Forest For The Trees (Book 3) (30 page)

For all that they were commoners from various
scattered corners of the land, he believed that his friends in the Ninth Squad
could do a better job of preparing for a war than what the council was accomplishing. 
They were men who lived and breathed the reality of warfare.

Each council member whittled the afternoon away with
their personal reports, which naturally was of greater significance than all
the others.  Once they each had their say, it went back to Celerity, who
launched a new issue that she, unsurprisingly, proclaimed to be vitally
important.  Ulecia kept sifting her words, restating them in the plain language
a mercenary would have used in the first place, enabling Raymond to keep track
of the actual facts.  Marik felt his eyes drooping from the stuffy heat that
intensified the longer the doors remained shut.

Celerity’s words washed over him without effect until
a distant part of his brain caught her mentioning his name.  He pummeled his
attention to return, focusing until he found every eye in the room directed at
him.  His hurried glance at the chief mage prompted her to add, “I believe this
council is ready to receive the fruits of your labor, Mr. Railson.”

He straightened his posture.  A quick search located
the display he had hurriedly fashioned and left in the council room earlier
that morning.  The pages had shoved it into the furthest curving of the wall to
make room for the civilians who would be crowding the area.

If the council held little love for Delano, that would
be an understatement concerning their regard for Marik the Mercenary.  Only
Raymond and Ulecia looked upon him with the same intent interest they had given
every previous speaker.

“And so?” grunted Tybalt loudly, irritated at Marik’s
hesitation.  “My professional analysts have been working ceaselessly.  I am
most anxious to hear how closely your evaluations will match theirs.”

He is like those dogs herding the cattle,
Marik abruptly associated. 
Barking to make noise
and frighten the cows into staying along the path they want.
  Well, he
certainly was no walking beef roast, trotting down the path of least
resistance, too concerned with the annoyances of the moment to consider what
fate awaited at the path’s end.

“I was asked by…this council,” Marik stated boldly,
hesitating only an instant, “for my opinion about the Arronaths invading our
western border, and what possible actions I thought would be appropriate.”  Not
bad.  Perhaps lacking the eloquence of the other speakers, but he was a
mercenary and refused to be anything else.  “I have no idea what your analysts
have come up with regarding them, knight-marshal, since I have only heard you
reporting on the Noliers.  And your men haven’t shared their thoughts with me
or the enclave’s researchers either.”

Tybalt offered no reaction.  That worried Marik only
slightly.  He had wondered if the implication before the king that Tybalt was
being uncooperative would anger the man.  The knight-marshal would store the
slight in memory, nursing it until the opportunity arose to pay it back.

“That is correct,” Celerity declared with a hint of
ice.  “The concerns of other regions are not yours.  So please inform the
council of your findings relating to these strangers.”

“First of all,” he began, leaving the display where it
lay for the moment, “I think you’ve heard enough information to appreciate that
you can’t fight them the same way you fight the Noliers, or the Tullainians, or
the Perrisans.  Man for man, their soldiers and fighting abilities are not that
different.  It is the fact that they’re
more
than men that I was
supposed to look into.  Or so I understood.”

Raymond nodded.  “And now I would like to hear it
‘from the horse’s mouth’, I believe is the saying.”

Marik returned the nod.  “Every regular army force
that came into contact with the Arronaths was destroyed.  Many didn’t have any
survivors that were able to escape and report what happened to them.”

Tybalt nearly burst with the desire to retort, and was
unable.  Marik had carefully phrased it as ‘regular army forces’ so the
knight-marshal couldn’t muddy the waters by objecting that the special forces
had managed better.  Such as the quickly assembled strike force led by the Arm
of Galemar.

“The Crimson Kings Mercenary Band has fought against
the Arronaths a number of times,” Marik continued.  “Myself included.  I have
firsthand knowledge about their fighting capabilities, their strengths, their
weaknesses, and most importantly what it is to stand feet away from them and
feel the power of their…presence, I suppose is the best word.”

Each councilor maintained their hardened expression. 
To the hells with them.  Marik spoke to King Raymond and Queen Ulecia.

“I learned much on the battlefield.  Since you have
given me the opportunity to work with the royal enclave and speak to the
prisoners, I have confirmed most of our suspicions and uncovered several new
disturbing aspects.  I will start with the beasts they call Taurs, since we are
concerned mostly with them.”

He stood on the far end of the round table, speaking
at a higher level to ensure his voice carried strongly.  “The beasts are
exactly that.  Beasts.  In the lands where the Arronaths come from, Taurs roam
in tribes across the vast southlands.  Apparently it is dry, dusty and flat, an
area wider than a horse could journey in a month.”

“Sounds like half of Tullainia,” Joletta commented. 
She mostly remained quiet throughout the session unless a horse was mentioned
in any context.

“Right,” Marik affirmed.  “That’s the same feeling most
of us had when we spoke to the prisoners.  The Taur tribes war among each other
the way a wolf pack will fight off any foreign pack that enters its territory. 
Except the Taurs aren’t merely mindless animals.”

“I’m certain,” Tybalt allowed, “that they attend
religious services every fifth day and debate philosophy over imported brandy.”

No one laughed, but no one called Tybalt down either. 
“I meant that the Taurs have a level of intelligence.  They live in crude
structures that they build from mud and brush.  One prisoner swore their huts
looked brittle enough to fall over in a slight breeze, but are sturdier than
they look.  Also, they use animal pelts to clothe themselves in a simple
fashion.  They are naturally aggressive and fight barehanded for dominance
among their fellow tribe members.”

“This hardly sounds like a…a race, if you will, who
would ally with anyone, let alone outsiders of a different species,” Rancill
observed.  “Such territorial traits would preclude an ability to welcome
others, to leave their homes to fight alongside strangers, or maintain an
orderly behavior with the humans they work with.”

“That is—” Marik began.

“Not to mention the weapons they wield,” Delano
interjected.  “You say they fight barehanded, yet the facts we already have
seem to put your statement into doubt.”

“One fact does not, alone, create an absolute,
Delano,” Celerity mentioned.  Marik doubted she was supporting him as much as
taking a shot at the quartermaster.  “Because you wore an expensive shirt with
tortoise-shell buttons today, should I infer you wear nothing else on any other
day?”

“My question stands.  Weapons of that size are a
supply nightmare, and it is proven that these Taur creatures are able to use
them to great effect.  How trustworthy is a report that contains
inconsistencies?”

“Let us allow Marik to continue,” Ulecia spoke softly,
“and see whether any loose threads weave into the larger tapestry further
along.”

Marik hesitated.  He could gain no feel for how these
people worked.  Were they being contrary to spite him, or would they be so with
whoever presented the same information?  “The short of it is this.  These Taurs
are no willing comrades of the Arronaths.  Their minds are enslaved through an
application of sorcery that is unknown to those within the enclave who possess
the same talent.”

He faced Magistrate Rancill directly.  “This should
satisfy the facts you know.  The white-robed magic users who travel with the
Taurs are sorcerers trained to control the beasts.  An average white robe can
control two or three Taurs at a time.  A truly skilled one can handle four. 
You should remember the reports of causing mayhem in their ranks by killing the
white robes.  This is why.  When their controllers are killed, the hold over
their minds is shattered.  They are in a killing fury until other controllers
can bring them back under their thumb.”

“I would assume their use of weapons is a reflection
of human dominance over their minds, however such a feat is accomplished,”
Raymond observed.  The comment made Marik pause.  Raymond, as king, was not
generally well-known for astute observation.

Tybalt offered his opinion, preceded by a derisive
snort.  “As informative as this might be, I fail to see any great
accomplishments that my own staff will be unable to achieve once they have time
to interview the prisoners.”

Raymond bestowed a benign expression on his army
commander, letting the man’s words roll off his back like water.  It reminded
Marik that it had originally been the king’s idea to bring the mercenary before
the council, to give him the task of looking for creative solutions.  What did
the crown ruler truly think of him?  As a person worthy of respect or as a
person who simply had luck on his side?

“Their use of weapons might be the result of their
controller’s abilities to make them act outside their natural instincts,” Marik
said, repeating a statement made by Philantha, an enclave esper and whose
sorcery talent was the strongest among the royal group.  “In the end, what it
means is that as long as the white robes are there, the Taurs act as forces of
nature.  They power through the enemy frontlines like a thunderstorm and smash
their organization to pieces.  What the Taurs don’t kill, the human forces
coming in behind finish off.  The white robes stay behind the Taurs to keep
protected.  They aren’t good targets until the battle is in the thick and both
lines begin spreading out.  And then if you do kill the white robes, the crazed
Taurs are a worse threat than ever.  You can’t count on them to retaliate
against the Arronaths.  That means traditional defensive lines are a hazard.  A
different approach is needed to provide the greatest protection against the
Taurs while at the same time providing heightened chances for archers to kill
the white robes before both sides close too much.  If they can be killed at a
distance, then the Taurs will almost certainly slaughter the Arronaths.  They
seem to attack the closest available targets.”

Everyone watched him with eyes holding neither warmth
nor frozen contempt…except perhaps for Raymond’s.  While everyone studied him
as if contemplating his very existence, the king seemed to hold a slightly
different air than when Tybalt or Delano had been speaking.  Marik could put no
precise name to the difference.  Perhaps, if it were possible, King Raymond was
enjoying listening to him speak, whereas it had been part of a day’s work with
the others.  Why would that be?

Or was he wrong about that minute feeling tickling the
back of his brain?  Whatever the king might be thinking, he maintained as
normal an expression as ever.  Marik could not even say for certain why the
king struck him as different.

“I,” Tybalt announced, “for one, am most interested in
a formation that can stop an avalanche without being on the mountainside.”

“As am I,” Raymond added in a pleasant tone at odds
with Tybalt’s.  “Being an experienced warrior, with pinnacle accomplishments to
your name, I would like to hear what your expertise suggests.  No doubt you are
familiar with battlefield realities, and possess a sense for ideas that may
seem ingenious in a war room but which prove fatally flawed in the midst of
combat.”

“Well…”  The king’s words sent a flush through Marik’s
face.  Off balance, he wavered until he saw the renewed ire coursing through
Tybalt.  “Yes, your majesty.  I’ve heard plans from mor—uh, appointed leaders
that went wrong in exactly the way we, or I, predicted it would.  That is to
say, I agree completely.  Many ideas end up not being so good.  After the
fact.”

Flapping a bit cocky again, are we? 
Dietrik’s voice in his mind deepened his flush.  Marik
quickly pushed forward, describing the ideas he had mulled deeply for days.

His basic concepts had changed little.  From his
previous battlefields he had known which methods of facing the black soldiers
and their monsters would be best suited.  New information pouring in through
field reports and deciphered by Minna did little to dissuade him from his
earlier convictions, only helping him forge the specifics.

He spoke for the next two candlemarks about various
ways the small number of available men would best be utilized.  Delano objected
as often as Tybalt, quick to point out that the supplies Marik insisted were
crucial would be unavailable.  Most were already heading eastward, including broken
or ill-kept equipment.  Crossbows became the major sticking point.  The two men
became grudging allies against the mercenary who wanted to rob them blind. 
Several times Marik came close to loosing his temper.

Raymond presided over these discussions in place of
the seneschal or Ulecia.  Rather than shutting the knight-marshal down with a
carefully placed phrase, he only stepped between them when Tybalt verged on
pounding the table to emphasize his shouts.  The longer it went on, the
stronger grew Marik’s certainty that the king wanted to see how well he
performed when confronted by the council.  He was, after all, the man’s prize
pet.  A dog Raymond had brought to Shaw’s ratting pit, hopeful that he had
picked a breed capable of taking out the full compliment of thirty rodents in
the time allotted.