Morrolan's army—or Fentor's—was not prepared to Fentor's satisfaction, and, indeed, only the fact that a certain number of the recruits had military experience (these, of course, being at once made sergeants) saved it from, in Fentor's words, "an uncommon foul-up from the front to the back and from one end to the other." Instead, it was, in the view of this worthy commander, "just close enough to ready to permit itself to receive some amount of slaughter before dissolving utterly." Of course, holding this opinion in no way kept Fentor from doing everything he could to prevent it, and when word reached him that one of the armies—the smaller of the two—had made camp barely ten miles away, he at once began to arrange the details of supply and movement lines that he believed would be required by the battle he foresaw.
The morning after Morrolan's return from Dzur Mountain (that is to say, the very morning when Fentor learned of the proximity of the enemy troops), Fentor and Morrolan spoke, both of them on the roof of the temple (on which, we may add, construction had never halted), and both of them staring eastward, toward where the enemy was encamped.
"Then you agree," said Morrolan. "We must attack, and bring them to battle before the other army converges?"
Fentor sighed. "I can see no other way. And yet—"
"Well?"
"You perceive, we are outnumbered. And that by, well, by a great deal."
"Yes, I know that. However, they are not expecting to be attacked, and that must be good for something."
"That is true, they are not, and it is. But then—"
"Yes?"
"With an untrained corps, the movements required for defense are easier to execute than those required for attack."
"Bah! What is required? You say, charge, and they charge."
"My lord—"
"Well?"
"You must trust me, it is more complex than you pretend."
Morrolan appeared unconvinced.
"Shall I explain, my lord?"
Morrolan sighed. "I suppose you had better." As he prepared to listen and attempt to understand, he took a drink of water, a deep breath, and a glance in the opposite direction, at which time he suddenly frowned and said, "What is that?"
Fentor followed his glance, frowned, and said, "What?"
"There is something on this side of the temple that I had not observed before."
"Ah! Battlements, my lord."
"Battlements?"
"Yes. For defense."
"For—who had this done?"
"I did, while you were gone. You would have noticed them yesterday if you had not been distracted."
"Oh, I do not doubt that. But for what reason are they there?"
"My lord, if we are required to withstand a charge—which is very probable, even if we begin by making one ourselves—those few changes will permit our survival a longer time than—"
"And you made these changes in the temple—the temple dedicated to my patron Goddess—without asking me first?"
Fentor looked at him coolly. "My lord, you were away, and had I waited for your return, there would have been no time. Moreover, you told me to take charge. I had to make an abrupt decision, and I did so."
"You were wrong," said Morrolan.
A certain redness came into Fentor's countenance, and he gave Morrolan a stiff bow.
Morrolan studied him, and, for the first time, showed some signs of what he would become. He said, "You still believe you were right?"
Fentor remained mute.
"Answer!" said Morrolan.
"I do, my lord!" said Fentor, glaring now.
"Well, then explain to me why, and perhaps I will be convinced."
Fentor, who had no small amount of experience with commanders, not to mention generals, stared in surprise.
"You will?"
"Perhaps."
Fentor frowned, "I will explain my thinking, then."
"Do so," said Morrolan.
Chapter the Fifty-First
How Our Friend Prepared for
Battle, With Some Discussion of How
Conversation Can Be Overheard, and
How This Might Lead To the Transmission
of Significant Messages
While Fentor attempts to explain to Morrolan certain principles of military science—principles which, we fear, could only interest a small fraction of our readers—we will turn our attention to a place some fifteen miles away—because even as Morrolan and Fentor were looking east, so Zerika and Khaavren were looking west.
"I confess," Zerika was saying, "that I should feel better if I knew how many of them there were."
"Well," said Khaavren. "Since you bring that up, so would I. It seems clear that those we pursue have either joined with a larger army, or are about to do so. I, like you, wish to know which it is, as well as the size and precise disposition of this larger army which is, at this moment, only theoretical."
"Is there a way to learn?"
"I could go there."
"I should rather you send someone. I wish you to stay nearby in order that I might have your advice."
"What advice can I give without knowing more about our enemy?"
"As to that, I do not know. But send someone else."
"Very well." Khaavren frowned, considered, and then gave instructions to Pel and Kytraan, who bowed and departed without comment. Khaavren turned to Zerika and said, "Well?"
"Yes?"
"You wished my advice?"
Zerika shook her head.
"How, you do not?"
"In fact, Captain, what I wish for is your companionship. I find that having you nearby reassures me."
Khaavren clenched his teeth severely against the display of any emotion, and gave the sort of grunt that he had been accustomed to make when, as Captain of the Phoenix Guard in what he thought of as his "old life," the Emperor had uttered some enormity to which he, Khaavren, had been unable to make any response that was both honest and respectful.
Zerika interpreted this grunt correctly and made the only possible response—that is to say, none at all. In this, her actions were as appropriate to her station as Khaavren's were appropriate to his. At this point, the reader may have observed that, in many ways, Zerika had fallen instantly into her rôle—she was acting more Imperial, one might say, with each passing day. Was this because she came from the House of the Phoenix, and, what is more, from a line that had produced many Emperors? Was it a chance matter of character? Was it from certain training she had received, perhaps unknowingly, during her youth?
Alas, this is not a question the historian can answer. We know how she acted, because all of the records are clear on this matter, as well as countless letters and journals that speak of interactions with her. But we cannot know why it is, and moreover, we must look with great suspicion upon anyone who claims to such knowledge.
An hour or two later, Pel and Kytraan returned and presented themselves, saying, "We beg permission to report on our mission."
Khaavren nodded, and Zerika said, "I should like nothing better. Did you learn anything?"
"Nearly," said Kytraan.
"The troop we fought with before is now scarcely two miles from us," said Pel.
"And what are they doing?" asked Zerika eagerly.
"As we are," said Kytraan. "That is to say, resting."
Zerika nodded. "Yes, we are close. If, indeed, their destination is Dzur Mountain, as it appears to be, then another two days will see us there, and they wish to be rested."
"No doubt Your Majesty is correct," said Pel, bowing slightly.
"Well," said Khaavren. "Come, let us hear. You were able to find them, I take it?"
"Nearly," said Kytraan. "That is, we were nearly as close to Grita as I am to—"
"Grita?" said Khaavren, glancing quickly at Aerich, then at Pel. "Grita was there?"
"We saw her speaking with them some days ago."
"That is true, but I had not known she was still with them."
The Yendi nodded. "She is. I recognized h
er from a distance away—you perceive, she has a distinctive posture."
"And so you went closer?"
"Closer?" said Kytraan. "He walked up to the camp as if he were invisible, and there were no danger of being seen, or, if there was, then no harm could come to us if they saw us."
"There were certain obstacles to their line of sight," said Pel. "It was possible to get very close without being seen. Their watch was lax."
Kytraan looked at Pel as if about to question this analysis, but, in the end, said nothing. Khaavren understood exactly, however, and said, "Tell us what was said, then."
Pel permitted a thin smile to cross his countenance. "You pretend I would listen in on a private conversation?"
"I believe you might," said Khaavren. "And I am nearly convinced that you did."
"Well, you are not far wrong."
"And then?"
"Grita explained to the young lieutenant that what she called the 'main army' was only ten or eleven miles away, and, moreover, that there was only one small garrison between them and Dzur Mountain."
"A garrison?"
"So Grita explained."
"What do we know of this garrison?"
"Grita said it numbered a few scant thousands, and had only the barest of defensive fortifications."
"Then it will not delay the main army for long," said Khaavren, "if the main army is, indeed, worthy of the name. Is there more?"
"There is indeed."
"Let us hear it, then."
"They spoke of us."
"Did they?" said Khaavren. "I am not startled. I ought to have noticed the back of my neck itching. My mother always said that if the back of your neck itches, someone is speaking ill of you."
"Yes?" said Kytraan. "I had not heard this. What if the back of your neck, rather than itching, hurts?"
"That means someone has stuck a knife into your neck."
Kytraan looked carefully at the captain, wondering if he were being made sport of; but Khaavren's attention was once more on Pel, who was saying, "Grita wants very much to do us harm, my friend."
"Well, that we had already known. But does she now have a plan for how to go about it?"
"Oh, that one is never without a plan. It is in the blood."
"Ah. The oven says the candle is hot? But go on, my friend. Let us hear this famous plan, for I have no doubt you crept close enough and stayed long enough to hear every detail."
"You are not far wrong," said Pel, permitting himself a thin smile.
As he spoke, the others gathered close to listen. Zerika frowned, as if considering whether this should be permitted, but in the end said nothing. Pel, for his part, quickly noted the audience, then turned his attention once more to the Empress and Khaavren.
"She wishes," said Pel without further preamble, "to have us caught between themselves and the army with whom we are all presently closing."
"Was that the plan?" said Kytraan, a look of astonishment crossing his countenance.
"Without question," said Pel.
"And yet, I heard no such thing."
"You heard, my friend," said Pel coolly. "However, you did not listen."
"How, I did not listen? Yet, I give you my word, my attention was concentrated upon nothing else in the world."
"Nevertheless, when Grita made that reference to being a hammer, what did you imagine she meant?"
"Why, I didn't know."
"And then, when that lieutenant remarked that the anvil had more pressing business?"
"Well—"
"And Grita spoke about waiting until the anvil was secure before striking?"
"Upon my word," murmured Zerika, "I believe I am beginning to understand, myself."
"Pel has remarkably good hearing," said Khaavren, also in a low murmur. "I have had occasion to make this observation before."
"But then," continued Kytraan, "did they say when and where?"
"They did indeed," said Pel, "and in terms that left no room for misunderstanding."
"Bah!" said Kytraan. "Impossible!"
"Not the least in the world," said Pel.
"And yet—"
"Listen, my young friend, and learn."
"Very well, I listen."
"As we sat—"
"Sat!"
"Very well, crouched then."
"I did not believe a man could be made to occupy such a small amount of space."
"Oh, it can be done, believe me—and, you perceive, we were not seen."
"That is true, nor heard—though I confess that, at the time, I was convinced the entire encampment would hear my heart pounding before they even discovered the gentleman whom we left sleeping at his post."
"Bah. There was no danger."
"So you have convinced me. But go on, then. As we were crouching while Grita and the lieutenant, Tseranok, were—"
"Tsanaali," corrected Pel gently.
"Yes, Tsanaali, were speaking."
"Exactly," said Pel.
"And I listened to what they said to each other."
"Bah!"
"Very well, then, I heard what they said."
"Yes, that I accept."
"And while I believe what you say about hammers and anvils—"
"And you are right to do so."
"—I give you my word they never mentioned times, or dates, or places."
"No, but they did speak of horses."
"Horses?"
"Yes, don't you recall?"
"Well, I remember Grita said something about horses, but she spoke of horses in general, not of specific horses."
"What is a specific horse but one of the general class of horse?"
"And yet—"
"So if one were to say something that is true of all horses, it follows, does it not, that this must be true of a specific horse?"
"Well, that is true," said Kytraan. Tazendra, though she looked doubtful at this proposition, did not venture to comment upon it.
"What," prompted Pel, "did she say of horses?"
"Why, very little. Only that they needed water."
"Exactly! She said that horses need water! By the Orb, there is nothing wrong with your ears!"
"You think not? That is good, then. I feel better in regards to my ears."
"And you are right to, for they function admirably."
"But, there may be a deficiency between them."
"You think so?"
"It is possible. Because, even though we agree about what my ears heard, well—"
"Yes?"
"I cannot conceive how the mention of horses requiring water—which the Gods know is true, because they were not built like clidogs to live for days without water, any more than clidogs were built like horses to be ridden—I cannot conceive of how this wisdom brings us any closer to knowing when and where they plan to bring us to battle."
"And yet," said Pel, "to me it explains everything."
"Impossible!"
"Nonsense."
"But then—"
"Come, Khaavren. Does it explain everything to you?"
"Nearly," said Khaavren. "That is, I could now point to the spot on the map where the attack is to take place, and name the precise hour at which it is to occur."
Kytraan now stared at Khaavren as if he were a specter emerging from Deathgate Falls. "And yet, I do not see—"
"That is all right," said Pel. "Our worthy Tazendra does not understand either, and yet she is our close friend."
"In fact," said Tazendra complacently, "I do not, but matters like this no longer disturb my peace of mind."
"They do not?" said Kytraan.
"No, because soon Pel will tire of his game, and point me at someone to fight, and then, well, I will fight, and all of this careful contemplation will be forgotten, and only the fight, and its results, will be remembered."
Kytraan now looked at Tazendra in wonder. "Do you know, I would never have thought a Dzur could have so well explained the heart of a Dragon."
Tazendra bowed, acceptin
g this as the compliment it was. Kytraan bowed back, then turned toward Pel, who, if truth be told, was himself rather astonished at the exchange he had just witnessed. After a moment, however, he remembered the discussion in which he had been engaged and said, "It is not so difficult, my young friend. Consider, we have horses, do we not?"
"My mind is nearly convinced that we do," said Kytraan. "And there are other parts of me that have no doubt at all."
"Well then, as Grita pointed out, we must water them."
"Well, yes, that is but natural."
"Where, then, are we to do so?"
"I would imagine at a stream or a river."
"Those are few in this region."
"And yet, are we not at one now?"
"We are. And that is why we picked this place to rest for the day, even though it was not quite dark."
"Yes, and therefore?"
"Therefore, a careful examination of a good map will tell us where we must arrive at to-morrow, where the enemy army must be—for they also have horses, and where Tsanaali and Grita must be, for they have horses as well. And, as we are moving faster than the army, and, moreover, as we know that Tsanaali wishes to converge with them—"
"Ah! I comprehend. But, have we a map? I confess that I have not seen one."
"My dear," said Pel, "we have all the maps that have ever been made."
"How, we do?"
"Nearly. We have the Orb."
A look of wonder crossed Kytraan's countenance. "I had not thought of that," said Kytraan. He turned suddenly to Piro. "Had you understood?"
"In fact," said Piro, smiling, "were I not ashamed to admit it in front of the Count my father, well, I should have to confess to being as astonished as you."
Khaavren, for his part, permitted himself another smile, and, bowing, turned to Zerika. "If Your Majesty will condescend to draw us a map of the region, well, we will soon enough know where they plan their attack—or their ambuscade, if it please you."