Hell's Foundations Quiver (49 page)

“The thought had crossed my own mind,” Rainbow Waters acknowledged, pouring fresh tea into Walkyr's cup with his own hands. “On the other hand, the specially designed hand bombs aren't the easiest things to make.”

He raised one eyebrow across the teapot, still held in midair, and Walkyr nodded.

“I take your point, My Lord. And I imagine Vicar Allayn will be delighted to give them priority at the powder mills once he reads my report.”

“Excellent!”

Rainbow Waters set the teapot aside, and Walkyr sipped from the tissue-thin porcelain cup. The smaller hand bombs the slingers preferred were, indeed, ovoid in shape. They also consisted of old-fashioned musket balls embedded in a matrix of pitch and cored with a small powder charge. The most effective ones used the new primer caps the Inquisition had approved for production, but caps were in short supply for the Mighty Host of God and the Archangels, and virtually all of the ones the Harchongians had received were earmarked for the new-build St. Kylmahn breechloaders they'd been issued. A second variety, like the standard hand bombs the Church had begun producing after the heretics used them against her defenders in battle, had to be lit with a length of slow match, instead. That worked, but it also meant that each slinger had to be paired with someone to light—and, if necessary, cut—the fuses before they were slung at the enemy.

“I'm glad I was able to see your demonstration in person,” he said, setting the cup back on its saucer. “I don't think a written report would have done it justice.”

“I admit I wanted you to see it without any … preconceptions, shall we say?” Rainbow Waters smiled. “That was how my nephew demonstrated it to me, in fact.”

Walkyr smiled back. The lord of horse's nephew—Medyng Hwojahn, the Baron of Wind Song—was a captain of horse, roughly equivalent to an Army of God colonel. He was also Rainbow Waters' senior aide and adjutant. He didn't appear to be quite as intelligent as his uncle, but he possessed abundant energy and he was meticulously organized. Even more importantly, perhaps, he shared the earl's awareness of why it had been so vital to reorganize and rearm the Mighty Host. No wonder both he and his uncle had been so delighted by the possibility of demonstrating the effectiveness of their new technique.

But then, slowly, Walkyr's smile faded into a more sober expression. Rainbow Waters watched it happen and sat back in his own chair.

“May I presume, Your Eminence, that we're about to come to the primary reason for your visit?”

“You may.”

The archbishop militant sighed, and Rainbow Waters chuckled softly.

“I suspect I might be able to guess at least a part of your purpose, Your Eminence,” he said almost gently. “It's two thousand miles from Zion to Mahzgyr, after all. Not the sort of journey Vicar Allayn's chief assistant is likely to make in the middle of winter without some pressing motivation.”

“I'm afraid you're right about that,” Walkyr conceded wryly with a shudder which wasn't at all feigned. He was fortunate he'd been able to make almost the entire journey across the frozen lakes, canals, and rivers by iceboat, but it had still been an exhausting—and frigid—ordeal. “And the distance I had to come is rather relevant to the
reason
I came, I'm afraid.”

“You're worried about the heretic Green Valley,” Rainbow Waters said, and Walkyr's estimate of the Harchongian's intellect revised itself upward yet again.

“Precisely,” he acknowledged. “The fact is, unfortunately, that we're … less informed than we'd like about his movements. In fact, we don't have any idea where he is at the moment! Bishop Gorthyk's in communication with Bishop Militant Bahrnabai by messenger wyvern, but he reports that the heretic troops currently investing Fairkyn appear to consist almost entirely of Siddarmarkians. They're supported by at least some Charisian artillery, and some of the Charisians' mounted troops are in the area, as well, but Green Valley himself is nowhere to be seen. And that, My Lord, makes us nervous.”

“If you'll forgive me for pointing this out, Your Eminence, you must have been well on your way to Mahzgyr before Bishop Gorthyk reported that.”

“Once again, you're absolutely right.” Walkyr shrugged. “The reason I was initially dispatched was to form a firsthand opinion of the Mighty Host's readiness for combat. The reports we've had from you and officers like Colonel Krestmyn have made it clear how hard the majority of your officers and men are working—and that they've made enormous progress—but I hope you'll forgive my frankness when I say they've also made it apparent not all of your officers are fully supportive of your efforts even now.”

It was Rainbow Waters' turn to sigh, and he nodded. He obviously didn't like agreeing, but his atypical (for a Harchongese noble) willingness to admit the truth was one of the things Allayn Maigwair and Gustyv Walkyr most valued about him.

“That was only a part of the reason I came,” the archbishop militant continued. “Frankly, one reason our current ignorance of Green Valley's position concerns us so deeply is the degree of mobility the heretics have demonstrated. We'd given some thought to ski-equipped or snowshoe-equipped infantry, but not on anything like the scale the heretics appear to have undertaken. Our men are neither equipped nor trained for movement in this sort of weather. In fact, the only troops who might be capable of that sort of movement—”

“—are my Harchongians,” the earl said, and Walkyr nodded again.

“Vicar Allayn and Vicar Rhobair realize that sort of movement at this time of year was never anything they discussed with you or your superiors, My Lord. And the last thing either of them wants is for you to lose men to frostbite and freezing. But at this moment, your headquarters are the better part of four thousand miles from Guarnak. Even before Green Valley's heretics … disappeared, that meant it would take the Mighty Host over two months to cover the distance by canal boat. Obviously, trying to move you or any substantial proportion of your troops when everything's frozen will only make that even worse. But every mile closer to Guarnak that you could get before the canals thaw might well be priceless.”

Rainbow Waters frowned thoughtfully, toying with his salad fork while he considered his response, and Walkyr sat back in his own chair. Maigwair's dispatches had overtaken him less than a five-day from Mahzgyr, and the Captain General's sense of urgency had come through clearly. Yet his instructions for Walkyr to be careful how he pushed Rainbow Waters had been explicit and very, very unambiguous. The Mighty Host of God and the Archangels had always been the largest single force at Mother Church's command. Now, against all logical expectation, it had been transformed into what was almost certainly also the most powerful and effective of those forces. The last thing Maigwair wanted was for a Harchongese Duke of Harless to overpromise what he could do and march the Mighty Host into the same sort of starvation, with frostbite as a garnish. If—
if
—Rainbow Waters could begin moving towards the front without killing his own men in the process, the Captain General wanted him underway as soon as possible, but there was no point marching a force twenty times the Army of the Sylmahn's size into exactly the same trap.

“It distresses me to say so, Your Eminence, but I couldn't possibly move any large proportion of the entire Host under these conditions.” The regret in Rainbow Waters' voice was genuine, Walkyr realized. “While it's true my men are more winter hardened than the majority of Easterners, not even they could move with the sort of … facility of which the heretics appear capable. On the other hand, my own reading of the reports coming back from Fairkyn and from Bishop Militant Bahrnabai suggest that not even the heretics'
entire
army is equally capable of movement and combat under these conditions.”

His tone made the last sentence a question, and Walkyr nodded.

“Their entire force seems to be able to move far better than we ever anticipated, My Lord. But you're right. The reports we've received so far suggest that Green Valley used only a portion—probably less than half—of his total strength in his attacks on Esthyr's Abbey, Saint Zhana, and Saint Tyldyn. Whether that's because only the troops he's using are truly trained and equipped for arctic combat or because his ability to move supplies is more constrained than his ability to move
troops
is more than we've been able to determine, but Vicar Allayn is leaning towards the former.”

“I'm inclined to agree,” Rainbow Waters said. “And that's really the problem the Mighty Host would face. To be perfectly honest, Your Eminence,
none
of my men are truly trained to fight under these conditions. If I demanded it of them, they'd do their best and probably be more capable than my own fears suggest. But the problem of keeping them supplied isn't precisely a minor one, either. Especially not when it would be impossible to supply them by foraging.”

Walkyr managed not to grimace. The mere thought of turning a Harchongese army loose to forage on the Temple Lands and Border States was enough to terrify anyone, especially at this time of year. Very few of the towns, villages, and farms in North Haven would have any food to spare this late into winter, and when starving civilians found themselves oppressed by a starving soldiery—especially a starving
foreign
soldiery—the only question would be
how
disastrous the outcome would be. And even if that hadn't been true, once the Host crossed into Siddarmark, there simply wouldn't be any towns or villages to be pillaged in the first place. Not in the Sword of Schueler's wake.

“So you don't believe it would be possible at this time?” he asked heavily.

“That's not precisely what I said, Your Eminence. I said I couldn't move any
large proportion
of the total Host under these circumstances. But even a very small proportion of a million men is a substantial force. I believe I could probably put as many as fifty thousand—possibly sixty thousand—into motion towards Guarnak within the five-day. That would be dependent upon Vicar Rhobair finding the additional snow lizards or mountain dragons to support their move, of course. And I doubt that even following the canals and rivers they could make good much over ten or twelve miles per day. It would also require me to divert a lot of my tentage and fuel, which would have consequences when it's time for the rest of the Host to advance. But it's now early April; it will be early June before the canal and river ice begins to break up. Even at only ten miles a day, my detachment could be six or seven hundred miles closer to Guarnak by then, and I could start with Baron Falling Rock. I'd like to be able to tell you we could accomplish more than that, and if we find we can, we certainly will. The last thing Vicar Allayn or Mother Church needs, however, would be for me to assure you I can accomplish more than I believe is possible and end up throwing away the weapon we've spent all winter forging.”

Walkyr's eyes widened.

“That's far better than I anticipated you might be able to accomplish, My Lord,” he said frankly. “With your permission, I'll transmit your comments to Vicar Allayn immediately.”

“Of course, Your Eminence.” Rainbow Waters gave the archbishop militant a seated bow. “The burden Mother Church and the Archangels have placed upon our shoulders is a heavy one, but it's also the most honorable and important burden which could ever be entrusted to mortal men. What I can do, I will, and so will the men of the Mighty Host.”

*   *   *

“—will the men of the Mighty Host.”

Well,
that's
certainly a pain in the arse
, Kynt Clareyk thought grumpily as he finished viewing the SNARC report.
Bad enough the damned Host got itself reorganized and rearmed—did they really have to find it a competent
commanding officer,
too?

He growled an unpleasant word under his breath and sat back in his camp chair, holding a mug of hot tea between his palms. A strong and still-strengthening wind blustered around his tent, and Owl's remotes promised at least thirty hours of fresh snowfall. Fortunately, while it might be steady, it didn't look as if it would be very heavy. The AI's forecast called for accumulations of no more than ten inches or so, but it was still going to slow his progress until it cleared.

At the moment, he was over two hundred miles southeast of Ohlarn, and the good news was that he'd pounced on the largely deserted town before anyone realized he was coming. His scout snipers and mounted infantry had snapped up its shivering, understrength garrison and the relative handful of remaining civilians—after cutting the semaphore chain west of the town—in the middle of the night. The astounded defenders had never managed to get a message out, and ski-equipped scout snipers, moving all but invisibly in the short days and poor visibility, had swept on ahead of his main body. They'd bypassed semaphore stations which might have seen them coming in daylight and struck repeatedly in darkness, chopping the chain into disconnected bits and pieces incapable of warning anyone else his main body was coming. It was unlikely he'd be able to keep that up forever, but it
was
likely he'd make good at least another couple of hundred miles before the Church realized what was happening.

But they've done a better job of figuring out what
might
be happening than I like
, he acknowledged.
And Rainbow Waters is a hell of a lot smarter than anybody else they've tried in command of the Mighty Host. I think he's being a little pessimistic about how far he'll be able to move in a day, too. And if he
does
start with Falling Rock
.…

The sheer size of the Harchongese army had required Rhobair Duchairn to split it up between encampments, if only because of hygiene considerations. There were over a dozen of those camps threaded along more than a thousand miles of canal and river, and Gwainmyn Yiangszhu, the Baron of Falling Rock, commanded the easternmost of them all, located outside the city of Watermeet, at the confluence of the Sabana River and the Holy Langhorne Canal. Even assuming Rainbow Waters' estimate wasn't pessimistic, Falling Rock would be more than two-thirds of the way across the Earldom of Usher by the time the ice melted. That was still a long way from Guarnak or Five Forks, but it was more than halfway to Lake City in Tarikah, and that was a lot closer than Green Valley wanted fifty or sixty thousand new-model Harchongese soldiers.