Hell's Foundations Quiver (29 page)

Cahnyr was scarcely a trained military man, but he'd become unhappily familiar with the grim realities of campaigns, logistics, and winter weather. He was frankly astonished by the Imperial Charisian Army's ability to move supplies and men through the heart of a mainland winter, yet he'd come to realize even they were unable to properly support two winter offensives simultaneously, and so Symkyn's Army of the Daivyn had gone into winter quarters while Green Valley moved against the Army of the Sylmahn.

It must be especially galling to Symkyn given the way Duke Eastshare, with less than a quarter of the Army of the Daivyn's current strength, had driven the Army of Glacierheart over two hundred miles in reeling retreat. By the time Symkyn had moved up to reinforce the two lonely brigades—one Charisian and one of rifle-armed Siddarmarkian regulars—and militia Eastshare had left to keep an eye on Cahnyr Kaitswyrth's demoralized command, weather had ruled out any fresh offensive. According to their spies' reports, Kaitswyrth's men were enduring a far more wretched winter than Symkyn's, but they were immensely better off than Bishop Militant Bahrnabai's Army of the Sylmahn, and they'd had months to improve their present positions before the freeze set in.

“Please, be seated, all of you,” Cahnyr invited.

He waved at the other three camp chairs around the table, but he wasn't surprised when only Symkyn accepted his invitation. The young, golden-haired captain stood at his general's right shoulder, while the civilian—shorter than either of the Chisholm-born officers—stood to the general's left with a faint smile. He was dark-haired and dark-complexioned, in distinct contrast to the Charisians, but his eyes were blue and even darker than the captain's.

“Allow me to present my aide, Captain Wytykair, Your Eminence.” Symkyn gestured at the captain, who bent and kissed Cahnyr's ring. “And this is
Seijin
Ganieda Cysgodol, another of
Seijin
Merlin and
Seijin
Ahbraim's fellows.”

“Your Eminence,” Cysgodol murmured, bending to kiss the ring in turn. “It's an honor to meet you.”

“The honor is mine,
Seijin
,” Cahnyr replied seriously.

He was only too well aware of how much his own survival—and Aivah Pahrsahn's—owed to the intervention of other
seijins
, although this one seemed rather on the small side, compared to the descriptions of Merlin Athrawes and Ahbraim Zhevons. Indeed, he was almost diminutive next to the two Charisians, although there was nothing remotely fragile about him.

“Happens your timing was good in at least one respect, Your Eminence,” Symkyn said. “I'd no idea
Seijin
Ganieda was in the area. As you know,” the general smiled thinly, “
seijins
come and go as they please. Or might be I should say they come and go as they're needed. Any wise,
Seijin
Ganieda's just brought us a fresh evaluation of Kaitswyrth's troops and their positions.”

“Indeed?” Cahnyr cocked his head, raising one eyebrow at the
seijin
.

“Yes, Your Eminence.” Cysgodol (whose name, Cahnyr reflected, was as outlandish as most
seijins'
names seemed to be) had a pleasant tenor with a pronounced Westmarch burr. “There isn't much change to report, but we like to keep an eye on the Bishop Militant.” He showed his teeth in a smile even thinner than the general's. “Duke Eastshare gave him a pointed lesson in manners last July, and we want to be certain he took the instruction to heart.”

“I'd gathered he had,” Cahnyr replied. “From the reports reaching Tairys, however, it's sounded to me as if he's recovered at least some of his confidence since July.”

“Aye, he has that,” Symkyn acknowledged. “But
some
confidence's a mite different from
complete
confidence, as you might say, Your Eminence. And the men under his command, they're even more aware than he is of how badly the Duke mauled them.” He shook his head. “He ‘put the scare into them,' as Baron Green Valley likes to put it, the Duke did, and that ‘scare' went deep in their bones. Happen they'll feel it again the next time they see Charisians and Siddarmarkians coming at 'em.”

“The General's right, Your Eminence.” Cysgodol's voice was firm. “Oh, Kaitswyrth's about finished reorganizing his forces. He's disbanded three entire divisions and used their remaining manpower to bring other regiments back up to strength, and despite the weather, his logistics are much better than Wyrshym's. He's received quite a few replacements and at least some reinforcements, even if our reports indicate he hasn't received anywhere near as many of the Church's new rifles. And while his supply situation's nowhere near as good as General Symkyn's, he's managing to keep his men reasonably well fed.”

“Aye, that's true enough,” Symkyn growled. “And those entrenchments of his'll make his muzzleloaders a lot more useful than they'd be out in the open where we could get at 'em. He's had time to throw up decent winter quarters, as well. According to the
Seijin
here, he's still losing men to frostbite, but nowhere near so many as the Army of the Sylmahn seems to be losing.” He grimaced. “Now, I'd not wish frozen fingers and feet on any man—not normally, at least—but I've a bone to pick with the Temple Boys, and I'm finding it just a bit harder to feel the sympathy for my fellow man the
Writ
says I should.”

“A failing I fear I share with you, General.”

There was an edge of genuine regret in Cahnyr's tone, but only an edge. The
Writ
taught that the Archangels despised hypocrisy, and he'd gotten to know Mahrtyn Taisyn before the Charisian brigadier marched to his death defending Glacierheart. He'd been a dedicated and courageous man who'd laid down his life and those of the men he'd commanded in defense of the innocent, as the
Writ
itself enjoined, and Cahnyr had decreed a daily mass in Tairys Cathedral for the souls of all his men. It had shocked but not really surprised the archbishop when he'd discovered just how much vengeful satisfaction he'd taken from knowing how many of the inquisitors who'd overseen the massacre of Taisyn's men had suffered the penalty Cayleb and Sharleyan of Charis had decreed for them. And he'd discovered since that Symkyn had also known Taisyn well, if not as well as he knew Green Valley … which was going to be a very bad thing for the Army of Glacierheart in the fullness of time.

“The biggest problem, Your Eminence,” the general went on, crooking the first two fingers of his right hand at Captain Wytykair, “is that there's a damned good reason—pardon my plain speaking—Kaitswyrth stopped where he did.”

Wytykair unrolled the map under his arm in response to his commander's gesture. It showed considerably more detail of the two armies' positions than anything Cahnyr had previously seen. It was also too big for the young man to manage on his own once it was unrolled, so Cysgodol helped him spread it where it would be visible to both Symkyn and the archbishop.

“As you can see, Your Eminence,” Symkyn continued, “Kaitswyrth's total frontage is broader than he'd like, I'm sure. It's about sixty miles, north to south, but his left is anchored on the marshes between Stylmyn and Gyrdahn and his right's anchored on Tyrath down here to the south.” The general grimaced. “Those marshes're impossible for even our supply columns, and they cover his left for over thirty miles. And as for Tyrath, it's not much of a village, but it sits right on the only secondary road connecting the Haiderberg-Sangyr High Road to the Sangyr-Aivahnstyn High Road. Once the snow melts—or even sooner, might be, if I pushed hard—I could hook down to turn his right flank. But to speak truth, there's not so good a chance I could actually rupture his front the way the Duke did. And even if I flanked him, he'd still have the interior line to fall back on Aivahnstyn. Now, that'd be a sight better than leaving him where he is, but what we really want is to finish the bugger once and for all.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea to me, General,” Cahnyr murmured, and Symkyn flashed him a predatory grin.

“Well, I do believe we might be in the way of doing that little thing in another couple of months, Your Eminence.” He tapped the map symbols indicating his own forward positions. “At the moment, I've only my First Corps all the way forward. That's the two infantry divisions and the Seventh Mounted. Well, and the one battalion of scout snipers, plus artillery. More than enough to keep those sorry bastards huddling in their holes after what the Duke did to 'em last summer, any road.”

He did not, Cahnyr noted, apologize for his language this time. Which suited the archbishop just fine.

“Course, technically he's still got us outnumbered 'bout three-to-two, maybe a bit better, and according to the
Seijin
here—” Symkyn twitched his head at Cysgodol “—they've another thirty thousand or so marked to reinforce him from the reserve they've been building up and arming in Tanshar, as soon as ever they think his supply line'll support them. Meanwhile, he's digging in even deeper, and there's another thirty, maybe forty thousand militia and regulars gathering in Westmarch and the Border States—especially in Usher and Jhurlahnk—to support him. Mind, Your Eminence, they're the usual odds and sods with crappy weapons. Well, aside from the Jhurlahnkians and Usherites, at least. Prince Grygory's army's no more'n nine thousand strong, but Earl Usher's is probably half again that large, and both the Jhurlahnkians and Usherites're almost as good as Temple Boy regulars.”

“Probably better than the units Kaitswyrth's put back together out of bits and pieces of other ones, actually, Your Eminence,” Cysgodol put in with a grimace. “Their morale's a lot higher, anyway! And both of them have managed to hang on to more of their own rifles than the other Border States.” The grimace turned into a smile. “Partly because Usher has more manufactories than almost any other Border State and built the rifles for Jhurlahnk as well as its own army, but mostly by pointing out—loudly—just how close General Symkyn here is to their borders. Of course, the other side of that coin is the Group of Four's insistence that they support Kaitswyrth in the spring.”

“That's true enough, Your Eminence,” Symkyn agreed. “And if we sit and let them do all that, Kaitswyrth'll be back up to somewhere above two hundred and fifty thousand men by the time they finish. Which'd be close to three times my strength, even with both corps up.”

“I see.”

Cahnyr hoped his tone didn't sound as … thoughtful as he was afraid it did. This was the first he'd heard of any Border State forces being placed under the Army of God's command. It was also the first he'd heard about the Army of the Daivyn being outnumbered by that large a margin. From the glint in Symkyn's eye, he felt reasonably confident the general had detected a certain trepidation on his part.

“As it happens, Your Eminence, that's one of the main reasons I don't plan on attacking the Bishop Militant until spring. We want those extra militia and all that Border State infantry up at the front.”

“Excuse me?” Cahnyr blinked, and this time Symkyn actually chuckled.

“Your Eminence, there's a reason I've been sitting right here, and why I've kept half my strength far enough back Kaitswyrth couldn't see it even if he was trying to get patrols across the line. In fact, it's the same reason Duke Eastshare's headed north from the South March right this minute instead of moving on to the west behind Earl Hanth.”

“He is?” Cahnyr wondered if he sounded like a village idiot, but surprise had startled the question out of him.

“Aye, that he is, Your Eminence. Happen he'll need to refit his troops over the next month or two—they've done some hard marching and fighting in rain and knee-deep mud—and we'll be using the rest of the hard freeze to sled more supplies up the rivers and canals from the coast before the mud sets in north of the Branaths, as well. We'll not have nearly so many of the new rifles as Baron Green Valley, but like the
Seijin
here says, Kaitswyrth's gotten damn all of the Temple Boys' new rifles, either. More to the point, though, happen that however many rifles he might get by then, betwixt the Army of the Daivyn, Earl High Mount's Army of Cliff Peak, and the Army of the Branaths, we'll have three times his present manpower—maybe more, if the Lord Protector's able to send up as many divisions as Lord Daryus hopes he'll be. Between us, we'll have four brigades of mounted infantry, as well. That means we'll actually have more troops than he does, maybe half again as many, even after his reinforcements come in, with Charisian artillery in support, and the equivalent of two full divisions of mounted infantry to sweep around his flanks and cut the roads and canals in his rear.”

The general's smile was distinctly unpleasant now, and Cahnyr felt himself smiling back.

“Give us those numbers under the Duke's command, and that bastard Kaitswyrth'll never know what hit him, Your Eminence. Earl High Mount'll go north, around the marshes, send a column for Marylys, and take his main body straight for Aivahnstyn. At the same time, Duke Eastshare'll go south and flank Tyrath hard enough to pin Kaitswyrth's right. And while
they
do that, Your Eminence, happen the Army of the Daivyn will smash right through the bastards' front and the three of us'll do to the Army of Glacierheart what Duke Eastshare and Earl High Mount did to the Army of Shiloh.”

The Chisholmian sat back in his chair, his eyes hard and bright.

“Happen even that rat bastard Clyntahn'll start to get the message once we've chopped another quarter million Temple Boys into sausage. And if it should happen he doesn't, well—” he shrugged “—there's always what's about to happen to Wyrshym to make it plain enough even for him!”