Raveler: The Dark God Book 3 (16 page)

“Promise me you will not be hasty,” he said. “You will not do this until you know the time is at hand.”

“Do you think I relish the thought?”

“I don’t want fear or despair to steal you from me.”

“Your secrets almost stole everything,” she said.

He looked down. “They have been a poison.”

She lifted his chin. “I didn’t say they did steal. I said they
almost
stole.”

He looked up into her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, her face shining with grief and love. “Thank you for coming back to me.”

He picked up her chapped hand. The fingernails were clean, but short and chipped. It was the hand of one who worked tirelessly. He brought it to his cheek and kissed it. He had so many memories of him and her in the youth of their marriage, and later with the children, working their land, laughing. And all the times she sat up with him in the candlelight, cleaning the leather of his saddle and bridle for a coming battle. And after making love, he would listen to the sounds of her breathing at his side, listen to the children stirring in their beds, thinking about his preparations for war and wondering how long he would have to smell her hair or touch her brow.

He wondered if it had been an ancestor whispering to him out there on the path, sending a message through some lore, through some bond of blood, turning him from his course, or was it simply his own fool sense finally coming around. He realized it didn’t matter. He thanked the Six he had listened. He would fight. He would find a way. For her, for Nettle, for the girls.

“
It took you long enough,” she said. “I almost gave up on you.”

“Some of us are slow learners,” he said.

A knock sounded at the door. Grace went to the door and opened it. Flax stood there. “I think I have some news that you’re going to want to hear. There just might be a way to save some of Shim’s dream.”

Hope sprang into Serah’s face. Argoth was dubious, but he got up and followed Flax outside. When he’d shut the door behind him, Flax said, “I didn’t dare present this to Shim. Eresh, right or wrong, hates me and will fight anything I suggest. So I’d thought I’d come to you first. If you think it has merit, you can take it to the Root.”

Flax’s long blond moustaches were dusty from a hard ride. Argoth, like Eresh, had suspicions. They’d still been unable to keep a man on him, but Argoth thought Eresh’s past dealings with the Hand were clouding his vision. All sleth had secrets; that didn’t mean they were traitorous.

The fort was crowded with people, and the last thing Argoth wanted was for rumors and reports to fly about. He motioned Flax over to the horse corral. When nobody was close enough to hear, Argoth said, “What do you have?”

Flax squatted down and drew an outline of the new lands in the dirt. “They’ve split their army in two.” He drew a line from Blue Towers to Whitecliff, heading toward Koramtown. “One part is marching this way along the coast.” He drew another line cutting through the heart of Shoka lands. “The other part is striking directly inland.”

“Yes, we know this,” said Argoth.

“Right,” said Flax, “but it’s what you can’t see that’s important. They’ve emptied out Blue Towers. They’ve emptied out most of the Fir-Noy lands. They’re coming with everything.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“This battle is over. If you stay here, they’ll push you like cattle. They’ll bottle all of Shim’s people up. But what if Shim flees overland?” He drew a line from Cold Fort, across the Lion River, leading north. “You go close enough to draw the armies after you. Pull them away from their burning and pillaging. Shim escapes somewhere up here, maybe in the Warrens, makes his way to the far side and the ports of the Vargon there. A great portion of his army could escape.”

“Shim could have run with his army weeks ago. This isn’t about soldiers.”

“Exactly,” said Flax. “Mokad is arrogant. The bait will be irresistible. When they see Shim moving north, they will draw most of the troops they’ve stationed in the South away. And that’s when the people of Shim’s clans make for the the Black Wood.”

Argoth looked at the line Flax had drawn. Shim’s army could cross the Lion, travel over Sooth’s Plain in a northeasterly direction to the Chalk River estuary, the western tine of the Great Fork where two large estuaries ran into the bay. They could go directly north and cross the Chalk River bridge about fifteen miles south of Raven’s Lake. For the last four years, the lords of the Fir-Noy and Birak clans had been trying to finish a stone bridge over the Chalk River to make commerce and travel between them easier and to generate more income with tolls. The bridge that spanned the river now was made with pontoons. It regularly had issues during the rainy season, but it hadn’t rained too much. If Shim’s army could get across the pontoon bridge and destroy it behind them, they just might be able to escape north into the Warrens. It would definitely give the rest of the Shoka and Koramite clans time to flee into the Southlands.

Argoth pointed on the map. “If we can get to the Chalk River bridge here, this just might work.”

An army the size of Mokad’s was like a swarm of locust. Each soldier needed about three pounds of grain or its equivalent per day. If the estimated size of that army was correct, they’d need 150,000 pounds, seventy-five tons, of grain each and every day. 525 tons each week. An average acre produced one quarter ton of grain, which meant Mokad’s army ate 2,100 acres per week. And that wasn’t counting what they’d drink in ale. Nor did it factor in the livestock, fruit, eggs, and milk it would consume. Or the double quantities used for dreadmen. A large army consumed the land before it. And that prodigious appetite was also its weakness. Deprive such an army of its food and water, and it would very soon crumble. Without grain, they’d soon eat through the supplies they brought with them. They would eat through the clan supplies. By midwinter they’d be starved out.

“We could burn Fir-Noy granaries as we go,” Argoth continued. “Make it look like we were trying decimate their food supplies.”

“That’s exactly what they’ll think you are doing,” said Flax. “They might even pull some of their troops back from Koramtown.”

It was a good strategy, but it all depended on the Fir-Noy troops vacating the towns and villages of Sooth’s Plain. “How do you know the Fir-Noy are on the march?”

“I saw it with my own eyes. It’s all the talk of Blue Towers. But you can send others. Let them confirm.”

Argoth nodded. And to think he’d almost given up. He shook his head in disgust at how close he’d come to giving up hope.

“You don’t think it will work?” Flax asked.

“I think you just brought the Grove its salvation. We’ll have to verify the troop movements.”

“No smart commander would do otherwise,” Flax said.

* * *

Argoth finished explaining Flax’s plan to Shim, Eresh, and Matiga. They were in the command quarters, the map of the new lands spread out on the table before them.

“If we split up, the kitemen won’t be able to follow all of us in the Warrens,” said Shim. “In fact, I suspect the winds that scream through those mountains will prevent them from following most of us.”

“We can travel at night when they can’t see,” said Matiga.

“And what about your people going south?” asked Eresh. “How are they going to survive?”

“There are some scattered settlements,” said Argoth. “There’s plenty of game in the woods. Mokad isn’t going to leave its army here. If we can flee in Vargon ships, we can arrange to pick them up later, in the spring. The New Lands are vast. We could disappear.”

Shim nodded. “We’ll send word out to the Shoka and Koramite bailiffs and lords to head for the Black Woods and burn everything they leave behind.”

“They won’t all go,” said Argoth. “Only send it to the ones we know are loyal. We can’t risk Mokad finding out our plan.”

“I don’t like it,” said Eresh. “There’s something off.”

“You’re letting your distaste of the man cloud your judgment,” Matiga said.

Eresh eyed her. “I’d say you’re clouding my judgment. Because I’m going to go along with this even though everything in this brain tells me otherwise.”

* * *

Berosus stood with a group of men listening to Legs sing a sad song about the ghost of some ancestor when a messenger dashed out of the command quarters. He sprinted to where the official riders sat drinking ale and spoke to them. Almost a dozen of them rose. The messenger handed them each a note. There was a flurry of excitement, and about three minutes later those men thundered out of the fort on their mounts. Another five riders left a few minutes after that.

Legs stopped his song. He was trying to hide it, but his face was full of the worry he felt for his sister. “What’s going on?”

“Something’s up,” said Flax.

Black Knee said, “I can see it in your eyes. You came riding in, and now the whole nest is stirring. What news did you bring?”

At that moment Eresh exited the command quarters. He whistled loudly. “Form up!” he yelled.

The men all about the fort rose and gathered in the center of the bailey. Those on the walls turned to watch.

Shim and Argoth joined Eresh in front of the men.

“Ready yourselves,” Eresh called. “It’s time to give Mokad and its toadies a taste of our steel in good Kish fashion! All the terrormen not on patrol will report to the hall immediately. The rest of you will get ready for a march. It will be personal kit. There will be no baggage train. Now, go!”

The men moved, some to fetch the terrormen from their camps outside the fort, others to prepare their mounts or marching kits.

“And I’ll be left here, curse these eyes,” Legs said. “Unable to do anything for my sister.”

“Oh, no,” said Berosus. “You’ll ride with me.”

“A blind boy in a battle will just get in the way.”

“You won’t,” said Berosus. “Besides, I need to make sure you stay alive. You’re going to meet up with your sister again.”

“Don’t treat me like a child,” Legs said.

“She was still alive when I left Blue Towers,” Berosus said.

“I don’t think they’ll keep her that way for long.”

“Don’t be too sure. Now, we’ve got a march ahead. Let’s go fill our waterskins before the crowds get to the well. And then I’ll move you outside while I finish getting my gear; otherwise, I’m sure the mistress of the washer women will spirit you away with her group.”

“That’s okay,” Legs said. “I can go with them.”

“It’s dangerous to leave one learning the lore like yourself alone. It’s the perfect way to get yourself killed. You’re not a dreadmen. What you’re learning is something special, something different. And so you’re coming with me.”

The spectacle would be special. It would be a show this herd would not forget for a very long time.

Legs frowned.

“Stay right here,” Berosus said. Then he went to fetch his waterskin from his quarters. When he came back, Legs was waiting for him. Berosus took his hand, and they walked over to the well. An old soldier with a number of discs of honor on his leather straps was there. He cranked the bucket up, filled his skin, then turned with the funnel spout to fill Berosus’s.

Berosus held his skin out. As the skin filled, the soldier said, “You think they brought more than one rotted Skir Master?”

Berosus said, “An army like this usually has more skir than one man can manage. Nilliam surely brought their own.”

“If I were Mokad, I’d be watching my back. Nilliam can’t be trusted.”

“No,” said Berosus. “I’m sure they have been required to keep their skir back. I heard their masters were over in Fog Town.”

“But will they bring them to bear?”

“I don’t think so. Even if the news out of Blue Towers is correct, and the Mokaddian Skir Master was killed. I don’t think Mokad would want a Nilliamese skir at their backs.”

The water filled to the top of the skin, and the soldier set the bucket back onto the side of the well. “Major or minor skir, I don’t think it matters,” the old soldier said. “Most of these troops have not had to contend against the wind.”

“The men have visors, scarves, and brass goggles. You have armor. As long as you can see, you can fight through the havoc created by minor skir. But the plan isn’t to fight anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

A number of soldiers had come for water and were listening.

Berosus raised his voice enough so the men could hear. “Your terrorman will reveal all after his meeting with Shim. But I can say that it’s a brilliant plan.”

“Shim’s a fox,” one man said.

“Aye,” another said.

Berosus nodded. “You men are lucky. You’re going to like what you hear.” Then he turned and walked with Legs to the gate of the fort, leaving the men to speculate about what the good news might be.

Berosus smiled. About him the soldiers prepared their mounts and supplies, readying themselves to walk right into his trap. The truth was that while he’d ordered most of his army out of Blue Towers, they were not marching inland or securing Koramtown: they were waiting out in the bay for his orders. He’d only sent token forces out, to fool Shim’s other spies so they would confirm the news Berosus had brought. When Shim arrived at the Chalk River bridge tomorrow, he’d find the bulk of Mokad’s army waiting. Or maybe he’d find them even sooner.

Flax smiled. Herding humans was so easy. He looked up into the sunny blue sky, looked out at the good weather over the sea. It was going to be such a fine harvest.

He reached out to the captain of his dreadmen via the link that bound the man to him.
I have a package for you to pick up
, he said through the link.
You need to come now.

Legs cocked his head. “What did you just say?”

“Nothing,” Berosus said, chiding himself for not being careful about focusing on the thrall he wanted to communicate with.

Legs frowned again. “There’s something odd about the ring you gave me,” he said.

“Oh?”

“I followed the pattern. Parts of it seem very similar to the thralls Argoth had us examine. I’m pretty good at feeling the weave. Some parts seemed almost exact.”

Berosus looked down at him. Such an astute little man. Berosus really wished he could have kept him. It was regrettable he was going to die in the spectacle, but then, who was Berosus to question the Sublime?