Rise of a Hero (The Farsala Trilogy) (42 page)

Patrius shrugged. “By this time she’s well away, wherever she is.” He didn’t sound sorry about it. “I doubt she brought Sorahb too much information,” he added. “In fairness to the man, Governor Garren isn’t one to discuss sensitive information in front of servants.”

Neither was Patrius, but Kavi had cultivated the acquaintance of several soldiers who would gossip over a tankard of beer, though whether any of them would know the location of the “hidden camp” was another matter.

“I also heard about what happened at Mazad.” Kavi tried to sound consoling, though it was hard. “At least, I heard the rumors.” In fact, he was the one who’d started the rumor, but it had spread like wildfire, without any help from him. “The reality likely isn’t so . . .”

Patrius was staring at him in astonishment. “What happened at Mazad?” he asked.

“You don’t know? I’d have thought . . . Ah, well, what I heard was that Sorahb poisoned the whole camp, and while they were clutching their bellies and groaning, he loaded twenty wagons
with their own supplies, drove them right through Mazad’s front gates, and then escaped before the Hrum could get saddled up to chase him. But likely that’s all exaggerated. You know how rumors are.”

In fact, he’d only claimed eight wagons when he started the rumor, but the next time he heard the tale, the number had risen to fifteen, and the last number he’d heard was forty, with three quarters of the garrison dead into the bargain. But he didn’t want to alarm Patrius unduly.

“I haven’t heard any of this,” said the tactimian. “Are you certain it’s true?”

“Not at all,” said Kavi. “But the way folk are talking, it sounds like something happened.” Why hadn’t Arus reported—

“But why hasn’t Substrategus Arus reported it?” Patrius asked. “I need to check into this. Would you mind staying here, in camp or in the city, for a few days?”

Kavi rubbed his chin, trying to look as if he was doing calculations instead of gloating. “Not at all,” he replied. “Not at all.”

A
COURIER WITH A GOOD MOUNT
could reach Mazad in just three days, so Kavi was half expecting
it when, in the late afternoon of the sixth day, Patrius summoned him to meet with the governor.

In truth, he’d gotten restive by that time. The soldiers were aware that siege towers were under construction somewhere, but no one seemed to know where. It was being kept secret, they said, for fear that Sorahb might attack the place. Garren’s army was already stretched thin trying to intimidate the towns that were threatening to rebel in the west, and having to suppress the rebels at Dugaz—they couldn’t afford to put additional forces into the hidden camp.

So why didn’t Garren send for more troops? The soldiers were asking that same question, with even more intensity than Kavi.

Kavi brought up the subject in a conversation with Patrius, and the tactimian’s lips pressed tight. “He won’t summon more troops.”

Not “he can’t,” Kavi noted. But not “he doesn’t want to,” either.

“I’ve gathered that he’s not doing it,” said Kavi. “I was wondering why? Seems to me you people could use them.”

“We could,” said Patrius. “But he won’t. We’ll make do with ten tacti. We’ll—”

He broke off, but Kavi thought he knew how the sentence would have ended.
We’ll have to.

This was information worth passing on to Commander Siddas, but it occurred to Kavi that Soraya had spent months in the Hrum camp, as invisible as a mouse in the corner. She might know something about why Garren wasn’t sending for troops, maybe even something about where this hidden camp might be. If she didn’t, Kavi could put out word along the road that “Sorahb” needed to know. He was certain the local people would know of the Hrum’s presence at this secret place, though they might not know what was being built there.

He hesitated to do that if he didn’t have to—the wider the word of his interest spread, the more likely that the Hrum would hear of it too. If they did, the number of guards in that camp would double, despite the shortage of troops. Yes, he needed to talk to Soraya first, and his desire to set about it made him wonder if the Hrum’s fast courier had taken root somewhere.

At least the delay had let him go into Setesafon and spend some time with Nadi, Hama, and Sim. Kavi wanted to make sure that they’d convinced
Ludo that the conversation he’d overheard had to do with something else, and that they had no interest in Hrum documents.

Still, Kavi was more than ready as he accompanied Patrius to the governor’s quarters that evening—though he was always careful in Garren’s presence. No one took that man for a fool.

Dozens of other officers had assembled as well. Kavi couldn’t be sure, but he thought there was a tense, resentful air about them—like a staff of journeymen and apprentices who expect to be rebuked for some failure in the shop, which might or might not have been their fault. Sign of a bad master, that. But Garren had always struck Kavi as a very bad master indeed.

The governor entered abruptly from the door to his private room and looked around till he found Patrius.

“You first, Tactimian,” he said. “Let them know how I learned of an attack on a unit of this army.”

His voice sent a chill down Kavi’s spine. Garren might not lash out in anger, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel it.

“This man is a peddler,” said Patrius in Faran, “who sometimes brings us news. He came to me some days ago, to report a rumor he had heard.”

He gestured to Kavi, who drew a breath and stepped forward. “I heard in the countryside that someone had poisoned the army besieging Mazad.” He spoke in Faran too, since he wasn’t supposed to know Hrum. Though he thought that by this time several of the men present suspected that he understood some of the language, at least, and Patrius knew he did. “Rumor claims that someone then drove a shipment of food into the city, though reports vary widely concerning how many wagons there were.”

He nodded humbly and stepped back. There. Clear, concise, and true—for he saw no need to enflame Garren’s temper by mentioning either Sorahb’s name, or how heartily the country folk had laughed.

“This,” said Garren into the silence that followed. “This is how the Hrum high command learned of the attack—from rumors spread by peasants, days after the fact. Which is why I’m ordering Substrategus Arus’ return. He can take a few deci and chase after those bandits in the swamp. If he
captures them, he may redeem himself in my eyes. If not . . .” He shrugged, and several officers winced.

No one in the room, Kavi noted, seemed particularly disturbed by Arus’ fall from grace.

A red-bearded substrategus whom he’d noticed before stirred. “If you want Arus to bring any of his men back, you’d better give him a few centris, instead of a few deci. Besides, it’s time we did something about those bandits.”

Garren’s lips tightened, but he nodded assent.

Kavi wasn’t sure if he was pleased or not. Arus was fairly incompetent, which had been good for Mazad. On the other hand those Dugaz cutthroats would run rings around him, which might also be good. But best of all, Garren showed no sign of ordering Kavi out of the room now that his part was done. Kavi tried very hard to become invisible.

“I’m sending Tactimian Laon to replace him,” Garren went on. “At least until we’re ready for our assault.”

By the sour look on Patrius’ face, Laon was no improvement on Arus, but . . .
Ready for our assault?
Did that mean, when the siege towers were complete?
Was there any chance the man would announce a date?

“Sir, might I ask what happened at Mazad?” The man who spoke sounded a bit more timid than a substrategus should, in Kavi’s opinion.

“What happened at Mazad?” Garren’s mouth tightened. “A patrol confiscated five wagonloads of beer that turned out to contain some strong emetic, which afflicted a large portion of the camp. In the resulting confusion, the Farsalans who drove the wagons disguised themselves as Hrum soldiers, loaded their wagons with our supplies, and drove straight through Mazad’s front gates. So even if Mazad had been starving, it wouldn’t be now.”

“But it wasn’t poison—or at least, not strong enough to kill?” another officer asked. “The garrison survived?”

“No one was killed,” Garren confirmed. “At least, according to that . . . to Substrategus Arus.”

“Didn’t their ordnancer check the casks?” a female officer asked. “I thought all purchases from local merchants were supposed to be carefully examined, and tested if necessary, to prevent this kind of thing.”

Kavi barely controlled a start of surprise. This was the first he’d heard of that. His whole plan would have toppled like a pile of blocks if—

“Sometimes those precautions aren’t taken,” another man admitted reluctantly, “as a matter of common sense. If grain is drawn from a bin, for instance, when the merchant had no way to suspect we were about to make a purchase. Or if it’s a merchant we’ve dealt with often, who’s proved reliable.”

Garren’s brows rose. “That’s interesting,” he said mildly. “Arus’ ordnancer offered similar excuses. The mark on the casks was familiar to him, though close examination proved it a forgery. And since the load was confiscated, he assumed there was no reason to test it for poison. But neither of those excuses stopped me from ordering the man flogged for his negligence. So I advise you, Ordnancer Reevus, to start obeying our policies, which were instituted for a reason, and to send out an order for other ordnancers to do the same.”

Kavi winced. Was this his fault? Garren’s? Both?

Patrius’ spine straightened, and he drew a breath. “Sir, isn’t that . . . extreme? If the forgery
was a good one, and especially since the load was confiscated, the ordnancer had no reason to be suspicious.”

Garren looked steadily at the tactimian. “Do you question my right to discipline this army as I see fit?”

Several officers stiffened at the words, though Kavi didn’t know why. “No, sir,” said Patrius stubbornly. “But surely—”

The officer who stood behind him reached out and gripped his elbow, hard. Patrius paused, then drew another breath. “No, sir.”

“Good.” Garren’s voice was very soft, but Kavi wasn’t the only one who shivered. “Substrategus Arus, his ordnancer, his whole command, are really guilty of the same error, when you come to the root of it: They underestimated the enemy. We’ve all been guilty of that, gentlemen, even me. And in time of war, that’s the most dangerous, most fatal mistake an officer can make.”

His gaze moved over the room, meeting men’s eyes. Kavi looked down. He wouldn’t draw Garren’s attention now for a whole right hand, and the secret of watersteel thrown into the bargain.

“That stops here,” Garren went on. “Work on the siege towers is behind schedule, for they haven’t enough men, so every tactimian in the army will order twenty of their carpenters to report to that project. What goes undone because of their absence goes undone. I realize that most of the soldiers’ cabins are still unfinished, but Hrum armies have wintered in tents before, and can do so again. When the towers are completed, the assault on Mazad will begin—and I have no doubt of its success.”

If Governor Nehar’s men opened the gates for them, Kavi didn’t doubt it either. Even if the governor was taken out of the game, those siege towers might do the job on their own. Kavi considered following the carpenters to the hidden camp, but the odds that he could remain undetected, day after day, were low. If he had to, he could probably follow their route by asking in the towns and villages if they’d passed through, and in which direction they’d departed. He wouldn’t know where they’d gone after they left the road, but once he was in the vicinity of the hidden camp, the local people could probably help him find it.

“We might also consider sending more men to
Mazad,” said Red-beard. “Siege towers still need men to man them, and if Sorahb continues to attack the garrison . . . If they’d been ruthless enough to use real poison, there would no longer be a siege at Mazad. And I don’t understand why they didn’t attack the camp while the majority of the men were ill. It would have given them a powerful advantage.”

There hadn’t been real poison, or an attack, because Kavi didn’t want more deaths on his conscience—he was still trying to redeem himself for the last lot!

“They may have planned just that,” said Garren. “But the centrimaster who took charge when Arus was incapacitated had the good sense to recall the night patrols to defend the camp. Because they were on duty, they hadn’t drunk the poisoned beer, and they probably returned too swiftly for Sorahb to take advantage of the situation. But that brings me to the final thing we must accomplish.” Garren’s voice was hard. “I’ve heard some say that Sorahb is no more than a nuisance to us, but it’s a nuisance I will tolerate no longer.”

His gaze swept the crowd again, and settled
on Patrius. “Tactimian Patrius, how many centris are left in your tacti?”

“Only four, Governor.” If Patrius resented it, it didn’t show in his voice, but Kavi blinked. He’d known Garren was splitting units off from the tacti for different duties, but over half of Patrius’ command was gone.

“Hmm,” said Garren. “Still, it should be enough to handle this. In fact, a small, elite strike force might be better.”

Might.
Kavi felt a pang of pity for his friend.

“Your task, Tactimian, is to hunt down Sorahb. Capture him if you can, but kill him if it’s necessary.”

You will criticize the governor in public meetings.

Patrius had too much discipline to flinch. “May I recall at least part of my tacti, sir? I know the estimates of the force that first attacked the garrison at Mazad weren’t reliable, but their best guess was that Sorahb had almost a full tacti himself.”

“Yes, but they were also pathetically unskilled fighters,” said Garren. “With the result that the garrison, though badly outnumbered, killed or captured almost two hundred of them. Are your men less well-trained than those of Substrategus Arus?”

“No, sir, but I’m not sure it’s safe to assume that Sorahb hasn’t done any training, or replaced those men in the last three months. I would not wish to underestimate my enemy.”