The Forging of the Dragon (Wizard and Dragon Book 1) (17 page)

“Did the king name the city after himself or is he named for the city?”

“The capital always bears the name of the dynasty in power. Try not to interrupt; we’ve little time to prepare.” Seagryn felt his face flush, but Chaom didn’t see it as he ran his pointer along a heavy blue line of tightly woven threads and continued, “This is the river. Here’s Tunyial Falls. Here’s the tributary Yost brought you and Dark down. And here —” Chaom tapped the line of the river a finger’s breadth to the east of Haranamous “— is the armada of Jarnel — more than a hundred war boats of the kind Yost said you demolished, each one crewed by thirty oarsmen and capable of bearing a hundred warriors. They’re escorted by an armored cavalry of a thousand men on either side of the river. There’s nothing to stop their advance save the remains of my army, currently about four thousand strong but likely to shrink again as soon as the pyralu standard is sighted. We’ll not stop them through a direct confrontation. Our only hope is in subterfuge. Now this is what I want of you.”

Chaom proceeded then to outline a plan of action Seagryn never heard. His mind had moved onto the blue and green weave of the map, and — following Nebalath’s lead — his imagination roamed through the tiny trees and rolled down the bright blue waters to a glorious victory. Seagryn had an idea.

“ — in that way. Can you do it?”

Seagryn came out of the map and looked at Chaom. “Do what?”

The warrior scowled. “I thought you were listening. I want you to cloak my force here, on the south side of the Rangsfield Sluice, so that we can shower arrows on each craft as it shoots through. Now. Can you
do
that.”

“Why?” Seagryn asked.

“To defend the capital from an overwhelming attack, that’s why!” Chaom exploded, stepping toward Seagryn to glower down at him. “I thought you were a shaper! Is this the best you can provide?”

Seagryn felt threatened. Old mental mechanisms engaged, and he responded with an intensity that must have surprised the general. “What’s the point of it? To try to whittle down this army before it arrives? You won’t, of course. And what happens when the supporting cavalry on the southern bank circles behind you and begins cutting your people down?”

“You’re cloaking them, remember?” Chaom grumbled without conviction. He knew the plan was flawed, but could think of nothing better.

“As Sheth will be cloaking the flotilla, correct?”

“Correct.” The general nodded. “Do you have a suggestion?”

Seagryn looked up at Chaom and raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “You would listen to the suggestion of an apprentice powershaper?”

Chaom looked back up at the map. “I’d not intended to convey any lack of confidence in your ability.” Then he glanced downward, and turned back to gaze honestly at Seagryn. “I’d not intended to, but I did. Sorry — we warriors tend to be a straightforward lot. I’m ready to hear your ideas.”

Along with his apology, Chaom had given Seagryn something else — responsibility. Indeed, warriors were straightforward — and if Seagryn was to work well with this one, he would have to provide more than criticism. Chaom needed working plans ...

A confident grin lifted the corners of Seagryn’s mouth as he opened his imagination to the possibilities.

Chapter Fourteen

BATTLE IN THE SLUICE

JARNEL was not surprised to find that the army of Arl had moved from the spot where he’d left it. Neither was he surprised that his own tent had been left standing in place, nor that a band of Merritt’s choice warriors waited inside it to arrest him. It did startle him to find a pair of his own advisors among Merritt’s conspirators, and it troubled him to recall how easily he’d been duped into trusting them. He’d not come to be an Arlian prince by birthright or chance — he, too, had struggled to rise within the ranks and he remembered acts of duplicity he had committed to advance his career. He’d thought Merritt had underestimated him. But he in turn had underestimated — forgotten, really — the motivating power of stifled ambition.

“When did they march?” he asked as they took his weapons from him.

“Two days ago, Lord Jarnel,” one of his former advisors answered quietly. “Lord Merritt felt we could wait no longer, and publicly accused you of the double crime of abandoning your command and consorting with the enemy. Announcing that you’d confessed to being a member of the Conspiracy, he demanded that any warriors still loyal to you defend you in your absence. I’m afraid those numbered only a handful, and they soon saw the wisdom of yielding to Merritt’s command.”

“You were one of them, of course?” Jarnel smiled.

“I’m — afraid I was not.”

Jarnel nodded. “The king has been notified of my removal, I take it?”

“We dispatched a boat immediately with the news. Of course, by the time he is actually informed the flotilla will already occupy the Port of Haran.”

“You expect it to happen that easily, do you?” Jarnel chuckled.

“Everyone knows you could have taken their capital weeks ago, Lord Jarnel. I’m afraid your leadership has been questioned by many of your warriors for some time.”

“Well, who can blame them?” Jarnel chuckled again. “Look whom I’ve had as advisors!”

“We counselled attack!” his other advisor broke in angrily, and Jarnel nodded in sad agreement.

“You did indeed. And now it’s launched. You haven’t by chance seen Sheth about?”

“He may already have joined the flotilla.”

“Or he may not. So Merritt attacks the capital of Haran without assurance of a wizard. Marvelous strategy.” Jarnel grinned without humor. “Your advice again?”

“A war boat awaits us,” the first advisor said without expression. “The flotilla is guarded on either side of the river by cavalry and moves slowly to keep pace with its —”

“I know the plans.” Jarnel nodded. “You might recall that I had something to do with forming them.”

“We’ve been instructed to catch up with the attacking force. Shall we go?”

Jarnel shrugged and stepped out of the tent. Several of the waiting warriors now moved quickly to strike it, and moments later they were aboard their craft and launched.

Each war boat had fifteen oars to a side. While not all oars on this vessel were manned, most were. “Care to row?” his former advisor asked Jarnel. The Prince of the Army threw back his head and laughed heartily, then ducked into the boat’s small cabin and found a chair. He needed to think. He had every expectation Merritt’s attack would succeed, and that he and Chaom would be rowing back to Arl together, chained side by side. However, in the unlikely event that it failed, he intended to be prepared. He’d also not become Prince of the Army of Arl by simply waiting for events to take their course ...

The journey of the past few days had been physically and emotionally grueling. He slept in his chair, nodding off to the rhythmic creaking of the oars. They glided swiftly down the river. When he awoke, Jarnel watched with interest as the Haranian farmlands shot past. While he’d not seen these particular farms before, it suddenly struck him how very much like Arlian farms they looked. He managed to convince himself that these people would have little difficulty accommodating to Arlian rule. He could do nothing to prevent it now, in any case, and began to wonder why he’d tried. The pull of the oars and the war boat’s heartbeat rocked him to sleep once again. When he awoke this time, Sheth sat in a chair facing him.

“Did you rest well?” The wizard smirked.

“Yes.” Jarnel nodded. “I dreamed of a world where you were not and found it most refreshing.”

“I’m not surprised you don’t care for this one — having lost your command. Looks like Merritt will be asked to join the Conspiracy in your place. He’s apparently quite well qualified.”

“What Conspiracy?” Jarnel grumbled, clasping his hands behind his head and gazing out the window at Haranamous. “It no longer exists.”

“If it pleases you to believe so, fine.” Sheth shrugged. “Certainly it’s no longer committed to your high ideals. Then again, I wonder if it ever was? Perhaps that was just a bit of — self-deception?”

Jarnel stared out at the river. He could bear this reversal of his personal and professional fortunes much more easily if he didn’t have to endure this insufferable powershaper. “Are you cloaking us?” he asked after a moment.

“I am.” The shaper nodded. “Though I don’t know why I bother, since my old friend Nebalath has retired.”

“There’s the new one who —”

“We’ve had an encounter already.” Sheth snickered, and Jarnel felt his last hopes draining out the bottom of the boat. Very well, he told himself. Time to accept the inevitable.

The sun went down, but they kept on moving. Two hours into the night they reached the tail of the flotilla, moored along the northern bank. They tied up there also, and debarked to camp on the sand. Jarnel had slept so much during the afternoon he had difficulty resting now. He kept his mind occupied with thoughts of powershapers, wondering just how many of these boats a monstrous animal could trample to pieces before being subdued by an aroused army?

It didn’t happen. He awoke the next morning psychologically prepared to witness the destruction of Haran — and of his own career. By midmorning the fleet had reached the narrowing of the river called the Rangsfield Sluice.

As the Great River had carved its way through the countryside eons before, it had been slowed by a strata of very hard rock. It widened out and struggled on through, carving multiple channels through the hard wall, none of them very deep. When people began to navigate the river, they’d been forced to walk around these white-water rapids, and a village had grown up on the more gentle southern bank. Now called Rangsfield, the town had grown rich through its trade with those users of the waterway who were forced to carry their boats through its streets. When, at the height of the One Land, the rulers of the empire had seen the value of building a canal around the rapids, the people of Rangsfield had opposed it bitterly. In a bid to keep at least a part of their business, the population had worked together to dig a sluice on the southerly side of the rocky impasse. Boat traffic could thus pass downriver toward Haran without stopping, although the trip past Rangsfield was a rather wild ride. Traffic bound upriver still had to be carried around, much as was done up at Tunyial Falls, or else was pulled up the sluice by mooser teams. The empire had forgotten them by then, and the town had continued to prosper. The Rangsfield Sluice formed the last physical barrier between the Arlian fleet and the walls of Haran. Jarnel had always assumed Chaom would make this his last line of defense before the city walls themselves. His only question lay in how the Sluice would be defended.

The war boat in which he traveled had been moved toward the front of the flotilla. Jarnel thought he knew why — Merritt wanted him close enough to witness the victory at first hand. Sheth was elsewhere — in a safe place, no doubt. Jarnel had never known the wizard to jeopardize his own safety for the good — or bad — of Arl. It really didn’t matter where a wizard stood, in any case. Success in shaper battle depended solely upon a wizard’s ability to anticipate and neutralize his rival shaper’s acts. If Haran lacked a shaper, Sheth’s presence merely insured that Merritt’s triumph would be more bloody than necessary. When the first five war boats shot down the Rangsfield Sluice unhindered, Jarnel concluded that Haran was, indeed, wizardless. He mumbled a somber good-bye to a promising nation.

Then the first of the war boats hit some invisible barrier, and the vessels following close behind veered away from the center of the river only to strike that phantom wall themselves. When these warcraft began bursting into flame, Jarnel quickly altered his predictions. There was to be a battle in the Sluice after all.

*

It had taken only a morning, but the whole of the city of Haran participated in the effort. Every skiff, barge, ferry, yawl, rowboat, and masted yacht that floated along the banks of the city’s canals had been commandeered, along with enough oarsmen to row them upriver toward Rangsfield. Those not rowing worked to fashion lengths of chain or rope to bind the assorted craft together once they reached their destination. Few in this odd marine force knew exactly what Seagryn had proposed to Chaom. If they had known, some would certainly have objected. But the vast majority of Haranians had such a fear of the Pyralu’s tail poised to strike at the heart of their land that they would have deemed acceptable any sacrifice that might deflect its vengeful sting. And although it had been a struggle, Seagryn’s arguments had finally convinced Chaom this was the way. Now he needed only to make good his promises —

He stood on the bow of the king’s war boat, which had been anchored in the center of the river. Behind him, Haranian sailors linked other boats to its sides, then still other boats to these. They assumed they built a kind of bridge to move ground forces swiftly from one side of the river to the other, to meet the brunt of the Arlian attack. Seagryn didn’t take the time to explain that wasn’t its purpose at all. Instead he gazed upriver, penetrating the cloak of invisibility Sheth had woven by his will around the Arlian fleet. He knew they came by boat — Dark had told him that much on their own journey down this river to Haran. As they passed through the Sluice the Arlian war boats would move too swiftly to be controlled. If he could bottle a number of them up here below Rangsfield, perhaps those not yet through the upper gate would turn back. While he was no student of military affairs, there had been martial material in the libraries of La-math, and he had read it. Besides, any fool could see that to surprise and encircle the enemy would increase one’s chances for success. Hadn’t the Arlian commander at the Tunyial Falls used the same principles?

But that man had failed, Seagryn recalled. The fellow hadn’t counted on the presence of a shaper. As he watched, using that ability to penetrate cloaks he’d discovered in his first encounter with Sheth, Seagryn had time to doubt himself thoroughly. What business did he have standing here on a strange king’s war boat, preparing to battle wits with the legendary bear? He was a cleric, for Power’s sake!

The thought scooted briefly through his mind that this was exactly the case — that he stood here because the Power had ordained it. He tolerated the notion only for a moment before shoving it safely back down whence it came. Seagryn was a shaper now, and an important one. While he didn’t know exactly how to go about it, he certainly didn’t intend to be distracted by thoughts of some nameless Power in whom he was no longer sure he believed. And Seagryn discovered to his delight that doubting that One seemed to eclipse some of his own self-doubts. He would remember that and think about it when he had the time. Right now he needed to concentrate on seeing what no merely human eye could see ...

“There,” he muttered. He’d penetrated Sheth’s cloak to see the first Arlian war boat. Immediately he turned his shaping energies back to cloaking this wooden wall in the middle of the stream, and the war boat disappeared. He took comfort in the fact that as long as Sheth cloaked the Arlian flotilla, his rival couldn’t see the response Seagryn had prepared.

“There what?” asked Chaom, who stood behind him supervising the building of the wall while keeping his ears tuned to Seagryn’s comments.

“I’ve spotted them. No, you won’t be able to,” he added as Chaom shaded his eyes reflexively and gazed upriver. “Nor can I any longer, since I’ve just begun cloaking this bridge. Is it finished?”

“All but the last few craft —” Chaom mumbled as he looked to their left and right.

“Then let’s start the fires and get off of it.”

The general nodded, then snapped a crisp order that shocked the sailors standing around them. “Move off the ships to the riverbank, setting fire to each vessel as you abandon it. Go on, move!” Chaom then scrambled over the port gunwale, and Seagryn quickly followed. By the time they reached the southern bank, fire had engulfed the vessels in the center of the line, and thick smoke billowed skyward. “How can they not be
seeing
this!” Chaom gasped as he gazed up at it.

“I do not know,” Seagryn answered quietly. It was an honest response. He truly didn’t.

Nor did he understand how invisible Arlian war boats could be darting through the Sluice this very minute en route to the barrier. But while they couldn’t be seen, everyone on the shore heard as the first boat crashed into the burning firewall. Chaom didn’t hesitate. “Fill the air with arrows!” he commanded, and the archers who lined the southern shore obeyed. A second heavy crunch was followed by a third and fourth. Seagryn saw where the wooden boundary bowed; but while he heard the shocked cries of Arlian sailors and soon thereafter the screams of the early wounded, he still could see nothing of the Arlian ships — not even the imprint of their weight in the water.