High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series (61 page)

The charge was powerful.  Three ranks of heavy cavalry plowed into the gurvani like moist turf, their lances flashing in the afternoon sun.  The infantry hesitated while their comrades did their work, and then redoubled their attack on the force that remained standing.

“How many now, Fes?” I asked, tiredly.

“Two thousand . . . two thousand four hundred and twenty six, Magelord,” he reported.  “Give or take.”

“Gentlemen, I’m going to declare victory,” I decided.  “Let’s mop up this mess and get back to the castle to see where else we’re needed.”

*                            *                            *

Of course it wasn’t that simple.  Many of the surviving gurvani broke and fled, leaving their swords and shields behind them.  A few intact units peeled away before we could catch them, and the damned fell hounds proved elusive.

Still, at the end of the day there were at least eight thousand fewer goblins in the world than at the dawn.  Our own casualties were less than a thousand, mostly infantry.  We established an aid station at the castle and a field hospital for the most severely injured.  Those who could be moved we piled into wains and had them escorted south to Pentandra’s command, where they could be properly tended.

All in all the Battle of the Noonday Sun was remarkable mostly because of the large number of High Warmagi who were involved, the most in any engagement of the war to date.  After the battle, I was able to make eleven more High Magi from the stones we recovered from the dead at the camp.  And four more from the warmagi who had fallen in battle.  None of them were friends of mine, which was a relief, but it was a blow nonetheless.

The urge to feast and celebrate our victory was strong, but we confined it to a single toast at an assembly after dark.  We had plenty of Kasari scouts and warmagi patrolling our periphery, and while the long stream of goblins continued to pour in from the north, few of them seemed willing to attack us for some reason. 

I could not let the event stand unrecognized, however.  I had three barrels of wine brought up from stores, and we toasted the puissance of the Dragonslayer, the adept flying of the Hawkmaiden and her squadron, the accuracy of the Alka Alon archers, the bravery of the infantry, and the gallantry of the cavalry.  I also praised Terleman’s command.  We had struck a good blow against Shereul today. 

But the truth was streaming passed our window.  Goblins still ruled northern Gilmora, and they were pushing south, east, and west.  Today was a victory, and one that deserved celebration, but we were exhausted and there was still much to be done.  I bid those not on immediate duty to get some rest.  Then I thanked my commanders, headed back to my quarters, doffed my armor, and called to Alya by Mirror to let her know everyone from Sevendor had survived the battle. She and the baby wished me good night, and I passed out cold on the bed without even removing my bloodied boots.

*                            *                            *

While the baron of Gavard handled the clean up after the battle and the security for the castle, the rest of us tried to figure out just how badly the war was going.  Our victory at Gavard was great, but it was the exception.  I stumbled into the headquarters room the next day at midmorning, having gulped a mug of beer and eaten a crust before I arrived.

Lanse of Bune was already there, going through the dispatches that had arrived in the night.  Terleman had kept the information flowing throughout our entire battle, and even though Lanse had taken a break to play the role of a combat warmagi for the battle, he was back at his diorama at the first opportunity.

I feared the worst when I stared at the three-dimensional map he was fiddling with.  After a few moments, I shook my head to see if I was still dreaming.

“Is this accurate?” I demanded.  The tall, lanky warmage shrugged and took a sip of the nauseating green mountain wine he drank day and night. 

“To the best of my ability,” he offered.  “Those are the reports that have come in.  This is what they look like, once you play them out.”

“But . . . but this can’t be right,” I said, confused.  “There are not nearly enough goblins below the Poros!”

“Noticed that, did you?” he asked, his mouth cocked sardonically.  “Problem is, their column hasn’t stopped.”

“What?”

“They’ve been marching south every second,” he related, taking another sip.  “Scouts north of the river report the last of their rear straggled past them about dawn.”

“So . . . where are they?” I demanded, angrily.

“Don’t get mad at me,” Lanse said, raising his hands.  “I just wiggle the dolls.  That’s what the reports are telling us,” he said, with emphasis.  “The goblins marched south and all of those miles and miles of legions didn’t cross the Poros.”

“Then where the hell are they?” I repeated.

“I don’t know!” he answered, throwing his hands up in the air.  “They aren’t anywhere south of here.  Not many of them, anyway.  The rest . . . poof!” he said, snapping.

“That . . . that can’t be right,” I said, shaking my head.  “Where’s Terl?”

“Right here,” the commander said, stepping up behind me.  “I’ve been up since dawn.  I didn’t believe it, either.  But I went down to the river.  That column used our drawbridge as a ramp right down onto the river.  But they didn’t climb up the other side.”

“Then where did they go?”

“Upriver,” he supplied.  “The majority of them, anyway.  A much smaller force went in the opposite direction, but most of them – over a hundred thousand – went west, not east.”

“West . . . to
where?”
I asked, my mind racing.

He led me over to the map table, where a large hide displaying the rough details of Gilmora was laid out.

“Take your pick,” he offered.  “If they come out here, they can march through western Gilmora, split at the Arenstarath Hills, and invade the southern Castali Riverlands or southern Alshar with equal ease.  Or,” he continued, “they could ravage western Gilmora, move south and east, repeat their frozen river trick here, and march straight to Darkfaller.  And then Castabriel.  Neatly bypassing the sixty thousand troops we have protecting Gilmora from the north.  Or,” he continued, grimly, moving his finger to the east, “they can penetrate western Gilmora here and here, move through southern Gilmora, and take Barrowbell from behind.  Or . . . a hundred other possible ways to send the kingdom into the chamberpot.”

“Gods, I hadn’t even considered that,” I said, my head spinning.  I could feel my sphere bob uneasily behind me.  It sometimes reflected my emotions, if they weren’t under control.  “The river as a road? They’ve turned our best asset against us!  The heart of our economy is based on the river trade, and they just kept us from using it while being able to use it themselves!”

“But where are they going to emerge?” he asked, deep in thought as he studied the map.  “Any guess we make, based on what we would do, has to be wrong,” he reasoned.  “We just don’t have enough information.  I went through the belongings of the priests searching for any intelligence.  Sadly, the gurvani rarely committed orders to writing, so there was precious little to discern.  Whatever their purpose in taking the icy road westward, we just won’t know.  Meanwhile, there are enough goblins still pushing through this hole they’ve left in Gilmora to keep us busy for a lifetime.  The most advanced raiders are already pushing into the eastern baronies!”

“I saw,” I agreed, gnawing my thumbnail.  “Rard’s not going to like that.”

“I can’t say I blame him.  The local people there are prepared for that sort of thing, after the last two years, but we can’t really redeploy any of the forces in northern Gilmora without knowing where that damn column disappeared to!  Do you know how many tributaries the Poros has?  Dozens!  Each one leads to a lucrative barony.  Any one of which would make a wonderful spot to act as a staging area for pretty much whatever the hell Shereul wants to do with us!”

“I know, I know,” I said, thinking furiously.  What the hells were they after?  A quick end to the war?  Maximum casualties?  Strategic advantage?  The richest source of slaves and sacrifices?  Terleman was correct.  Whatever we might think we knew about Shereul’s plans, the only thing we were certain of was that we were wrong.

“Who’s going to explain this to Rard?” he asked, clearly not relishing the duty, but willing to accept it.  Terleman is an ideal soldier.

“I’ll do it,” I decided.  “That’s the unfortunate thing about power.  There’s always some asshole out there with a little more power that you have to explain yourself to.   It was my plan.  It was my failure.  I’ll report it.”

“Good gods, I hope you aren’t going to report it that way!” he said, concerned.  “Min, there was no way of knowing that they’d do that!  Our plan was sound!”

“The enemy just didn’t cooperate,” I agreed.  “I know.  But it was my plan.  I’m responsible, not you.  I’ll take the friction involved.  Besides, breaking bad news to the King is becoming something of a hobby of mine.”

I meant it as a weak joke, but it didn’t go over well, as Terl was distracted by an officer bearing a dispatch through the Mirror.  Terleman read it and I watched as his brow furrowed deeply.  He handed it to me when he was done.

“Good,” he replied.  “Because you get to deliver a double dose.  The watchers in the Penumbra just reported to Megelin Castle that they witnessed dragons leaving the Umbra on the southeastern side. 
Five
dragons,” he said, flatly.  “And they’re headed south.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Stuck In The Ice

“Dragons, now?” King Rard asked in disbelief.  His image was pale the Mirror, and his voice a little faint.  “First the goblins cross the river with impunity, and now there are dragons in the air? 
Five?”

“That is what the reports say, Majesty,” I confirmed, gravely.  “And I’m not any happier about it than you are.”

“I thought you were working on spells to oppose them?” he asked, quickly.

“We are, and we tested some yesterday.  Good results.  But against a siege worm, not a dragon.  Majesty, as big a problem as the dragons are, our more immediate concern is the main goblin army.  While a force of thirty thousand still encamps beyond the Poros, the majority are on the move.”

“Where to?  Gilmora?”

“No.  They used the frozen Poros as a road west.  We know not where their destination lies.  From what we’ve been able to speculate, they could employ it in any number of ways.  None of them favorable to our position.”  But it did explain the need for iron shoes.  The gurvani wouldn’t have needed them simply to cross the Poros.  But to march for an extended period of time on an icy river, they would be necessary.  So much for hindsight.

“But why move west when the bulk of the kingdom’s resources lie to the east?” he asked.

“That’s . . . a very good question, Majesty.  The honest answer is, we don’t know.  Shereul is playing some game we can only guess at.  We’re good at guessing, but this situation is complex.”

“So what is the state of northern Gilmora, now?” he asked, simply.

“The Second Commando was essentially destroyed.  We’re still finding remnants, but most were killed.  The First and Third are holding their areas and are countering the gurvani where they encounter them.  The mercenary army has kept Barrowbell screened from attack, but several bands have slipped through our pickets and are raiding the eastern countryside.  Their human confederate, the one known as Buckler, is leading a force of cavalry – horse cavalry – against select manors, from what we can tell.  All told, there are likely another twenty to thirty thousand goblins loose here.  In addition to the slavers and raiders that were here before.”

“Against our sixty thousand men,” Rard countered.  “I like those odds!”

“If they would condescend to gather and face us in mass, Majesty, I would agree.  But most of our strength is in camps or garrisons.  Concentrated.  Theirs is diffuse.  Our total numbers mean less than what we can muster for any particular engagement.  With a few exceptions, they have avoided our strong points and are attacking our weakest ones.”

“A few hamlets and manors,” he dismissed.  “Save for this mysterious vanishing army and the demise of the Second Commando, we seem to have lost little in this invasion.”  He was trying to be hopeful.  I suppose that was important for a head-of-state.

“Yes, Majesty,” I agreed, rather than try to defend the lives of the people in those hamlets and manors.  “We feel that if we can figure out where the army – and the dragons – have gone, we can redeploy to meet them.  Should we be able to prepare sufficient strength.”

“As to that, you know I’ve sent my son to take command of those reserves upriver from you,” he commented.  “They’re milling around without anything to do, hundreds of miles from the action.  He was eager for some small part in the war, so I felt that leading those men to garrisons in Gilmora would be helpful. “

“Thank you, your Majesty,” I said, nodding, “I’m sure his rank and position will help get them organized.  We’ve heard little from them, save confusion about the Poros their barges were trapped upon.  I’m certain they can be of more use elsewhere.”

That was about as much involvement with military affairs as I wanted from the Royal House.  Of course every high noble also fancied himself an adept military commander and inspiring war leader, but that was rarely the case.  The Prince Heir was a fine gentleman, according to all social standards, but that did not make him a general.  Leading the reserves was the limit of his military usefulness – particularly with his wedding scheduled in a few short weeks.