“Not bad,” he conceded. “The goblins are slowly trying to knit their columns back together, but that’s proving troublesome. Some general has a burr in his butt to take Osbury, and it’s causing some delays.”
Rustallo briefed me on the developments I’d missed while I was handling the hospital situation. Gaja Katar had been forced to take the Osbury route on his way to Vanador, and that had a lot of implications.
Osbury, the land around Lotanz at Otter’s Point, was no longer a marginal settlement clinging to life on the edge of ruin. Since the Great March the tiny domain had been under new management. It had also become a major depot for supplies between Bransei, in the Kasari lands, and Vanador. It had prospered as a result. Not only had the town of Lotanz grown well beyond its old bounds, the lands around Otter’s Point had become settled by both Wilderfolk and Kasari alike. There were more than three thousand freemen surrounding the old fortress, now, and a garrison of five hundred Iron Bandsmen there, as well as Lotanz Tower’s complement of warmagi.
That provided Gaja Katar’s forces with a dilemma. If they ignored the small but defensible settlement, they risked being attacked on their flanks. If they stopped to engage it, they would waste precious days in the field – days we could use to great effect.
We’d had significant discussions about the Northern Strategy, as we called it, and whether or not Gaja Katar would follow it. Thus far, he’d demonstrated a fairly straightforward approach to his campaign. The smart wager, Terleman had determined, would be for him to ignore Osbury and proceed directly against Spellgate, sending his Fell Hounds to screen against Lotanz.
But the commanders of their vanguard had wandered too close to Osbury’s defenses and were now determined to neutralize it before they moved on.
Perhaps they preferred to attack the little castle in the north rather than the much bigger fortification in the east. Maybe they thought they’d arrived at Vanador, and mistook the one for the other. Or perhaps they were obsessed with the idea of leaving an enemy intact in their rear out of fear the dread horsemen would surprise them again. Regardless of their reasoning, the Vanguard had begun an attack on Osbury, despite the objections of Gaja Katar, himself.
Unwilling to lose a third of his force in an unsupported attack, Gaja Katar sent more than half of his infantry north to join the vanguard, including a strong contingent of draugen. They were en route toward the vanguard even now, and would be there within two days.
“Osbury says they’re ready,” Rustallo reported. “I talked to their Keeper myself this morning about it. The vales to the southeast of Osbury are full of Fell Hounds and goblin light infantry. They’re slowly pushing north, but they’re not pushing hard.”
“How are the locals responding?”
“They’ve been preparing all summer. They tell me the whole vale is trapped and filled with pits. They’ve got archers and snipers aplenty, too. Kasari,” he added, as if I didn’t know. “Arborn arrived there last night, courtesy of Pentandra. He’s taken charge of the defense.”
“Arborn?” I asked, eagerly.
“He is the Baron of Osbury,” Rustallo reminded me. “He’s responsible for it. He brought some friends from Enultramar, too, I think. But he’s got the situation well in hand.”
Of that I had no doubt. Arborn was not a trained military general, but he had commanded men in battle plenty of times, in plenty of situations. Osbury was nearly his own backyard, from a Kasari perspective, and now that the Kasari tribesmen had permission to settle and trade there, under a Kasari lord, they treated it with the same reverence as their own tribal lands. He’d spent most of the last year in the south, helping Anguin and his wife pacify the unruly coast, but he did not shirk his duties in the north.
A Narasi lord would have focused on building castles strong enough to defend against such an army, but Arborn was a Kasari. They took a different approach to defense. Instead, Arborn had commanded the construction of small, naturally defensible refuges scattered across the land – caves, grottos, hidden hilltop meadows, that sort of thing – where supplies and caches of weapons could be stored. Each settlement had dozens of these caches that could be retreated to in a hurry.
More, he’d built a series of wooden towers across his lands, but not for defense. They were watchtowers and outposts for his rangers, built on high promontories within sight of each other. By using the flag-language of the Kasari, by Midsummer a message could be transmitted from the frontier of his lands to his seat at Osbury within an hour . . . without recourse to magic. Any sign of goblin assault could be reported and responded to quickly by the warriors and rangers in the area while the common folk fled for their refuges.
The only clear approach to Lotanz was the same rough track we’d descended during the March. Now it was flanked with hidden blinds and miniature strongholds where dozens of rangers lurked. Straying from that track invited injury from hundreds of snares, deadfalls and pits, incorporating everything from avalanches of logs to flights of poisoned darts. Every bridge and ford was booby-trapped. Every rocky outcropping concealed deadly archers, and sentries and skirmishers risked a slit throat if they strayed too far from their fellows.
As the gurvani advanced, they would quickly become entangled in the Kasari’s devious plots. Their tactics had confounded three generations of Narasi lords. Trying to respond in force was futile, as the rangers slipped away as silently as ghosts through the forests and fields, only to regroup and strike again at the next choke point.
It was a clever strategy that took advantage of the light population density of the northern Magelands. Once Arborn understood Gaja Katar’s plans, he immediately shifted it, withdrawing the bulk of his civilians to the protection of Otter’s Point, and seeding the ground with the devious tricks and traps the Kasari culture cultivated over centuries as their preferred defense.
In addition, the Keeper of Lotanz Tower and his men supported this effort with warmagic, laying the usual spells of misdirection and mayhem in the proposed path of the northern army. After spending a few years in the company of the Kasari, they’d learned how to augment the tribal snares and traps with fiendishly brutal spellwork that turned an unpleasant surprise into an unmitigated disaster.
Choosing a Northern Strategy therefore doomed Gaja Katar to a lengthy diversion away from Spellgate. If Arborn was leading the defense, I could count on a long, bloody conflict. Indeed, that was his job: to make it as bloody and expensive for them as possible, without expending our resources. Thankfully, even if the gurvani drove their way up the road all the way to Otter’s Point, Arborn could evacuate the civilian population into the Bransei hills to the north. Taking those from the Kasari was futile.
Yes, we’d lose a few newly-built cottages and barns, but those were easily replaced, compared to the few families who were willing to cling to those hills, trying to gain a foothold there. Even the castle, town, and Tower were expendable, if necessary. Indeed, if I could persuade Gaja Katar to expend his resources so foolishly, I would count it as a major victory.
The Northern Strategy decided our defense. If Gaja Katar spent more than three or four days on the attack, then he was racing winter to get to Spellgate. That was a gift of time I could use.
I spent the next two hours consulting field commanders and issuing orders, requests, and suggestions in equal measure. Terleman was already taking advantage of the split in the foe, of course – he’d executed those contingencies automatically. In particular, he was gathering his scattered cavalry forces for a surprise attack on the portions of the column which had stayed behind. He predicted a hard strike by dawn the next day, when the sleepy goblins would be bedding down.
Mavone’s Ravens likewise were moving to the tasks designated for the Northern Strategy. Though his small force could do little directly against any of the armies in the field, they were eager to spy on troop movements and overhear discussions between enemy commanders. Depending upon the outcome of Terleman’s attack and Arborn’s ability to defend Osbury, the
Ravens were prepared to execute any number of special missions on Mavone’s behalf.
Then we had a very intense discussion about contingencies, should Gaja Katar get his act together and press on toward Spellgate. It was looking more and more like I would have to take the field once again, which wasn’t something I wanted to explain to my family when I got home. When I was convinced that I had learned the latest developments and taken all the action I could in response, I finally woke up Ruderal and headed home to Spellgarden.
It was after dark, and though we only had a mile to go it was getting chilly out. The night was overcast, and a chill wind blew from the west, promising rain or worse. I pushed my nameless rouncey up the rough road that led to Spellgarden. Ruderal followed behind on his pony, glaring balefully at the weather from under his hood.
“I’m not fond of this climate, Master,” he called out, as we mounted the penultimate switchback, the one that led through the village. Well, it would be a proper village, someday, I reasoned. Right now it was filled more with canvas tents and makeshift shelters than actual houses. The mist we’d rode through had decided it wanted to be a rainstorm. A cold rainstorm. And the wind was blowing briskly. “I don’t mind the rain so much, but the wind . . . it’s nothing like Enultramar. Or even Sevendor.”
“The Wilderlands have always challenged a man’s fortitude,” I said, trying to sound philosophic as we turned into the full slant of the storm. “This is mild, compared to what’s coming,” I informed him. “Once this rain turns to snow, it will bury us. And the wind doesn’t get any better, only worse.”
“There must be better ways to temper a man,” he mused, in a rare moment of reflection. “I know we must be tough to face the adversity of the undead,” he said, boldly, “but this cold rain is just . . . it annoys me,” he pronounced.
“That’s the point of adversity, my boy,” I agreed, with a chuckle. “Appreciate the weather as at least being impersonal. Man has far more annoying inconveniences in store for you, I’m afraid. For every pretty girl dangled to entice you, there’s a nasty storm waiting to soak you to the skin and chill you to the bone.”
“You’re going into battle again, aren’t you, Master?” Ruderal asked, changing the subject abruptly. “I can see it in your enneagram. You get all . . . fatalistic,” he decided.
“It appears so, Ruderal,” I sighed, not willing to argue the point with the one person who knew I would be lying. “It’s not my preference,” I added, unnecessarily.
“I know,” my apprentice conceded. “I was just wondering if you wanted me to go along with you.”
“You?” I asked, surprised. “Why would I drag you into battle?”
“I dunno. You drug Dara into battle when she was younger than me,” he pointed out.
“I . . . that was a special situation,” I countered. “She was the only one who had mastered the Thoughtful Knife.”
“And I’m the only one who can see enneagrams,” he answered. “We’re facing undead. I thought it might be helpful.”
“I appreciate the offer,” I said, after thinking very carefully about how I responded. “But I don’t think that will be useful, in the campaign Terleman is proposing. At least not yet.”
“I’m willing to go, Master,” he said, earnestly. “I’m no warrior, but if you think I could help—”
“Not unless I had no other choice, Ruderal,” I assured him.
“I would understand. Tyndal and Rondal had to become warmagi,” he reasoned. “Dara had to become a Sky Rider. I figure you’re going to have some special thing for me to do, like that. Probably something to do with the Necromancer.”
I was taken aback. I had no such intention.
“Ruderal, I wouldn’t put you in danger like that, unless it was necessary. And it’s not,” I emphasized. “This is but a single Nemovort. Lady Pentandra slew one by herself, in Vorone. I think I can manage without my apprentice’s help . . . no matter how useful it might prove.”
“But he wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t found Korbal,” he pointed out, evenly. “I should be there, if—”
“If you hadn’t found him, they would have found him by some other means,” I dismissed. “Really, lad, all of . . . this,” I said, gesturing off to the west, where the foe lurked beyond the horizon, “was set long before you were born. Hells, before I was born,” I realized. “We merely play a role in this small part of a much larger story. You are no more responsible for defeating Korbal than I am responsible for building a great army, just because some Alka Alon said I was,” I said, a little defensively.
“Yet you are building a great army, Master,” he pointed out, unhelpfully. “Even though you know you were compelled to do so.”
“That’s a different situation, Ruderal,” I said, warningly.
“Of course it is, Master. Yet . . . does that relieve us of our responsibilities?” he inquired, pointedly. “Just because we are not at fault for our introduction to our woes, does that excuse us from taking action against them?”
“You’ve been talking with someone, haven’t you?” I accused.
“My master provides many intriguing examples for my education,” he said, sarcastically. “I would be a foolish apprentice if I did not avail myself of them. But my opinions are my own, Master. I cannot help feeling responsible for Korbal any more than you can help feel responsible for Sheruel.”
“You think I feel responsible for Sheruel? Who was spawned in irionite before I was born? Before my great-grandsires were born?”
“I know that you think if you had found some way to stop him at Boval Vale, then none of this would happen,” he suggested, unhelpfully. “Which is the real reason why you feel obligated to fight him, now. Or at least the gurvani,” he added.
I hate it when my apprentices were right about something. That hadn’t been much of a problem, with Rondal and Tyndal. A little less so, with Dara. But with Ruderal, the boy had a habit of discovering uncomfortable truths and calling them to my attention.
“Perhaps,” I murmured, into the wind. “But if the mighty among the Alka Alon fell before him, why would I have any hope of defeating him?” I posed.
“Is that not the question that haunts you, Master?” Ruderal asked. “It matters not that you have no answer. It is the question, itself, that plagues you, that drives you to fight so boldly. Had you discovered some weakness against Sheruel, then none of this would have occurred. I never would have been forced to find Korbal. Olum Seheri never would have happened. That is the wound that spurs you on,” he observed. “Now you seek anything that would correct that deficiency.”
“Your insights are rapidly becoming a pain in my arse, Ruderal,” I muttered, as we approached the gatehouse to Spellgarden.
“I have the sense to be discreet about them, Master,” he assured me. “But I thought the ride was a good time to bring it up.”
“See that you keep your musings to yourself,” I nodded, as I waved at the sentry at the gate. “I have enough self-doubt, as you are no doubt aware. It would not be a boon to hear those doubts in the mouths of others,” I warned.
“That is not my intent, Master,” he said, sympathetically. “Indeed, I merely wanted to explain to you why telling me that Korbal isn’t my fault will not convince me. You, of all people, should understand. When you have been involved in such a . . . such a horror,” he said, with a shudder, “regardless of how you were involved, you feel an obligation to repair it. If you’re a decent human being,” he added.
I could not dispute that, I realized. Perhaps it is a failing of our damnably ephemeral humani sensibilities, but one cannot face pure evil and not be inspired to fight it.
Not if you are a decent human being.
“No one was more surprised than I when Minalan announced to his household his attention to take the field when there was no need. With the foe still miles and miles away, beyond the river, it seemed incautious to many that our greatest protector would risk himself, so. Yet it was clear to those who worked and lived
around him that Minalan was brooding over the great amount of toil others were doing on his behalf, and it is only reasonable to assume that he felt helpless in his position. Riding forth to battle may not have been prudent or necessary, but it kept him from brooding around Spellgarden while others fought his war.”
From the Scrolls of Lawbrother Bryte the Wiser
Chapter Thirty-One
Plotting and Planning
As the dark legions rolled over the land and the Vanadori rose in arms, I needed to be everywhere at once, all the time, it seemed, and even with magic’s aid I was challenged to meet my obligations.
I was amazed how much of my work simply involved being decisive. When a crisis appeared to demand a higher authority, that’s when I would be called in. I’d look at the situation, hear as many sides as possible, and place it in the context of the greater goal: surviving the enemy attack. Then I’d say ‘do that thing’ or ‘move that over there’ or ‘sack that fellow and promote that fellow’, and everyone would be satisfied.
It didn’t really matter whether or not the decisions I was making were the right ones, and in some cases, in hindsight, I really stepped in the chamberpot on some things. But the simple fact that I was decisive, and had the authority to enforce my decisions, was enough for most situations. People liked knowing someone was in charge. Confident decision-making supported that.
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