by John Dalmas
Vulkan traveled cloaked.
On their third and fourth days, they'd met three platoon-sized cavalry patrols, none of them accompanied by voitar. No one had hailed the "rakutur" in passing. In fact, the hithar had passed them apprehensively. This hadn't surprised Macurdy. He'd known only one rakutu, Tsûlgâx, but if Tsûlgâx was an example, the hithar undoubtedly feared them.
Now Macurdy sat his horse where a road crossed a modest rise. It was afternoon. He was waiting for Blue Wing, his Tigers behind him in a column of fours. Their horses' breath formed a cloud around them. In the distance, across snow-covered fields, lay the ruins of Colroi. A single unburned neighborhood remained.
The devastation had been blanketed and obscured with white. Its extent was suggested by the walls of scattered, burned-out buildings, presumably of stone or brick. The city had been large for Yuulith, but not as large as Duinarog, Macurdy decided. And unlike Duinarog, must have been built largely of lumber.
Clearly it had been burned by the invaders, not the ylver. The unburned section appeared to have been military, spared by the voitar for their own use. Most of its buildings were large. One had a tower. Others seemed to have been old barracks. Men could be seen on foot and horseback, moving among them.
Just north of the city, on a modest promontory above the river, was what must have been the imperial palace. What seemed to have been defensive walls and enclosed buildings, now were snow-capped rubble heaps. It seemed to Macurdy that to have wrought such utter destruction of a fortress, with the time and forces available, would have required explosives.
Or powerful sorceries. He remembered Felstroin's description of the great lightnings called down upon Balralligh. Concentrated and prolonged, they might have caused something like that.
When Blue Wing returned, he did not circle down to Macurdy. It was best not to be obvious. Instead he flew at a few hundred feet, approaching from the west. Vulkan dropped his cloak, and the bird landed on his shoulder.
"Continue on the road," Blue Wing said. "The center of activity is in the unburnt buildings you can see. They include a stone building with a bell tower and guards, and a large stone stable across the street from it. Nearby to the east is a very large building by the river, also of stone. I do not know if it is the food storage building you asked about or not, but it is guarded, and has large haystacks outside. A number of wagons are parked there."
Macurdy gazed northward for another long moment, then turned to his trumpeter. "Let's move," he said.
The Tiger raised his trumpet and blew "ready," then "march." Macurdy trotted off, Vulkan invisible by his side. His cohort followed. This, he told himself, would be the voitar's biggest shock since the storm of darts, boulders, and water in the Copper River Gorge. Not in losses, but symbolically. For Colroi had been Kurqôsz's great symbolic victory, and it was some two hundred miles behind the front.
* * *
They rode unchallenged all the way to what had been the main fire hall, and was now Colroi's military headquarters. As they approached it, Macurdy wondered if there'd be rakutur there. If there were, would they see through the pretense? But the guards proved to be hithar, humans, quite military looking, but inadequate for what they were about to experience.
Macurdy dismounted in front of their sergeant, who frowned, perhaps troubled by some anomaly in the "rakutu's" behavior or appearance. Macurdy drew his dwarf-made saber and ran the hithu through. There were shouts. While others disposed of the remaining guards, Macurdy and several Tigers pushed their way through the front door. Hithik administrative personnel took refuge behind furniture.
Three voitar were there, sabers drawn. Macurdy engaged one of them, leery of the voitu's reach and presumed training. Within seconds he'd cut his opponent badly. The voitu dropped his sword, and Macurdy ran him through. None of them lasted much longer, then his Tigers mopped up the staff.
No one, voitu or hithu, had rung the alarm bell, so Macurdy had one of his Tigers ring it. It was a lot quicker and less trouble than hunting down and rooting out the soldiers. Several hundred responded to the bell. When they found themselves attacked by what appeared to be rakutur, most tried to flee.
The Tigers killed those who didn't flee fast enough, and dug out and killed those who took refuge in buildings. The only Tiger casualties were three wounded, none severely enough that he couldn't ride. Most of the hithar had given up without a fight. Like a rat cornered by a weasel, Macurdy told himself.
* * *
Blue Wing had correctly identified the provisions warehouse. It held not only thousands of sacks of grain, but quarters of beef, large wheels of cheese in stacks, and loaves of bread. All frozen, of course.
First Company provided warehouse security guards. Platoons not on guard duty would move into whatever quarters their commanders chose. Some of those quarters, Macurdy supposed, would have stashes of wine, beer, or liquor. He reminded the men that unfitness to travel or defend the cohort because of drunkenness, was punishable by death.
Tiger punishments were commonly draconian.
* * *
Macurdy bunked with Vulkan in a single residence that seemed to have been that of the voitik commander. He took his boots off for the feeling of freedom it gave him, and lay back on the featherbed, hands behind his head. "I wonder what Kurqôsz will make of this," he said. "I suppose he'll see it in the hive mind."
«An event like this is likely to cause a vector change,» Vulkan replied. «In this instance, however, I sense no change yet.»
"You don't tell me as much as you used to. I hope I'm not missing out on too much."
«I will advise you when I deem it useful. So far your decisions have seemed quite suitable to the circumstances. Early on I did more tutoring, but now the need seldom arises.»
"The Bible says 'Thou shalt not kill.' "
«Indeed. And in general it is good advice. But that same venerable book proclaims as heroes many Hebrew warriors who took lives in wars. Neither the Voitusotar nor any other ruthless conquerors can halt the evolution of consciousness indefinitely. Some may even accelerate it. But the Tao foresees the infinite vector sprays infinitely. And if the Voitusotar prevail, the future will be ugly for a long time. That is why I was sent here. And why you chose to come.»
"I chose but you were sent?"
«In a manner of speaking. Your essence nudged you at critical points, but you the person chose freely, without knowing the circumstances. I also chose, but I knew something of what the stakes would be. And are. So for me the choosing was different, my decision a foregone conclusion.»
Macurdy frowned at the ceiling. Following Vulkan's meanings wasn't always easy. "You've mentioned other great boars," he said. "What are they doing?"
«One is on the other northern continent, far to the east of voitik domination. The Voitusotar have designs there, too, where their rule would be as destructive as here. The third is near the western side of this continent. If Kurqôsz prevails here, he will undertake to engineer something there.»
"And that's all?"
«Hopefully three of us are enough. At any rate, the sapient bipeds—ylver, dwarves, and ordinary Homo sapiens, along with the Voitusotar—are responsible for their own futures. Their joint future. Humankind was and is an experiment. The others are separate experiments—variations on the theme. And though highly instructive, the experiment with the Voitusotar threatens to be as unfortunate as the high trolls were in their time.
«Great boars were sent then, too. They worked with the dwarves; something retained in dwarven folklore. Which is, of course, somewhat embellished.»
Macurdy had nothing to say to that. With his hands still behind his head, he closed his eyes. He'd begun to drift off when Vulkan spoke to him again.
«You mentioned that I had not advised you for some while. Let me break the drought. A raider campaign is good work, but by itself it will not defeat the voitar on this continent. You are well advised to pass its leadership to others, and select a different activity for yourse
lf.»
"A different activity?"
«Yes. Though the time is not yet upon us.»
"How about a suggestion? A hint, anyway."
«You will find it. It is only necessary that you be alert to the need.»
Great, Macurdy told himself. I suppose I'll be awake half the night worrying about it.
He wasn't though. Within minutes he was asleep.
* * *
In the iron frost of dawn, they loaded their pack animals with food from the warehouse. Finding a pile of pack saddles, they attached a number of voitik horses to their string, and loaded them too.
While his Tigers worked, Macurdy, via Blue Wing, let the ylver, dwarves, and others know about Colroi: a powerful symbolic victory. Cyncaidh reported sending several noncoms west across the Deep River, to personally brief the Ozians, Kormehri, and Kullvordi on voitik tactics.
Before midmorning, the 1st Tiger Cohort headed west across the plain, looking for a fight.
34 Battle of the Merrawin Plain
Despite his supply problems, the crown prince had been feeling rather buoyant since the news, that morning, of the dwarves' march northward. Despite their reputation, he could see no way they could survive the coming battle. They were used to lesser foes, he told himself, and overimpressed by their recent success. They might in fact fight well; it wouldn't surprise him at all. But they were badly outnumbered, they had serious tactical disadvantages, and they'd chosen the wrong terrain.
It was after lunch that Kurqôsz's good mood was soured. His communicator entered his office, seeming perturbed. "Your Majesty," the man said, "our occupation force at Colroi has been attacked, and may have been wiped out. By what appears to be a force of renegade rakutur."
"What!" The embarrassment of Colroi being attacked, the possibility that the garrison had been wiped out, the ambiguous "may have been"—it was none of them that gut-punched Kurqôsz's equanimity. "Renegade rakutur?" he said. "That's ridiculous! The rakutur are our most reliable troops. And their entire battalion is based right here, carrying out patrol missions. My personal rakutur are within shouting distance of this building, right now. There are no other rakutur on this side of the Ocean Sea, except for Trumpko's detachment at Merrawin, and detachments guarding the various brigade headquarters on the Deep River."
"Nonetheless, Your Majesty, as seen in the hive mind, they look and fight like rakutur."
Together, the crown prince, his aide, and the communicator visited the hive mind to view the event. Kurqôsz melded with an officer's time track for maximum detail. And experienced a hithik corporal hurrying into Colroi's occupation headquarters, reporting a column of rakutur drawing up in front. "They're acting strange," he said. "They didn't respond when..."
He was interrupted by shouting in the street. Seconds later, intruders pushed through the door. Anomalies registered at once on the colonel's mind: The trim on their winter coats wasn't right, nor their cap emblems. Their leader had a saber in his hand, and the major had drawn his own. They traded strokes, the intruder's shockingly quick and powerful. The rakutu's saber sliced deeply into the major's upper arm, burning like fire, then thrust like an explosion between his ribs.
The experience kicked Kurqôsz out of the hive mind, cold and shaking. Even in a meld, the experience had been less traumatic for him than for the colonel, but it had shocked him severely.
After a minute, he returned to the event, this time without melding, in order to retain his own viewpoint and objectivity. The recordings ended with the death of the last voitu in the office. What happened afterward was speculation, but there was little doubt the base had been captured and looted.
Ylvin trickery! Kurqôsz ordered recon patrols sent toward Colroi from the Merrawin River base, each patrol accompanied by a voitu for quick reporting. I need more information, he told himself. Then I will decide on actions. Surely the ylvin tricksters wouldn't remain in Colroi. Where would they go from there? Balralligh perhaps? If they did, they were biting off more than they could chew, especially since Balralligh was warned now.
Nonetheless, a seed of anxiety had sprouted in the crown prince's belly. It seemed to him he was overlooking something. Somewhere along the line, something was seriously wrong, and he didn't know what it was.
He shook it off. Such thoughts were destructive. The ylver had counterfeited rakutur uniforms, that's all. And with them had gotten a battalion unrecognized to Colroi, where it had taken the garrison by surprise. It was a trick that could only work once.
* * *
Next was an update on the dwarven army. There had been no voitik observer; it had entered the hive mind verbally via General Trumpko, who had it from a patrol report. After crossing the Pomatik, the dwarves had started northward, on foot, in snow and hilly terrain. Their strength was estimated at eight to ten battalions, five to six thousand men.
The dwarves couldn't harm him without marching far to the north. And Trumpko's force was on its way to meet them: a long cavalry battalion—five companies—and an entire division of infantry, as ordered. Prince Chithqôsz and his circle accompanied its headquarters unit. The crown prince viewed Trumpko's force through his brother's eyes, as Chithqôsz paused on a low rise. A division in marching order was impressive—18,000 officers and men. Add a long battalion of cavalry—600 men on horseback—to harass and distract them... Clearly the dwarves were doomed.
Yet he didn't feel the confidence and anticipation he should have. The anxiety that had grown out of Colroi still coiled in his belly like a snake. Colroi. There was something wrong there—something he hadn't put his finger on. So he returned to the hive mind, and viewed once more the forced entry, again without melding. But this time in slow- and stop-motion.
He saw again the face of the man who'd killed the voitu base commander. A face somehow familiar, but no rakutu's. The eyes and cheekbones weren't right. The other faces could pass, which was worrisome, bit that one could not. He wished he could see their ears, but in the brief melee, none had lost their caps.
* * *
Another reconnaissance patrol had seen the dwarven army, on the Merrawin Valley Highway this time, emerging from the forest in a column of fours. Spied it from a distance and retired, seemingly undetected.
The patrol had left three men to observe from a copse. They'd watched till dusk, then ridden north to report the details. Its report had been encouraging. The earlier report—that the dwarves had no pikes—had been accurate. They'd be wonderfully susceptible to cavalry charges. And their mobility would be impaired not only by their short legs, but by the burdens they carried. Their packs alone were large enough that a human would find them burdensome, and large, recurved rectangular shields were slung on them. Some carried crossbows, some six-foot stabbing spears, and others two-handed battle axes. (They'd failed to notice that the axes were steel-handled, and tricked out with hooks.) A sheathed shortsword was fastened to each thick waist. And they wore knee-length hauberks that looked to weigh thirty pounds or more.
If their formation was broken, they'd be unable to flee.
Astonishingly they wore no coats, but none of the observers were troubled by this remarkable lack.
* * *
It was a bitter cold midmorning. Major Gert Ferelsma, hithik commander of the 4th Cavalry Battalion, sat in his saddle on one of the two highest points locally available. The dwarven legion had formed its defensive formation, a box with walls of spearmen six ranks thick. Its center was occupied by others, who presumably would provide both crossbow fire and replacements for casualties in the walls.
Their position was on a ridge. A low gentle ridge, but even so, to charge it on the long sides required riding or running uphill. With or without pikes, it wasn't something to throw cavalry at.
The dwarves waited stolidly. The major's spyglass showed their beards parted and braided, hanging to their thighs. Their torsos appeared thick, even allowing for their hauberks, and the quilted doublets they undoubtedly wore inside as padding. Their helmets seemed decora
ted—embossed or carved, though Ferelsma couldn't make out the details—and he wondered if precious metals might not be involved. It also seemed to him their heads were larger than the average human's. Their legs, he judged, would hardly be two feet long, and their hands hung to their knees.
Surely their minds were as different as their bodies, and he wished he knew what went on in them. He'd read the ancient description of the expedition to Vismearc, and been properly skeptical. Then the sea dragons had failed to materialize, and the man-eating birds, the bees large as sparrows...
But when Chithqôsz's army entered dwarven territory, its punishment restored credence to the tale.
Through his rakutik communicator, Ferelsma recommended to Trumpko that they let the dwarves wait there unmolested. After a bit the cold would weaken them, numb their fingers and minds. When the infantry arrived, they could surround the dwarves and rain crossbow bolts on them. By the time the infantry was out of bolts, dwarven casualties would be high. Then the spearmen could close with them. There was no sensible reason to expend valuable warhorses and trained cavalry in this situation. Save them to counter ylvin raiders.