13 Day War Page 10

  Alex nodded with understanding. “I do think you need a battle mage in Lanoir. If Theos is not available, speak to Jenneva. She might know someone you can use. Remember that each Federation army has four black-cloaks assigned to it. That is twenty-four battle mages you will have to deal with.”

  Alex turned and walked away. When he reached the corner of the room where the Sordoan contingent was meeting, he saw a map spread out over the table. He stopped near the table and studied the map while the others seemed engrossed in their discussion.

  “We will only have at best two-thousand mercenaries,” complained Captain Azule of the Sarga Mercenaries. “You can’t possibly expect us to survive for even a day against twenty-thousand men.”

  “We will have the dwarves and elves, too,” countered Captain Orteka of the Kadin Claws. “And the valley is quite enclosed. I think we can hold them there for several days.”

  “The dwarves will be exhausted,” Captain Grecho of the Cidal Mercenaries interjected. “They do not ride as we do. They will have to run all the way from the coast just to get into position. No one should expect them to immediately dive into battle.”

  “My people will fight,” proclaimed Prince Darok, a dwarven prince and Knight of Alcea.

  “Providing everything goes well at Pontek,” frowned Governor Mobami. “I will not lie to you, men. I am not happy with the assignment given to you, but there is no better strategy for defeating the Federation. General Omirro’s Federation troops out of Caldar are the biggest threat against Sordoa. The terrain between Caldar and the capital is fairly open, and it will be almost impossible to stop his drive to Trekum. We must put the majority of our forces against him. You will just have to do the best you can against the forces coming from Gortha. Find a way to slow them down until we have eliminated Omirro’s army and then we will come to your aid.”

  “If I might make a suggestion,” Alex said softly as he moved from the map to join the group. “Zack has been spreading ghastly tales about the dwarves in Zara, particularly to the armies that will be coming from Gortha.”

  “Why?” asked Prince Darok.

  “Zack and I have discussed the problem you will be facing in Sordoa,” explained Alex. “You will be badly outnumbered, and Captain Grecho is correct. Your people will be exhausted, Prince Darok. That is, they will be exhausted if they have to immediately jump into battle, but there is another way. If Zack can create enough fear in the hearts of the Federation soldiers, the mere sight of dwarves might buy you some time. If a representative group were to meet the enemy under a flag of truce, you just might gain a day’s delay, and that day will give the dwarves a chance to refresh their strength.”

  “What kind of stories has Zack been spreading?” asked the dwarven prince.

  Alex grinned mischievously. “Only that the dwarves wear invincible armor, and that King Arik considers a dwarf warrior worth one-hundred humans. It has been said that you dwarves can stride into the enemy army with your huge battleaxes and slay a legion without getting a scratch in return.”

  Prince Darok’s loud laugh caught the attention of the entire room, and conversation halted for a moment. “Well then,” guffawed the dwarven prince, “we will have to dress accordingly for the part. I will have our smiths work up something very impressive for the Federation lads.”

  The mercenary captains felt their spirits lift as their chances of survival rose just a bit. Alex turned and headed for the Targa delegation, which was actually a combination of the Cordonia and Targa teams as the Cordonian army would be joining the fighting to save Tagaret. Baron Timor of Southland was speaking.

  “The timing is the critical part of this. General Fortella’s Federation armies only have an eight-day march to Tagaret from Mya. If the Cordonian army and the Army of the West are to come up behind him in time to be of any use, we cannot assemble in Southland. It is too far away. We need to be much closer, and if we are closer, we risk alerting the enemy that we are onto their plan. I do not see an easy solution to this problem.”

  “Fortella’s army just has to be slowed down,” offered Lieutenant Montbalm from Tor. “Fell trees across the path of his army.”

  “Merely felling trees across his path will not be sufficient,” interjected Clint who was mingling with the group. “Fortella is a respectable opponent. In fact, the Federation has put some of their best generals in Force Targa. Capturing Tagaret is a high priority for them. Both Fortella and Bledsoe are known for driving their men beyond reason. General Pryblick is not so highly regarded, but his force is merely for support. It will take cleverness to slow down either Fortella or Bledsoe.”

  “Abatis,” commented Alex. “Do not merely fell trees for the enemy, but fell them properly.”

  Lieutenant Montbalm stared at Alex in confusion. “Explain.”

  “If you can find appropriate spots along Fortella’s path,” explained Alex, “fell giant trees, not across his path, but rather with the tops facing the enemy. The maze of branches will act as further impediments to clearing the road. It will also give your archers an excellent chance to pick off those men sent ahead to clear the road. If properly done, it can waste a tremendous amount of the enemy’s time.”

  “And what is a proper place?” asked Baron Timor.

  “You must not block just the road,” answered Alex, “but the forest as well. You must choose a spot where a river or cliff limits the enemy’s options. In that narrowed area, create a wall of abatis and hide your archers behind it.”

  “Harassing General Fortella’s men will fall to my people,” frowned Prince Garong, a prince of the elves and a Knight of Alcea. “The elves will be hesitant to cause such a massive destruction of trees.”

  “I understand.” Alex nodded sympathetically. “King Arik will supply lumbermen who are skilled in that area, but you will need to protect those men, and do not let your people’s objections halt the lumbermen from their duties. If Tagaret falls, all of Alcea falls with it.“

  “There is truth in Alex’s words,” added Clint. “These thirteen days will be the most trying in all our lives. If the Federation loses all of the other battles, they will still win the war by capturing Tagaret and King Arik. We must not let that happen.”

  Alex nodded in agreement and turned to seek out Jenneva. He had only taken a few steps when he felt a hand upon his shoulder. He turned to find Governor Fernandez, and his old friend held a grim expression on his face.

  “I have sad news from Cordonia,” the governor said softly. “Lyda has died. Can you get word to Karl?”

  Sadness filled Alex’s heart, but he did not nod in agreement. “How did it happen?”

  “We have had the most severe winter ever recorded,” answered Governor Fernandez. “The weight of the snow collapsed the roof where she was staying. There was nothing that could be done for her.”

  Alex nodded in understanding. “I do not think the time is right to tell Karl that his wife has died. The news will devastate him, and he is about to enter an extremely trying time. The next four weeks will determine if Karl survives the coming ordeal himself. I think the news can wait until that is over.”

  Chapter 8

  Preparations for War

  The wintry winds tore through the streets of Tagaret with a frigidness that caused almost everyone to huddle inside their homes and shops. Those few who braved the foul weather pulled their coats tightly around them, but it hardly mattered. Whether they were soldiers on patrol, or a merchant’s delivery person, each and every one of them was chilled to the bone, and the cause was not just the cold wind. Whipped along the streets of Tagaret, the winds carried a malevolent, ethereal entity, and its essence touched the mind of each being as it passed. The demon was searching.

  Eventually, D’Artim found the information that he was looking for. He detached himself from the winds and soared to the cobbler located less than a block from the gates to the Royal Palace. The shop was closed, as were the others on the block, but such things could not deter a demon. D’Artim ci
rcled the shop and then flew through the wall. The cobbler was immediately alerted to the intruder, and the old man shoved his work aside. He cocked his head as he gazed around the small shop, trying to see the unseen.

  “You have sensed my arrival,” D’Artim said approvingly as he materialized into his corporeal form. “What is this?” he asked as he waved a claw around the room. “Have you forgotten your mission? Have you decided to spend your remaining days making shoes for the humans?”

  The Claw of Alutar narrowed his gaze as he stared at the demon. “I am not to be interfered with,” replied Artimor. “Why have you come?”

  “Such love for your father,” chided D’Artim.

  “You are not my father,” retorted Artimor. “Alutar is my Master. I recognize no other. You are only the carrier of his seed.”

  D’Artim appeared shocked and disappointed by the rebuke, but he recovered quickly. “I am your father,” he declared, “but the point is hardly worth arguing over.”

  “Why have you come?”

  “To make sure that you do not fail in your assignment, as did your brothers and sister. You are the last of the Claws. You must succeed.”

  “And so I shall,” Artimor stated emphatically. “I am the Claw of my Master. I was created to succeed.”

  D’Artim sighed. He was used to demonkin being invested with arrogance, but this one was going too far. “The war is beginning, and we have had no report of your success. We need more assurances of your ability to strike down the Mage’s heroes. They are all in Tagaret at this very moment, and here I find you mending shoes. Is that supposed to fill me with confidence of your great abilities?”

  “I have no need to give you assurances,” retorted the old man. “Do the other demons even know you are here?” D’Artim did not answer and the Claw of Alutar snickered. “I didn’t think so. You have always been one to seek an unfair advantage, even against friends.”

  D’Artim growled threateningly, and his clawed feet scratched furrows in the wooden floor as he approached the cobbler. “You will not belittle me, demonkin! You will treat me with respect, or I will end you miserable existence right here, right now. I will have to deal with Alutar’s rage for doing so, but that will matter little to you. You will no longer exist.”

  Artimor backed up and nodded submissively. While his status as a Claw of Alutar made him subservient to none other than the Great Demon, he had no doubt that the demon could kill him, and he had just pushed too far. He ran his fingers through his think white hair and sighed.

  “I apologize, but you of all demons should appreciate the need to do something properly. The other Claws of Alutar failed because they were overconfident, and because of their haste. I will not fall into such traps.”

  “I can appreciate such thoughts,” frowned D’Artim, “but making shoes is hardly a proper use of your time. The war is upon us. You should be attacking them now. Are you even aware that all four of them sit less than a block away right now?”

  “I am aware of their presence,” retorted the cobbler, regaining a bit of his lost arrogance. “I have more than a few eyes and ears within the Royal Palace. Nothing they do escapes my notice. I am also aware that there are three-thousand Red Swords protecting them.”

  “There will always be soldiers protecting them,” countered the demon.

  “Not exactly,” grinned the Claw of Alutar. “Once the war begins, those soldiers will have other tasks to attend to, sixty-thousand other tasks if I am correct.”

  “You plan to let the war start before striking?”

  “I have already started to strike,” smiled Artimor. “They just don’t know it yet. When it is time for me to finish this task, the deaths of the Mage’s heroes will be anticlimactic.”

  “Are you just hoping that the Federation soldiers will kill them?” quipped the demon. “That is not why you were created.”

  “I was created to see to their deaths,” countered Artimor. “Who actually draws the last breath out of their bodies is of little concern to Alutar. If the heroes should happen to fall to the blades of the Federation, so be it, but they will die one way or another. My spies within the palace walls have revealed the troop dispositions for the upcoming war. I will bring forth havoc to alter those plans and then I will strike. Nothing can stop me.”

  * * * *

  Colonel Dorfan of the 1st Corps nodded approvingly as he watched the black-cloaks cast their spells upon the snow. He knew little about magic, but he valued its use at times like this. Camp Destiny had been hit with an unusually late snowstorm, and the snow had accumulated to a great depth. Fortunately, each Federation army had a stable of black-cloaks for times when non-magical means just would not accomplish the task. He had set the mages to work removing the snow so that the valley was clear before the first armies arrived. Satisfied with the mages’ progress, Colonel Dorfan turned his horse and rode towards the general’s office. When he arrived, he dismounted and entered General Tauman’s office.

  “What is the state of the valley, Dorfan?” General Tauman asked upon seeing the colonel.

  “The snow should be gone by dusk today,” the colonel reported. “It will take another two days to remove the moisture from the ground so that the troops do not get mired in mud, but we will be done before the first armies arrive.”

  “Excellent.” The general nodded. “I am going to keep your men busy the next two weeks. I want a continual sweep of Blood Highway everyday from now on until all the armies are in Alcea. I want to know the position of each army and whether they are where they are supposed to be, and I don’t want to have to wait for such information. The first day one of the armies is behind schedule, I want to send a runner to the commanding officer to rectify the problem.”

  “I will see to it,” replied Colonel Dorfan.

  “I also need forty-eight of your men to go to Alcea,” continued the general. “I want two men to travel each of the proposed routes and check to make sure that our supplies have not been tampered with. We are moving a lot of men through these portals in a very short timeframe. If we need to replenish supplies, I want to know about it now before the armies start arriving.”

  “Why two men, Sir?”

  “We can afford to lose a few men to get this information,” answered the general, “but it is information that we must have. I want two men sent on each route so that we are sure of getting the information. Instruct each team to use the proper procedures for verifying a hidden cache. That way if some of the men do come to harm, we will still get what we need.”

  “You are expecting trouble?” frowned the colonel. “We have never felt the need to double up before.”

  “We are on the verge of war, Colonel. Of course I expect trouble. Even if the enemy is totally unaware of our coming, things always seem to get hairy when time is short. I plan to take no chances with this invasion. The 1st Corps will ensure that nothing goes wrong on this end until the very last army returns home. Is that clear?”

  The colonel nodded, but his brow creased with concern. Tauman and Dorfan had worked together for years, and the general immediately noticed the concern.

  “Speak your mind, Dorfan.”

  “I know you were planning on us being part of the invasion of Alcea, General. Why have we ended up being caretakers of this valley while a war is being waged?”

  The general looked towards the door and the windows before speaking. “Because Grand General Kyrga is a poor excuse for an officer,” the general said softly and with evident disgust in his voice. “The 1st Corps is the finest fighting unit in the world, and that fool has us acting as quartermasters. He says that he is afraid to entrust the secrecy of the portals to any other unit, but the portals are no longer secret. I should have been in charge of Force Targa.”

  “But Kyrga chose Fortella instead?”

  “Of course,” spat the general. “Fortella has charmed Kyrga, and the Grand General has made him his most favored general. The truth is, Dorfan, we could have sacked Tagaret in a most impr
essive manner and brought the boy king to kneel in disgrace before the emperor, and that is the real problem. I suspect that Kyrga fears that the emperor would make me Grand General when we returned victorious.”

  “You think Fortella will fail?”

  The general thought for a moment and shook his head. “Fortella is a decent general, but he is not a quick thinker. He is like a bulldog that has his teeth dug into your leg. He won’t let go until you are dead. His army will sack Tagaret without a problem. That is probably why they teamed that coward Whitman up with him. Fortella is probably one of the few generals who can keep Whitman in line.”

  “The Aertan general?” questioned the colonel. “I have never met him.”

  “More to your credit,” scoffed General Tauman. “I am surprised that Whitman didn’t figure out a way to be exempted from going to Alcea. The man doesn’t deserve to wear a uniform. Fortella will have to spend some time watching Whitman just to make sure he doesn’t desert.”

  “Maybe you could make a deal with General Whitman,” suggested Colonel Dorfan. “Switch the 1st Corps with the 24th Corps.”

  “And serve under Fortella?” balked General Tauman. “I think not. The 1st Corps will get a chance to fight the horse countries. That will have to do. Enough of this talk, Colonel. You have a great deal to accomplish and little time to get it all done. Get those runners out onto Blood Highway and those scouts sent to Alcea. This war is starting in mere days.”

  * * * *

  The Blood Highway was a wide road, and little stone markers were set alongside it every league. The markers showed the number of leagues from the western gates of Valdo, and General Montero watched this particular marker pass with interest. He turned and glanced back at his 15th Corps behind him and then looked forward at the tail end of the 13th Corps barely visible in the distance.