“I don’t know, Terl,” I admitted, shaking my head. “That doesn’t seem like a good idea.”
“Did you not entrust me with commanding the defense of Vanador?” he challenged, suddenly. And surprisingly.
“Yes, I did,” I agreed.
“Then trust me in my craft,” he said, proudly. “There is more at play than you are aware, my friend. I haven’t told you everything.”
That took me aback. I knew he had secrets, even from me, when it came to our defense. I didn’t need to know everything. We had all agreed on that. Security for the Magelaw could not be dependent upon me. Terleman had insisted. As had I.
But his plan was starting to sound a little rash.
“Do you have a god in your pocket?” I asked, my mind a-whir. It wasn’t aware of anything that might change my assessment of the situation, but I did trust Terleman. Not because he was inherently loyal to me. But because he was incredibly competent. He’d proven that over and over.
He had commanded our forces at Olum Seheri while I was skulking around in caverns below, and had defended our beachhead on that cursed isle with fierce determination and a masterful command of the field. He had ground our foes into bloody grist on the causeway with his stratagems. He knew what he was doing. I either had to trust him, or give myself a damn good reason not to.
“If I did, I probably wouldn’t tell you,” he admitted, with a chuckle. “But if there is a divine hand at work in my plan, it wasn’t by my design.”
I sighed, considering everything at risk, if he failed. Hundreds of skilled warmagi. Thousands of my men, who depended on us for wise leadership.
The cautious play was to be content to stay behind at Spellgate and let Gaja Katar wander the Wilderlands in the middle of winter, grinding his force away against Traveler’s, and Rognar, and even Lotanz while we chipped away at his forces in the cold. The thick snow was already making his troops miserable, and starvation was a dark specter that hung over his force. It seemed foolish to risk any of our troops if we didn’t have to.
But then, I’d given Terleman charge of our defense, and if he counselled an assault, it likewise seemed foolish to ignore that advice.
“Let’s prepare,” I sighed and nodded. “What do you need from me?”
“Most commanders think in terms of foot and horse, artillery and sappers. The strength of the warmagi in battle is not their arcane power, but their understanding of how power functions at all levels. To a wizard, the forces of Nature, itself, can become legions, if properly understood.”
From the Scrolls of Lawbrother Bryte the Wiser
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The Battle of Asgot Ford
One Terleman’s plan was decided upon, it took surprisingly little time to put into action. The warmagi were standing by, awaiting orders, and once those came, they moved with alacrity.
Captain Nattia, herself, flew her bird over the heads of the goblin army and landed at Asgot, where she planted a Waystone on the western bank of the river, overlooking the ford. In moments, warmagi began emerging from the Ways and preparing.
The Sudden Fortress was manifested and activated, after the snow was cleared away, providing a safe and warm place for the defenders. The High Magi with Seven Stones – the special Alka Alon witchstones that allowed us to travel the Ways – began ferrying over additional warmagi and infantry troops as fast as they could, while others began laying spellfields and wardings according to Terleman’s direction.
I went, myself, a few hours later, more to help set up the defenses than to command. But I wasn’t needed – Terleman had things well in hand.
Our brooding commander took personal command of the fortress, to the point of even raising his personal banner beside Vanador’s new standard from its mast. The snow around the place quickly became trampled by the stomping boots of the soldiers as they erected smaller redoubts and dug trenches in the frozen earth with magic. Even with all that activity, after six hours there was still only a little over a hundred warriors behind the walls of the Sudden Fortress.
Just before I returned to Spellgate, that changed when three hundred infantry marched in from Traveler’s Tower arrived to take up positions in and around the magical fortlet. They were mostly archers, but there was also a large proportion of Kasari from Lotanz who had volunteered. An hour after I left, scores of Ravens, Mavone’s special troops, appeared out of the trees to join them, intermingled with another hundred of black-cloaked Vanador Rangers who had been summoned for the fight. And over the horizon, Tyndal’s cavalry unit was patrolling with their horses, as much as the snow would allow.
Spellgate was also bustling with activity. Terleman’s plan included adding pressure to the rear of the retreating army by marching a contingent of infantry and what cavalry we had against them. We would set out at dawn – yes, Terleman put me in command of the force. I suspect it was, in part, to keep me from sulking about not having a role to play, but he told me it was more to use the advantage my name and presence gave us to our best advantage.
“When they do get to the ford,” he had explained, “I want them to feel compelled to cross. With the all-powerful Spellmonger, himself, leading an army against them to the rear, that should provide the motivation.”
“The army I’m leading is far smaller than his,” I pointed out.
“It’s large enough to be a challenge,” he countered. “More of a challenge than the Sudden Fortress. If presented a choice of targets, which would you fight?”
“The fortress,” I conceded.
“Exactly. A far inferior obstacle. If I time this well, the Gaja Katar will have already committed to his assault against it before he learns of your presence.”
“Conversely, he could turn around and strike at me with everything he’s got,” I observed. “I am the one he wants dead the most.”
“Not after this battle,” Terleman grinned, slapping me on the shoulder. “After this one, he’ll want my death more. Should we prevail.”
Should we prevail.
That was the foundation of my worry. Battle is a chaotic condition by definition. I trusted Terleman’s wisdom and mastery of his craft, but I also knew his meticulous planning could be upset by any number of things. And while I trusted his ability to contrive plans for many contingencies, any battle involving magic carried more risk of that. I appreciated the fact that Terleman qualified his hopes of victory – an ordinary commander would be tempted to assure a victory. Terleman was honest enough to always consider the outcome in doubt. It made him a better commander, but no less confident.
Gaja Katar appeared unaware of our preparations. His ungainly force limped through the valley with minimum patrols – and the going was slow. The usual danger of troops on the move is that they will get strung out along the road and break into smaller groups, vulnerable to attack without the hope of support.
Gaja Katar’s army faced the opposite problem. There were far too many goblins trying to move down a narrow road, covered in snow, away from the hellish death Spellgate offered them. The Sky Riders reported that they’d taken their trolls and their larger great goblins and moved them to the head of the column, where they were pushing the snow out of the way with their arms. Perhaps that helped.
But that left them standing in line, in the snow, in armor, moving but a few paces an hour. All day and all night they persisted, as cold winds blew and occasional showers of flurries added to the burden of snow. The Kasari compounded their miseries by attacking their rear and flanks in sudden raids over the snowy terrain. Not on horseback, nor by magic – they had contrived to put shoes woven of wood, like a basket, on their feet, allowing them to move over the snow, rather than through it.
They would come to just outside of bowshot of the gurvani crossbows . . . but just inside the bowshot of the Wilderlands bows they used. They would empty their quivers and be away before their foes could cross a tithe of the distance. I thought at first that the Kasari footwear was the result of magic, but it’s more physics
than metaphysics: the wider base distributes the weight of the wearer widely enough to keep him from sinking into the snow. Of course the pragmatic Kasari would use the ingenious method.
Beyond those raids, we largely left the gurvani army in peace as they struggled to get away from us. The Sky Riders scouted, but did not attack. Our mounted scouts followed behind, but did not engage. Terl wanted Gaja Katar to make his way to the ford relatively unimpeded and convinced we did not pursue in force.
At dusk the next day, he was only halfway there, and his troops were going hungry. They began slaying the horses and Fell Hounds they had to sustain themselves. Meanwhile, Terl continued to prepare his position at the ford and Sandoval readied his men for the pursuit. We marched at dawn the next day.
The day was clear, for once, though it remained bitterly cold. Our way was easy enough to make, as the goblins had shifted a lot of snow in their wake and what was left on the ground was thoroughly packed by goblin feet. Where we did encounter difficulty, we used magic to deal with it.
“Not a bad day to fight,” Sandy suggested, as we rode in the vanguard of the column with fifty cavalry. Behind us four thousand well-armed infantry marched. “At least it’s clear, even if we have the wind in our faces.”
“More importantly, the goblins will have the sun in their eyes,” I reminded him. “Their eyes are far more sensitive to light than ours. Many of them will be snowblind, by now.”
“I’ll take whatever advantage we can get,” he assured me, uneasily. “Four thousand against fifteen thousand? Min, I mislike those odds.”
“We faced greater at Olum Seheri,” I pointed out. “Hells, we faced greater in Farise,” I reminded him. “Terleman knows what he’s doing.”
I really hoped Terleman knew what he was doing.
We marched through noon, halting the column for a brief luncheon in the saddle before pressing on. Just a few hours later we caught up with the scouts who were trailing the army, but before we could be sighted by the gurvani scouts who were acting as a rearguard for the foe.
We were just outside of Asgot when we halted the march. At need, we could surge ahead and strike quickly, within twenty minutes, from what the scouts told us. But using magic and concealment, we were able to lurk behind Gaja Katar virtually undetected.
For his part, the defeated Nemovort led his battered army back the way they came and driven them through a hellish campaign. No doubt some in his ranks were grateful to sight the ford at the Wildwater and were eager to put the icy river between them and Spellgate.
That is, until they sighted the Sudden Fortress and the other defenses Terleman had erected there, across the river. That took them by surprise.
Terleman had done an excellent job of enhancing the already formidable wooden fortress with berms and ditches. Smaller redoubts sat on its flanks, all within bowshot of the ford. His men had also piled snow up in places to mimic more substantial fortifications.
Of course, Gaja Katar was not going to let a few hundred humani wizards impede the progress of his mighty army. He ordered his troops to attack . . . but not before the traditional blowhard address about how godsdamned great he was.
My liaison on site was Landrik, who was observing from the Sudden Fortress. Terleman crossed the river with a few men and his standard-bearer and waited for Gaja Katar, once again. The Nemovort eventually made his way to the front line, along with his herald (the Alkan had his arm in a sling and both looked battered, according to Landrik’s description). They were not pleased by the sight.
Gaja Katar expressed his rage at Terleman’s temerity to block his route. Terleman observed that the temerity of kicking his arse at Spellgate was probably worse. He went on to discuss Gaja Katar’s inadequacies as a general, as a leader, and a tactician. Insults were exchanged. Threats were made. It was a productive meeting.
But when it concluded, apparently Terl had gotten the effect he expected: Gaja Katar immediately ordered a large contingent of his gurvani to assault the Sudden Fortress, tear it down, and present him with Terl’s head. The orders were passed down, and the troops designated in the assault began to form up and prepare to cross the icy river. The drums of the army began the beat that instructed them to attack, they began to cross the river.
That’s when things started happening, according to Landrik’s reports, mind-to-mind.
Here they come, he narrated in my head. The water is still low, yet, so they’re wading through up to their knees and waists. It doesn’t look particularly pleasant, he added, with mock sympathy. Terl is still down in the field, in front of the fortress. He’s . . . he’s waiting for them, Landrik related, a note of concern coming through his communication.
Waiting for them? I asked, confused. Just Terl? He’s going to fight against the entire goblin army . . . alone? Who does he think he is? Azar?
He hasn’t even drawn his blade, Landrik said. He’s got that baculus in his hand, but he’s not casting anything. There are at least three, four thousand goblins crossing, now. He’s not coming inside.
Was this part of his plan? I asked.
I don’t know – he didn’t tell us, Landrik admitted. I mean, he told each of us what to do, but not why, or for what reason. A big goblin is riding ahead of the others on a Fell Hound, now, right at him. Right at him, he repeated. Fast. There was a long, agonizing pause.
Well, did he attack? I finally demanded.
No. No! He stopped right in front of Terleman. They’re talking, he related, mystified as I was about the development.
They’re talking?
Yes! Yes, they’re discussing something. Like a couple of farmers talking at the market. I . . . shit, Min, I don’t know what to tell you. The other goblins are rushing up behind, but . . . they aren’t firing their bows. They aren’t preparing to attack Terleman.
What kind of spell has he cast? I asked, confused.
I’m staring at him with magesight, and there’s nothing, Min, Landrik assured me. I mean, his normal defensive spells, but . . . nothing major. Nothing that would convince an army of goblins that he’s not there.
What’s going on? I prompted, when he lapsed into silence again.
Uh . . . you aren’t going to believe this, he said, a moment later. We’ve just been given orders. Not to fire.
What? I asked in confusion.
We’re being told not to attack the gurvani. Terleman has . . . oh, Ishi’s big bouncy boobs, Min, Terl has accepted their surrender!
It was my turn to lapse into a stunned silence.
I didn’t get the details until later, but apparently Terleman had been conducting secret negotiations with the gurvani – not Gaja Katar, mind you, but the normal, ordinary gurvani – who were already in a state of near rebellion against their undead master.
How? Through the agency of Gurkarl.
Tyndal had made contact with the gurvan, and had convinced him to approach the army clandestinely . . . on behalf of the Goblin King. With Terleman’s endorsement, Gurkarl infiltrated the army between Lotanz and Traveler’s Tower and had met with many of the most disaffected gurvani officers. Not the augmented great goblins, but the native gurvani who had borne the brunt of the offensive.
It hadn’t taken much persuasion. The goblins had been ordered to Gaja Katar’s command under protest. They had expected to winter in his draughty old fortress before a spring offensive, but had been forced to march when they knew conditions were poor and growing poorer. They also felt slighted by the elevation of the great goblin units over themselves and the hobs, and the arrogant attitude of the small cadre of Enshadowed officers did not help morale. The Alka Alon treated them worse than they treated the humani slaves.
And then there was Gaja Katar.
Whatever his reputation for victory, actually serving under the Nemovort was apparently brutal duty. Discipline had been harsh and arbitrary, cruel and subjective, and delivered without much regard to morale. Gaja Katar made impossible demands, found fault with everything, and punished entire units for
perceived transgressions. When there was resistance, he employed the whip. When the whip wouldn’t suffice, he would behead the offender on the spot, or give him to his draugen guards.
The cumulative effect of such a command had driven plenty of gurvani to desert. And they had . . . until some of the deserters were captured and tortured to death in front of their units as examples. After that, the miserable campaign was just one endless trudge with death at the end, and death if you stopped.
When Gurkarl slipped into their ranks disguised as a crusty old Ancient and met with one of his old comrades, he brought news of the Goblin King’s exile in the northwestern hills and the small army of renegades he was raising at Mekadarshku. Gurkarl quietly spread the word about the place, and then slipped out just before they arrived at Spellgate, to report to Tyndal.
Gurkarl apparently knew just what to say – he’d spent two years traveling the Kulines and speaking to the tribes there about resisting the temptation to war on Sheruel’s behalf. The seeds he sowed in Gaja Katar’s army quickly bore fruit, particularly after the devastation of Terleman’s Millstone. Whispers of escaping the brutal Nemovorti and joining Ashakarl, the rebel Goblin King in the flinty hills seemed like a better idea than dodging giant falcons and being ordered into suicidal situations.
When Gurkarl reappeared in their camp, after the destruction of the artillery at Spellgate, the murmurs of rebellion had grown into serious muttering. Tempers were high, bellies were empty, and there seemed to be no end in sight.
Worst of all, there was snow. Goblins aren’t fond of snow, despite their fur – or, perhaps, because of it. They stood out like inkblots in the day, their eyes disliked the brightness reflected from snow, and their thin legs and lack of body fat made pushing through the stuff exhausting. Ordinarily, gurvani retired to their dens during winter and venture forth only as much as they need to.
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