“I have taken council with the Alka Alon elders, and they will fight for Anthatiel. As much as they are able. But even if the gods favor them, there is little hope that they will be able to repel such a force as is arrayed against them. Things are that dire.
“So what hope do we, mere humani, have against the gurvani when the mighty Alka Alon may fail? We have our ingenuity. Our dedication. Our ferocity. And with that we have a chance against a foe much larger than we are.
“There will be three groups,” I announced, pacing across the long table to be heard by all. “The largest will journey up the river to pursue the gurvani main army.
“The second will be the non-combatants. They will have the task of breaking Shereul’s spell on the Poros . . . at the proper time.
“The third will be a special combat unit dedicated to doing what is needed by the noncombatant magi to secure the spell. If we work in coordination, then our efforts should be fruitful. How and why, I do not wish to share at this time. There is a lot that could go wrong with this plan, so much that I feel that revealing it in its entirety might do more harm than good. It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s that we don’t have a lot of time and I don’t need to spend it explaining my reasoning.
“Now,” I continued, pointing to Terleman, “Commander Terleman has your assignments. The first group will leave at first light in the morn. If you are on that list, prepare yourself accordingly. The second and third groups will begin working on the problem of the freezing spell, once we are underway. That part of the plan is instrumental. Now, any questions?”
Dozens of hands went up. I picked one at random.
“How are we supposed to counter the freezing spell?” one young mage asked, worriedly.
“I have no idea,” I admitted. “But it can be done. Lady Varen will coordinate the effort, and Pentandra will command those magi. How they do it is up to them. When they do it is up to me. You,” I said, moving on to the next convenient hand.
“How are we getting up the Poros? I don’t feel inclined to walk that way,” another mage said with feeling.
“I’ve arranged transportation,” I soothed. “It will be here in the morning. Next?”
“Why isn’t the Royal army coming?”
“How are we going to get through that rough country? I’ve been to western Alshar, it’s hard!”
“How many gurvani are really in that column? And worms? And trolls?”
“Why can’t we just hire more mercenaries?”
“Why do the Alka Alon need our help? I thought they were the powerful ones!”
“Assuming we actually make it to this fanciful city alive, what the hells are we supposed to do then?”
The questions kept coming, and I answered dozens before they finally died out. People were nodding. They seemed to understand our priorities, our targets, and our responsibilities. I didn’t see a lot of eagerness on anyone’s part, but then I didn’t see a lot of reluctance, either. In fact, there was a noticeable shift in the mood of the magical corps. Most of these warmagi had come here expecting to be fighting for their lives against overwhelming odds . . . defensively, over a bridge. At Timberwatch, at Cabrian we had been fighting a defensive battle, and this one promised the offense.
It made a difference. The shift in the mood encouraged the enthusiasm, even among the non-combatant magi who would stay behind and try to figure out how to counter the spell.
The group who had been selected to attack and execute the plan against the spell was particularly eager. I realized myself that my perspective on the battle had changed. I wasn’t a valiant defender, this time around, my role was belligerent aggressor . . . and I found it suited my mood.
“Let’s get some sleep,” I encouraged, as the night bell tolled. “We have mighty things to do in the morning.”
* * *
Things started to come together at dawn the next morning when a thousand Kasari rangers rode in. They had been on the road for days, summoned by their elders to assist us. Each one was a raptor, whatever that meant, and each was used to spending months at a time in the wilderness. They were doughty and capable, and their discipline was a lesson to the soldiers of the garrison. Rank after rank of stern, green-cloaked rangers stood at attention for Captain Arborn’s inspection. Together with the original group of rangers the Kasari made up the largest single unit. Grim-faced, dour-handed, these men were the backbone of the force.
With them were a thousand rough-and-tumble volunteers. Most had come from mercenary infantry units or had reputations for experience, or were personal guards, like my Sevendori. Among them were a few score remnants of the 2nd Royal Commando, stragglers who had not been caught in the slaughter. They had rallied at Gavard around their warmage, and Count Salgo had made a point of paying the maintenance of the shard of a unit. When the call went out for volunteers, and the Count reluctantly told them that they were ineligible due to their affiliation, the remnant resigned their commission on the spot, as a group. They wanted vengeance, and this expedition was their most expedient route to that goal.
And then there was the magical corps. The High Warmagi going represented the most powerful human magi in centuries, and most had been fighting for years. Their sophistication with their stones had grown. Their weaponry and armor had improved. And their skills were at their peak. Among them were many of my friends and colleagues: Sire Cei, my apprentices, Sir Festaran and Lorcus; Azar, Astryal, Carmella (who had left her pointless defensive work in Gilmora to act as our chief engineer), Thinradel, Lanse, Landrick Taren, Bendonal the Outlaw, Forandal of Robinwing, Wenek of the Pearwoods, Alscot the Fair, and of course Terleman commanding them, resplendent in dark blue armor and cloak, his expensive helmet making him look the captain he was. Even Master Cormoran, aged as he was, had elected to come along with his apprentices. He was an enchanter and a swordmaker as much as a warmage, but he had seen a lot of battlefields in his time. He did not want to be left out of this adventure. And I think he wanted to see legendary Anthatiel.
Lastly were the Alka Alon. There were hundreds who were gathering at their encampment, transgenically enchanting themselves into humanish forms, and arming themselves for war. For most this was a novel enterprise, and Onranion had to take charge and give some basic instruction. The mood around the camp had turned tense. Many had been in smaller refuges, as the larger Alkan settlements were guarded, now, with the serious threat of war.
Man for man, they were the most dangerous human beings I’d been able to assemble in the time allotted. All things considered, I decided I’d done fairly well. I’d only needed the assistance of one god.
Of course, gathering this powerful but small army together was only the first part of the plan. Getting them up the icy Poros and into battle was the hard second part. The goblins had been force-marching, day and night, according to our scouts and scrying. Their siege worms pulled massive wains and great loads tirelessly up the river, and as the individual gurvani were exhausted they rested in them while the march went on. Then they would resume walking while their fellows rested.
The pace was slow but relentless. They had moved hundreds of miles upriver while we had been figuring out what to do. They were only a few days from the first ascent of the escarpment that led to the Land of Scars in western Alshar. We had a lot of catching up to do.
Our advantage was our size. They had to move a hundred thousand. I had to move three thousand. The temptation to use the Alkan waypoints was strong, but practically speaking it was nearly impossible to move that many folk through them without starting from Sevendor and using a lot of power. Besides, there were other reasons for taking the long road.
My solution had been two-fold. The first involved procuring the surplus cotton barges in dry-dock . . . and having them fitted with make-shift steel runners underneath. The wide, flat barges made ideal transports for personnel as they did bales of cotton. I’d had to show the Gilmoran smiths at Durrow how I wanted the blades shaped, and they’d depleted their stores
of iron to do so, but I had twenty large barges that could skate across ice, now.
They weren’t the sturdiest craft – they were used primarily to transport the bulk of the cotton harvest downriver, and were therefore built for capacity more than for durability. They were also outlandishly painted, as each Gilmoran trading house tried to attract business with their transports. I’d sent Tyndal and Rondal ahead to secure them and prepare them for their means of propulsion.
That’s where Ithalia came in. I’d noticed both in Gavard and at Anthatiel that both the fell hounds and the local mongrels had no difficulty padding across the ice with minimal slips. So I’d had Ithalia and her folk gather as many dogs as possible from the abandoned kennels of the Gilmoran manors they were passing, and transgenically enchant the ones most suited to the task.
It had been a tall order. Fell hounds were massive because they’d been secretly bred that way in the mountain lairs of the gurvani over generations. The average Gilmoran hound is no more than fifty pounds, and the breeds were tended with very specialized tasks in mind.
Ithalia had settled on a mixture of racing dogs, herding dogs, and hunting dogs, though she had found a few mutts who had been bred for fighting (a popular, though disreputable sport in genteel Gilmora) and had adopted them personally. Apparently the assignment had inspired a serious case of puppy love in the rustic Alkan noblewoman.
After the laborious process of transgenic enchantment the dogs were five times their original size. Hounds that had once herded sheep were now large enough to herd horses. Racers that had once chased rabbit skins around a track now chased sheep . . . and ate them. Hunters who had once pointed and retrieved ducks and pigeons for their masters were now large enough to retrieve a hart with little difficulty. Ithalia had delivered two hundred and fifty giant dogs to the converted barges at Durrow, and with Rondal and Tyndal overseeing their harnessing (hemp rope, not leather – it was all we had time for), were eventually able to get the hounds leashed to the boats with a lot of helpful spells from Ithalia and her Alkan kin.
An hour after dawn, the first of our makeshift sleighs rumbled up the Poros, Tyndal standing triumphantly over a team of seven, surrounded by giant dogs who were enjoying the ride. He explained to me later that the massive mutts seemed far more eager to pull the barges if they got a regular turn at riding. The psychology of dogs is beyond me, but there was no denying the expressions of abject joy on the dogs who were riding. Tongues lolled. Tails were wagged.
The appearance of the first barge elicited a profound outpouring of wonder and respect. There had been a lot of speculation on just how I’d planned on getting everyone in our little army several hundred miles west. Now they knew. While it wasn’t as classy as the waypoints, the gaudily-decorated cotton barges and the barking, panting, scratching giant dogs who pulled them got a lot of appreciation.
The Kasari were enchanted with the dogs, and a sea of green cloaks and colored triangles soon surrounded the rangers. It didn’t take long before they were all hugging and petting the massive beasts like puppies, up to and including rolling around on the ice with them. The dogs seemed delighted at the change in perspective, including the amplified barks they could muster.
“I feel like I’m in a bloody temple procession!” chuckled Azar as he stowed his equipment in the lead barge. “Are you sure that there aren’t any sweetmeats aboard that I can throw to the kiddies?”
“Here are your sweetmeats,” Sarakeem the Archer said, throwing five bulging quivers into the barge from the ramp. “Be generous. Don’t skimp.”
“Are you certain that’s enough?” Lorcus asked, as he hopped in the boat.
“These are just the ones I’m bringing with me,” he nodded. “I have more in my baggage, with the Alka Alon.”
“I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” said Lorcus as he made himself comfortable and took an apple out of his bag. “This is a damn sight better than most of the shit boats I’ve been on.”
I had the enchanters among us detailed to see to the blades of the odd craft. Each one was magically enhanced for durability, friction, and soundness before we left. The barges were enchanted to reduce drag do to air friction. You’d be surprised just how much that can impede progress at any real speed.
And of course the dogs, themselves, were enchanted. Ithalia and her folk laid spells of endurance and energy upon them, and did some Alkan trick that made them all behave perfectly when in harness.
When we were all loaded up and packed, our three thousand warriors were spread out over twenty boats, each one pulled by a team of ten dogs. Additional hounds were scattered among the boats to cycle out as we journeyed. The goblins had taught us that much.
I was riding in the lead boat with many of my best people. Arborn elected to join me there. I noticed he and Pentandra having some close words nearby, before we boarded.
“Do me a favor, Min,” she whispered to me, after she had bid him farewell and he’d climbed the ramp. “Can you . . . keep an eye on him for me?”
I stared up at the six foot three-inch tall muscular warrior, whose dark eyes and dour look made him appear a hero out of legend. In comparison, I felt like a market conjurer.
“Uh, sure, Penny,” I said, gently. “I’ll keep the little tyke out of trouble.”
“Do that,” she urged. “At least you get to go with him. I’m stuck here with Dunselen the Dreary. Even Isily has snuck off to get away from him. The man is repulsive. Unfortunately, he’s also a decent thaumaturge.”
“You’re in charge of knocking out that spell,” I reminded her. “If I have to hold your crush hostage to get it done, I’m not above that.”
“He’s more than a crush, Min,” she said, just above a whisper. “I’ve never met any man like him. He’s so . . . pure. Good. He’s too good to be true.”
“I’ll remind you that you said that, later,” I promised. “We’ll come back. We’ll all come back.”
“Do that. I’ll handle my bit. I’ve got the brightest minds at Alar and Inarion Academies working on the thaumaturgical end of it. We’ll come up with something,” she assured me.
“I hope so,” I agreed. “Your bridal shower depends upon it.”
“Don’t even joke about that!” she said, adamantly. And seriously. In the face of that kind of response, I found other things to do.
Dara and her wing of three hawkriders would be accompanying us, providing cover and intelligence from the skies. She and the Alkan Emissaries had successfully cast the spell on six birds total, now, but only four were adequately trained to bear a skyrider. Her crew included the hawkmaster, who cared for the birds, and a collection of young people of humani and Tal Alon descent who rode them. She had pushed to get two more riders aloft for the journey. That only left two of her giant birds without riders.
I had high hopes for the project, but there were misgivings all around. The riders were young and inexperienced, their birds were still skittish about the transformation, and there was plenty of danger inherent to the task. They had all volunteered nonetheless. Dara’s brother had accompanied them, too, a deadly-looking young man who had been in charge of guarding Caolan’s Pass for the last year. He looked as eager as any in the company.
I went to each of the twenty boats to inspect it for myself, introduce myself, describe the plan yet-again, and thank everyone for their trust, faith, and fearlessness. What we were attempting had never been done, and there would likely be sagas written about the attempt, whether it was successful or not.
As I was climbing into the lead barge, the dogs anxious to be underway, I heard a shout from below. Just as I was about to pull up the ramp, Lady Varen appeared at its foot.
“Master Minalan,” she called in her bell-like voice. “I bid you farewell, and with all the speed your gods can grant you. For I have just received word from Master Haruthel. Two dragons have appeared over Anas Yartharel. They are attacking the citadel.” That was bad news of the highest order. Anas Yartharel was the Alka Alon’s gre
atest fortress. I didn’t think it was dragonproof.
“Dear gods!” Lorcus said, from behind me.
“That is not the worst. Three dragons have appeared over Anthatiel. They are attacking the gates in preparation for the army’s assault. You must hurry. Every hour you delay may spell our doom!”
Chapter Thirty-One
Journey Up The Frozen Poros
I had no idea just how long it would take us to get up the river. The goblin army was ahead of us, moving slowly but steadily, and we had a lot of distance to cover in a very short time if we were to get there in a timely fashion. The entire operation was impromptu, and our ability to improvise was challenged every step of the way. With no time to test our novel transportation, once we got in the barges and actually set the dogs to pulling, I was pleasantly surprised to feel the monstrosity lurch forward and begin the journey.
It took two drivers to manage the team, and for the most part it was the Kasari who volunteered for the duty. They encouraged the enchanted dogs to make as much speed as possible . . . and that turned out to be considerable. We passed by the first of the towns despoiled by the goblins within an hour, and it was twenty miles upriver from Gavard.
With the enchanted sleigh runners and the enchanted dogs, we made far, far better time than I could have dreamed. We were nearing the fifty mile mark in the afternoon when we made our first stop to water the dogs. They barely seemed winded.
Along the way we passed the tell-tale signs of the army we were pursuing. Burned-out villages, barges frozen midriver and burnt to the ice, and wherever some poor fool had been unlucky enough to be caught by the army, their grisly remains were artfully displayed to warn others of lingering too long.
High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series Page 53