“I can see why you wanted someone with this sort of access out with Earl Sharpfield,” he said now. “But I’m still trying to figure out how I can make best use of it. I suppose it’s human nature to always want more than you have, but I’d give two or three fingers to be able to hand coms to each of my captains.”
Hektor snorted.
“At least you’ve got signal flags, Sir,” he pointed out. “And I suppose if we really needed to, Seijin Dagyr could pay another visit on Earl Sharpfield. I know accounting for the time for him to have gotten to Gorath and back to Claw Island quickly enough might be tight, but still.…”
Sarmouth drew heavily on his cigar while he considered that.
The reports on the Dohlaran screw-galleys had emphasized their small size, yet until he’d gotten access to the SNARCs and “seen” them for himself the implications hadn’t truly registered.
And they damned well should have, he thought. The frigging things’re twenty feet shorter and thirty percent narrower than Delthak. If Merlin could decide to send Bahrns up the Guarnak-Ice Ash to trash Wyrshym’s logistics, why shouldn’t someone as sneaky as Thirsk see the advantages of being able to fit his ironclads into the canals? And why am I so surprised he did?
Like most Charisians, Sarmouth had a tendency to overlook the mainland canal system’s ubiquity. Because of that, he’d never considered that Thirsk could send Hahlynd’s ironclads from Gorath to Saram Bay—or, in this case, Shwei Bay—without having to traverse the Gulf of Dohlar to get there.
It’ll be a longer trip, but less than half of it’ll be over saltwater.
The screw-galleys would have to cross six hundred and fifty miles of Hankey Sound to the Desnairian port of Ershalla, at the mouth of the North Hankey River, but from that point, they could travel well over two thousand miles “overland” to Hahskyn Bay, which connected in turn to Shwei Bay. The entire trip would take at least five five-days, as opposed to the sixteen days for a galleon to reach the same destination, but it would get the fragile screw-galleys there safely.
And they’ll reach Yu-shai a five-day before we get to Claw Island … without the possibility of their being spotted by any of Sharpfield’s cruisers.
“I’m afraid we do need to dust off Seijin Dagyr,” he said. “Sharpfield needs to know about this—and get warnings to his squadrons—as soon as possible.”
“Yes, Sir.” Hektor pursed his lips in thought while he did the mental calculations. “If we assume he finds out about Thirsk’s plans at least a few days before Hahlynd leaves Gorath, he could reasonably reach Claw Island at least two five-days before the screw-galleys get to Yu-shai. I don’t see any way we could legitimately get the information to Earl Sharpfield any faster than that.”
“Actually,” Sarmouth exhaled a long streamer of smoke, “that ought to be more than soon enough, since Yu-shai’s thirty-six hundred miles from Claw Island and over a thousand beyond his cruisers’ current operational area. It might not be a bad idea for Seijin Dagyr to just ‘happen’ to encounter one or two of those cruisers on his way, though. Having the Earl’s forward elements informed of what’s happening even before he is couldn’t hurt.”
MAY
YEAR OF GOD 897
.I.
Jarith, Sylmahn Gap, Hildermoss Province, Republic of Siddarmark
General Trumyn Stohnar contemplated the enormous map of the Sylmahn Gap on his office wall.
The colored pins marking the known and estimated positions of the Church’s Army of the Sylmahn hadn’t moved very much over the past several five-days. The pins marking the positions of his troops had changed considerably, however. The biggest difference was that there were far more of them than there’d been the previous year, and he smiled thinly as his eyes drifted back to them once more.
A discreet knock sounded on his office door, and he turned to face it.
“Come!” he called, and Lieutenant Sahlavahn, his personal aide, escorted Colonel Aivahn Yazhuhyro into the office.
“Aivahn.” Stohnar clasped forearms with the colonel and nodded to Sahlavahn. “Thank you, Dahglys. Don’t forget to remind Colonel Kohmandorsky and Commander Parkmyn that Colonel Yazhuhyro and I will be joining them in Commander Parkmyn’s office at fourteen o’clock.”
“Of course, Sir,” Lieutenant Sahlavahn murmured, and withdrew.
“Am I right in remembering his birthday’s coming up, Sir?” Yazhuhyro inquired as the door closed behind him, and Stohnar snorted.
“No, it happened yesterday, actually. He just turned twenty-three.”
“Twenty-three?” Yazhuhyro repeated, and shook his head. “Langhorne! They get younger every year, don’t they?”
“Actually,” Stohnar’s smile faded, “Dahglys is a lot more than a year older than he was this time last year.”
“We all are, Sir,” the colonel pointed out, and Stohnar grimaced in agreement, then pointed at the empty chair in front of his desk.
“Have a seat,” he invited, and opened his desk’s bottom drawer. He extracted a bottle of Old Province brandy, poured two glasses, and handed one of them across before he settled into his own chair facing the colonel.
Yazhuhyro raised his glass to touch Stohnar’s gently, then sipped appreciatively. Stohnar followed suit, letting the liquid fire spread its comforting warmth through him before he sighed and shook his head.
“The inspections went well?”
“Very well, in fact, Sir.” Yazhuhyro waved his glass under his nose, inhaling the bouquet. “The frontline units are in good shape and there’s no indication anyone on the other side of the lake’s noticed a thing. The ice is still awfully solid and a lot thicker than it ought to be by this time of year, but it won’t stay that way much longer.”
“Good.” Stohnar nodded slowly, his eyes thoughtful. Yazhuhyro had just returned from a personal inspection of the Army of Hildermoss’ forward units dug into their winter quarters around and below the ruins of Malkyr, well south of Wyvern Lake’s normal shoreline. What with the previous year’s flooding, an incredibly rainy autumn, and a winter even colder than the last, the lake currently stretched virtually the entire width of the Sylmahn Gap and over ten miles farther south than usual. A more formidable natural barrier would have been difficult to imagine, and both armies had entrenched artillery to cover their own sides of the swollen lake.
“That’s good,” the general repeated, and took another sip of brandy. Then he smiled at the colonel. “I’m sure Dahglys, in his usual efficient manner, told you why I wanted to see you as soon as you got back?”
“Well, not in so many words.” Yazhuhyro sat back, cradling his glass in both hands. “He did say you’d just received a clutch of dispatches, though. And since you and I are apparently about to slog through the snow down to the canal—not something I’m looking forward to after the last five-day—I’m assuming they said basically what we’ve been hoping they’d say?”
“They did indeed,” Stohnar confirmed. This time his smile was hungry, and the gray-eyed, dark-haired Yazhuhyro smiled back.
The Republic of Siddarmark Army had borrowed a new position from its Charisian allies, and Yazhuhyro was the Army of Hildermoss’ chief of staff. Over the last several months, he’d gone about organizing the command structure of the steadily growing army with so much driving efficiency that a part of Stohnar had actually resented his focused, ruthless energy.
There was very little left of the army with which Trumyn Stohnar had fought his brutal, bloody delaying action down the length of the Sylmahn Gap the previous spring. His obscenely outnumbered men had known their defense was hopeless, yet they’d fought anyway. They’d fought until eighty percent of them were dead or wounded. Until they were no more than a thin line of musketeers and artillery pieces, with no reserves and even less hope. Until, beyond hope or prayer of salvation, a single reinforced Charisian brigade had arrived on the eve of their destruction and smashed the Church back up the Gap in rout and ruin.
Every single survivor was precious to h
im. What he’d really wanted, after they’d been relieved by Baron Green Valley, was to give them the rest their courage and sacrifice so richly deserved. Yet whatever he might have wanted, Yazhuhyro had done what he’d needed, instead, and driven those survivors to integrate the flow of desperately needed replacements and reinforcements into their decimated companies and regiments.
“According to the Seneschal’s dispatch, the latest convoy from Tellesberg reached Siddar City three days ago,” the general continued. “We’ll be receiving just over ten thousand of the new ‘Trapdoor Mahndrayns’ and enough mortars to bring us up to establishment across the board. And we should be seeing at least three more batteries of heavy angle-guns, as well.”
“That’s good to hear, Sir.” Yazhuhyro’s eyes brightened. “Assuming, of course, that we’ve got enough ammunition for the Mahndrayns!”
“The Seneschal says we’ll have fifteen hundred rounds for each of them.” Stohnar shrugged. “We won’t be seeing any more of the rifles for a while; General Mahrkohne’s going to draw the dragon’s share of them before he moves his corps up to support Green Valley. The Charisians appear to’ve solved that ammunition ‘bottleneck’ of theirs, though. At any rate, I’ve been assured additional cartridges will be forthcoming when we need them.”
“Good!”
Yazhuhyro’s eyes narrowed as he considered how best to utilize the new weapons. Ten thousand would be enough to reequip two entire brigades, or they could use them to rearm twenty-two companies and give each of the army’s current regiments one four-hundred-and-fifty-man Mahndrayn-armed company of its own. He and Stohnar had discussed both approaches, but they hadn’t made a hard and fast decision because no one had been certain when—or if—any of the new breechloaders might become available to them.
Or how many they might see, either.
“In addition,” Stohnar continued, “the Seneschal’s informed me that between new production weapons and rifles captured from the Army of Shiloh, he’s been able to arm five more divisions than anticipated, and three of them are earmarked for us.”
Yazhuhyro twitched upright in his chair. They’d hoped for one more division … and hadn’t really expected to see it. Three of them would be a gift from Chihiro himself! True, it sounded as if they’d be armed primarily with muzzleloaders, but a muzzle-loading rifle was one hell of a lot better than no rifle, and forty thousand more men would double the Army of Hildermoss’ strength.
“How soon, Sir?” he demanded.
“They’re en route now. We should see their advance elements within the month. Hopefully, all three divisions’ll have come forward by the time the ice actually begins breaking up.”
“And Baron Green Valley?” There was an anxious edge in Yazhuhyro’s question this time, and Stohnar shrugged again.
“Getting dispatches from Five Forks to Rankylyr’s no walk in the park even for Charisian ski troops. As of the Baron’s most recent message to the Seneschal, he was well dug-in, with ‘ample’—that was his word, not the Seneschal’s—supplies and was confident of holding his position for at least another full month or six five-days.”
“I’ve never met the Baron myself, Sir.”
The colonel’s tone was almost painfully neutral, and Stohnar showed his teeth in something a bit too hungry to call a smile.
“I have, Aivahn,” he said flatly. “If that man says he can hold for a month, Kau-yung himself won’t push him out of position one day sooner than that.”
Yazhuhyro nodded, satisfied by the answer to his unasked question, and the general tipped back in his chair.
“Duke Eastshare’s almost done reequipping his troops, as well,” he observed. “Which means all we’re really waiting on at this point is the weather.”
“Aren’t we always, Sir?” Yazhuhyro replied wryly.
The colonel was a native of Rollings Province, born in the foothills of the Black Hill Mountains, and he’d always done his best to discharge his God-given duty to sneer at the effete citizens of such balmy provinces as Glacierheart, where snow accumulations were measured in mere yards. Still, even he had to admit the winter which had theoretically ended two five-days ago had been brutal. The ice on Wyvern Lake was still thick enough to support cavalry charges, and it wasn’t going to be melting by the day after tomorrow.
It was too bad, really, that it hadn’t been possible to build up the Army of Hildermoss soon enough to take advantage of that ice. Still, they’d always known that was probably going to be the case. That was why Commander Zhorj Parkmyn of the Imperial Charisian Navy held the acting rank of colonel in the Republic of Siddarmark Army. He and the seamen Admiral White Ford had drafted from the galleons in Bedard Bay were the card tucked up the Army of Hildermoss’ sleeve.
“Does Duke Eastshare have any estimate about the weather in Cliff Peak and Westmarch, Sir?” the chief of staff asked after a moment.
“Things are a little better there than here. There are some signs the spring thaw’s about to set in, especially south of the Daivyn River, but not much change north of it. His position’s a lot like ours, actually, at least from a timing viewpoint. His troops’re almost ready, but they aren’t quite going to complete their preparations before the river ice begins breaking up. And once that happens—”
“They’ll have to wait out the worst of the flooding,” Yazhuhyro sighed.
“Exactly.” Stohnar nodded. “Of course, in our case a little flooding may actually be a good thing, don’t you think?
His chief of staff nodded back with a most unpleasant smile, and Stohnar finished his brandy, pushed back his chair, and stood.
“Dahglys has complete copies of the latest dispatches for you,” he said. “In the meantime, though, I think you and I should go share the good news with Parkmyn and Colonel Kohmandorsky.”
.II.
HMS Thunderer, 30, Talisman Island, Gulf of Dohlar
“It’s always nice when an operation goes exactly as planned,” Sir Bruhstair Ahbaht observed, gazing through one of the angle-glasses bracketed to HMS Thunderer’s armored bulwark while rainwater ran down his oilskins. “That’s what I’ve always heard, anyway,” he added, wincing as a pair of surf boats collided in a centipede confusion of thrashing oars.
“It’s not really that bad, Sir,” Lieutenant Kylmahn, Thunderer’s first lieutenant pointed out. He stood beside his captain, bent at the waist to peer through an open gunport which happened not to have a six-inch rifled cannon poking out of it at the moment.
“Much as it pains me to disagree with you, Daivyn, it is that bad,” Captain Ahbaht replied. Thunderer’s commanding officer was an Emeraldian, five inches shorter than his senior lieutenant, with the typical dark hair and eyes of his birth princedom. “If there was anything remotely resembling organized resistance waiting for them, it’d turn into outright disaster pretty damned quickly.”
Kylmahn started to reply, then stopped himself. His diminutive captain was a naturally humorous man, but that sense of humor was conspicuous by its absence this afternoon. Not without at least some justification, unfortunately.
The heavily overcast sky deposited a steady, soaking rain on all and sundry, and the customary smoothness of the Imperial Charisian Navy’s ship-to-shore operations was even more conspicuously absent than Captain Ahbaht’s sense of humor. Much of that was undoubtedly due to the speed with which their mission had been planned and implemented. The storms they’d endured on their way here hadn’t helped, and the present heavy downpour wasn’t making things any better, yet none of that excused the landing’s sloppy execution.
The lieutenant used one hand to shade his eyes from pelting raindrops and returned his attention to the thoroughly unimpressive island Captain Ahbaht had been ordered to secure. Talisman Island was roughly triangular and only about twenty miles long on its northwest-to-southeast axis. Its terrain was rugged, to say the least, and their reports said its limited water supply was barely sufficient for the year-round needs of the small fishing community of Rahzhyrhold. Yet T
alisman’s two enormous advantages trumped all those difficulties: Rahzhyr Bay and the island’s location off the coast of Shwei.
The deepwater bay, a pocket of water twelve miles across on Talisman’s west coast, offered a secure, almost totally sheltered anchorage. Protected from easterly winds by the bulk of Talisman itself, it was shielded from the north and west by even smaller, half-awash islets and rocky, barely submerged shoals which formed a natural breakwater. The mainland of Howard, less than ninety miles to the southeast, provided a bulwark against bad weather from that direction, as well. Talisman’s unforgiving terrain and the treacherous band of shoals stretching around its circumference everywhere outside Rahzhyr Bay made the bay itself the only practical spot for troop landings, which promised to make the island an extraordinarily tough defensive target, as well. In many ways, it was Claw Island in miniature, and it was also barely three hundred miles from Shwei Bay and under a thousand from the Royal Dohlaran Navy’s base at Saram Bay in North Harchong’s Stene Province. Perhaps even more to the point, it was barely four hundred miles from the advanced anchorage Sir Dahrand Rohsail had established for the RDN at Stella Cove on the large island of Jack’s Land at the eastern end of the Harchong Narrows.
Kylmahn understood the logic behind acquiring Talisman. It would have made sense under any circumstances he could think of; after the near-hurricane gale which had ravaged the Narrows in late April, however, it had taken on even greater point.
“Do you think this is going to cause Rohsail to change his tactics, Sir?” the lieutenant asked after a moment.
“Hard to say.”
Ahbaht straightened and turned his back on the angle-glass. He folded his hands behind him and began pacing back and forth across his quarterdeck while raindrops bounced off his oilskins and Kylmahn kept station beside him.
“It ought to make him more nervous, anyway,” the captain continued. “I expect he’ll feel at least some compulsion to keep more of his line of battle concentrated in case we get adventurous and decide to raid Jack’s Land, for example. For that matter, he has to be worried about our attacking Saram Bay itself, given what Captain Haigyl accomplished in the Bay of Alexov.”