to be. I should be protecting him.”
“At the moment, anonymity is a far better protection than swords. I cannot tell you the heir’s identity. If I did, you would rush off and be a beacon to those watching.” The wizard sighed. “And trust me, I know a great deal about being watched. In Gutaria they wrote down every word I uttered. Even now, at this very moment, every word I say is being heard.”
“You sound like Royce.” Hadrian looked around. “We’re alone, surrounded by an army of Nationalists. Do you think Saldur or Ethelred have spies pressing an ear against this farmhouse?”
“Saldur? Ethelred?” Esrahaddon chuckled. “I’m not concerned with the imperial regents. They’re pawns in this game. Haven’t you wondered how the Gilarabrywn escaped Avempartha? Do you think Saldur or Ethelred could manage such a trick? My adversary is much more dangerous, and I’m certain he spends a great deal of time listening to what I say, no matter where I am. You see, I do not have the benefit of that amulet you wear.”
“Amulet?” Hadrian touched his chest, feeling the metal circle under his shirt. “Royce said it prevents wizards like you from finding the wearer.”
The wizard nodded. “Preventing clairvoyant searches was the primary purpose, but they are far more powerful than that. The amulets protect the wearers from all effects of the Art and have a dash of good fortune added in. Flip a coin wearing that, and it will come up the way you need it to more often than not. You’ve been in many battles and I’m sure in plenty of dangerous situations with Royce. Have you not considered yourself lucky on more than one occasion? That little bit of jewelry is extremely po
werful. The level of the Art that went into making it was beyond anything I’d ever seen.”
“I thought you made it.”
“I did, but I had help. I could never have built them on my own. Yolric showed me the weave. He was the greatest of us. I could barely understand his instructions and wasn’t certain I had performed the spell properly, but it appears I was successful.”
“Still, you’re the only one left in the world who can really do magic, right? So there’s no chance anyone is magically listening.”
“What about this rain? It’s not supposed to stop? It would seem I’m not the only one.”
“You’re afraid of Arista?”
“No, just making a point. I’m not the only wizard in the world and I’ve already been far too careless. In my haste, I took chances that maybe I should not have, drawing too much attention, playing into others’ hands. With so little time left—only a matter of months—it would be foolhardy to risk more now. I fear the heir’s identity has already been compromised, but there is a chance I’m wrong and I’ll cling to that hope. I’m sorry, Hadrian. I can’t tell you just yet, but trust me, I will.”
“No offense, but you don’t seem too trustworthy.”
The wizard smiled. “Maybe you are Jerish’s descendant after all. Very soon I’ll need Riyria’s help with an extremely challenging mission.”
“Riyria doesn’t exist anymore. I’ve retired.”
The wizard nodded. “Nevertheless, I’ll require both of you, and as it concerns the heir, I presume you’ll make an exception.”
“I don’t even know where I’ll be.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll find you both when the time comes. But for now, we have the little problem of Lord Dermont’s army to contend with.”
There was a knock at the door. “Horses ready, sirs,” the new adjutant general reported.
As they stepped out, Hadrian spotted Gill walking toward him with his purse. “Good morning, Gill,” Hadrian said, taking his pouch back.
“Morning, sir,” he said, looking sick but making an effort to smile. “It’s all there, sir.”
“I’m a bit busy at the moment, Gill, but I’m sure we’ll have a chance to catch up later.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hadrian mounted a brown-and-white gelding that Bently held for him. He watched as Esrahaddon mounted a smaller black mare by hooking the stub of his wrist around the horn. Once in the saddle, the wizard wrapped the reins around his stubs.
“It’s strange. I keep forgetting you don’t have hands,” Hadrian commented.
“I don’t,” the wizard replied coldly.
Overhead, heavy clouds swirled as boys ran about the camp spreading the order to form up. Horses trotted, kicking up clods of earth. Carts rolled, leaving deep ruts. Half-dressed men darted from tents, slipping in the slick mud. They carried swords over their shoulders, dragged shields, and struggled to fasten helms. Hadrian and Esrahaddon rode through the hive of soggy activity to the top of the ridge, where they could see the lay of the land for miles. The city to the north, with its wooden spires and drab walls, stood as a ghostly shadow. To the south lay the forest, and between them a vast plain stretched westward. What had once been farmland was now a muddy soup. The field was shaped like a basin, and at its lowest point a shallow pond had formed. It reflected the light of the dreary gray sky like a steel mirror. On the far side, the hazy encampment of the imperial army was just visible through a thick curtain of rain. Hadrian stared but could make out only faint, shadowy shapes. Nothing indicated they knew what was about to happen. Below them on the east side of the slope, hidden from imperial view, the Nationalist army assembled into ranks.
“What is it?” Esrahaddon asked.
Hadrian realized he was grimacing. “They aren’t very good soldiers,” he replied, watching the men wander about, creating misshapen lines. They stood listless, shoulders slumped, heads down.
Esrahaddon shrugged. “There are a few good ones. We pulled in some mercenaries and a handful of deserters from the Imperialists. That Renquist you were so taken with, he was a sergeant in the imperial forces. Joined us because he heard nobility didn’t matter in the Nationalist army. We got a few of those, but mostly they’re farmers, merchants, or men who lost their homes or families.”
Hadrian glanced across the field. “Lord Dermont has trained foot soldiers, archers, and knights—men who devoted their whole lives to warfare and trained since an early age.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. I’m the one who has to lead this ugly rabble. I’m the one who must go down there and face those lances and arrows.”
“I’m going with you,” he said. “That’s why you don’t need to worry about it.”
Bently and three other young men carrying colored flags rode up beside them. “Captains report ready, sir.”
“Let’s go,” Hadrian told them, and trotted down to take his place with a small contingent of cavalry. The men on horseback appeared even less capable than those on foot. They had no armor and wore torn, rain-soaked clothes. Except for the spears they held across their laps, they looked like vagabonds or escaped prisoners.
“Raise your lances!” he shouted. “Stay tight, keep your place, wheel together, and follow me.” He turned to Bently. “Wave the blue flag.”
Bently swung the blue flag back and forth until the signal was mimicked across the field, and then the army began moving forward at a slow walk. Armies never moved at a pace that suited Hadrian. When attacking with him, they crept with agonizing slowness. But when he was defending, they seemed to race at an unnatural speed. He patted the neck of his horse, which was larger and more spirited than old Millie. Hadrian liked to know his horse better before a battle. They needed to work as a team in combat, but he did not even know this one’s name.
With the wizard riding at his right side, and Bently on his left, Hadrian crested the hill and began the long descent into the wet field. He wheeled his cavalry to the right, sweeping toward the city, riding the rim of the basin and avoiding the middle of the muck, which he left to the infantry. He would stay to the higher ground and watch the army’s northern flank. This would also place him near the city gate, able to intercept any imperial retreat. After his company made the turn, he watched as the larger force of light-mounted lancers broke and began to circle left, heading to guard the southern flank. The swishing tails of their horses soon disappeared into the rain.
The ranks of the infantry came next. They crested the hill, jostling each other, some still struggling to get their helms on and shields readied. The lines were skewed, broken and wavy, and when they hit the mud, whatever mild resemblance they had to a formation was lost. They staggered and slipped forward as a mob. They were at least quiet. He wondered if it might be because most of them were half-asleep.
Hadrian felt his stomach twist.
This will not go well. If only I had more time to drill the men properly, then they would at least look like soldiers.
Success or failure in battle often hinged on impressions, decided in the minds of men before the first clash. Like bullies casting insults in a tavern, it was a game of intimidation—a game the Nationalists did not know how to play.
How did they ever win a battle? How did they take Vernes and Kilnar?
Unable to see the Imperialists’ ranks clearly, he imagined them lined up in neat straight rows, waiting, letting his troops exhaust themselves in the mud. He expected a wall of glistening shields peaked with shining helms locked shoulder to shoulder, matching spears foresting above. He anticipated hundreds of archers already notching shafts to string. Lord Dermont would hold back the knights. Any fool could see the futility of ordering a charge into the muck. Clad in heavy metal armor, their pennants fluttering from their lances, the knights probably waited in the trees or perhaps around the wall of the city. They would remain hidden until just the right moment. That is what Hadrian would have done. When the Nationalists tried to flank, only
Hadrian and his little group would stand in the way. He would call the charge and hope those behind him followed.
They were more than halfway across the field when he was finally able to see the imperial encampment. White tents stood in perfect rows, horses were corralled, and no one was visible.
“Where are they?”
“It’s still very early,” the wizard said, “and in a heavy rain no one likes to get up. It’s so much easier to stay in bed.”
“But where are the sentries?”
Hadrian watched in amazement as the mangled line of infantry cleared the muddy ground and closed in on the imperial camp, their lines straightening out a bit. He saw the heads of his captains. There was still no sign of the enemy.
“Have you ever noticed,” Esrahaddon said, “how rain has a musical quality about it sometimes? The way it drums on a roof? It’s always easier to sleep on a rainy night. There’s something magical about running water that is very soothing, very relaxing.”
“What did you do?”
The wizard smiled. “A weak, thin enchantment. Without hands it’s very hard to do substantive magic anymore, but—”
They heard a shout. A tent flap fluttered, then another. More shouts cascaded, and then a bell rang.
“There, see?” Esrahaddon sighed. “I told you. It doesn’t take much to break it.”
“But we have them,” Hadrian said, stunned. “We caught them sleeping! Bently, the green flag. Signal the charge. Signal the charge!”
Sheriff Vigan scowled at Arista. Behind her, men picked up weapons and shuffled back into position.
“I told you to lay down your arms and leave,” the sheriff shouted. “Not more than a few of you will be punished in the stocks, and only your leaders will be executed. The first has already fallen. Will you stand behind a woman? Will you throw away your lives for her sake?”
No one moved. The only sounds were those of the rain and the sheriff’s horse and the jangling of his bridle.
“Very well,” he said. “I’ll execute the leading agitators one at a time if that’s what it takes.” He glanced over his shoulder and ominously raised his hand again.
Rise Of Empire: The Riyria Revelations Page 32