Part 19 (1/2)

It had been a long time since Poliorcis had been shocked by anything, and he wasn't sure he remembered how to deal with it. 'You're joking,' he said.

Gorgas shook his head. 'No, I'm not,' he said. 'I'm practising what I preach. I'm sparing my people the horrors of a war we could never hope to win, and getting to pay my debt off at the same time. If you want me to abdicate, I will - well, look, you can see for yourself, I'm not exactly comfortable as a military dictator. All I want to do once I've settled that old score is to live here and work my farm; I'm sure the provincial office won't mind me doing that. Now then, you think of the advantages; think of Tornoys and the Mesoge as a base for your conquests in this region, how much easier it'll make it to pick off the neighbouring states one by one. Think of what it'll mean to you personally - you came here to get a rebel, you succeed, and you take home a new province for the Empire into the bargain. Can you possibly imagine a better outcome? Well?'

It was the enthusiasm, above all; the waggy-tailed-dog boisterousness of the man. It was almost more than Poliorcis could bear. But, 'No,' he replied, 'I can't say that I can. Well, you've certainly given me a lot to think about. Will it be all right if I rest here tonight and start for home in the morning?'

Gorgas gave him a smile as big and bright as sunrise. 'Whatever you say,' he replied. 'After all, you're the boss.'

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

They woke Temrai up in the middle of the night to tell him the news. The messenger had ridden all the way from the battlefield to the camp beside Perimadeia; he was exhausted, and his boots were full of blood from the halberd cut in his groin. Chances were he'd be dead by morning.

Temrai woke up in a panic, grabbing wildly at the covers and wrenching his damaged knee. They told him it was all right, there was nothing to worry about; then they brought in the messenger, all b.l.o.o.d.y, hanging off the shoulders of two men. Temrai was still groggy with sleep and shocked by the pain in his leg, and he couldn't quite make out everything the dying man was saying; he heard words like ambush and seventy per cent casualties and driven back in disorder and hit again before they could regroup. It was only when Kurrai started chattering excitedly about making the most of the opportunity and following up with a ma.s.sive counter-attack that Temrai realised he'd just been told about a substantial victory, not a catastrophic defeat.

'We won,' he mumbled. 'I'll be d.a.m.ned. So how did that happen?'

By this time the messenger had pa.s.sed out; they took him away and wrapped him in blankets, and he died just after dawn. Instead, Temrai heard the story from Kurrai, with the added benefit of the general's strategic and tactical insights.

It had all started when the Imperial army, carefully mopping up after their victory in which Temrai had been hurt, stumbled across a small party of plains renegades who'd been running from Temrai's men ever since their side had lost the civil war. To the provincial office, however, plainsmen were plainsmen. Their cavalry chased the renegades, pinned them down in a high-sided canyon and sent for substantial infantry reinforcements.

It was hot and dusty; there was water in the bottom of the canyon, where the renegades were, but not higher up, where the Imperial stakeout was settling in. The messenger sent to the Imperial field HQ made a point of stressing the urgency, and a column of just under two thousand men, led by a Son of Heaven, set out the same day.

Their own remarkable stamina and fitness caught them out. If they'd been slower, or not following the optimum route, it's unlikely that they'd have run into Temrai's reserve mounted infantry, who'd broken, run and been cut off from the rest of the army at an early stage in the first battle and had only just managed to find their way out of Imperial territory. The two forces coincided in a valley between a forest and a river, and purely by chance the plainsmen found themselves in a position that gave them an overwhelming tactical advantage. The Imperial infantry were hemmed in by the river, which was in spate and impa.s.sable; a bend in the river closed off one of the plainsmen's flanks, the forest masked the other. The Imperial commander was left with a choice between sitting still and being pecked to death by hit-and-run attacks from the enemy archers or mounting a direct frontal a.s.sault against volley fire. Basing his decision on the superior quality of his men's armour, he opted for the a.s.sault.

In his defence, the other option would probably have been equally disastrous. Doubtful, though, that this was much consolation, as he watched his advancing lines crumple up, like flawed metal under the hammer. After four detachments had failed to get within seventy-five yards of the enemy before collapsing in a tangle of metal and bodies, he fell back on the river in the wild hope that he might prompt the plainsmen to charge and give away their advantage. It didn't work. The plainsmen held their position and sent out small parties to hara.s.s and disorganise the men on either flank. Eventually, in spite of all their training and discipline, the Imperial soldiers started to edge away from the attacks towards the perceived safety of the centre, opening gaps between themselves and the river bank wide enough for a sudden encircling rush. With mobile archers now surrounding them on all four sides, all they could do was huddle behind their s.h.i.+elds and watch the arrows slant in at them. They made a few half-hearted attempts at sorties to break through the cordon, but it was pointless; the archers in front drew back as they approached, while those behind closed in, and the sortie parties were shot down before they could lumber more than a few yards.

The battle lasted six hours, five of them in the circle. If the Imperial commander had hung on for another half-hour, the plainsmen would have run out of arrows and pulled out, but of course he had no way of knowing that. He surrendered and his men were marched away, leaving twelve hundred of their number behind.

(A day or so later, a party of itinerant pedlars wandered on to the battlefield, stared in wonder at what they'd found, and spent the next two days stripping armour off the dead, beating out the holes and dents and cramming it all on to their wagons. In the end they sold the whole consignment to a sc.r.a.p dealer in Ap' Idras for more money than they'd ever imagined existed; in turn, the dealer sold it on to the Imperial armoury at Ap' Oule at a hundred and fifty per cent mark-up, proving that even the most dismal tragedy is somebody's opportunity of a lifetime.) 'We won,' Temrai repeated, when Kurrai had finished. 'That's amazing.'

'Don't sound so surprised,' Kurrai replied. 'And whatever you do, don't start thinking our problems are over, because they aren't. I don't want to worry you unduly, but are you aware that every single nation that's managed to inflict a significant defeat on the Empire over the last hundred and fifty years is now effectively extinct? They get awfully upset when they lose. There used to be a saying among the Ipacrians: the only thing worse than getting beaten by the Empire is beating them.'

Temrai nodded slowly. 'Thank you very much,' he said. 'One more victory and we're done for, is that it?'

Kurrai looked uncomfortable, and shrugged. 'I just feel it's important not to let one success go to our heads, that's all. And we have to remember, fighting the Empire isn't like fighting anybody else.'

'I think I get the message,' Temrai said.

By now, of course, he was far too wide awake to go back to sleep. Under normal circ.u.mstances he'd shake off the fit of depression by getting up, bustling about, finding something to do; but of course, he didn't have that option. Tilden wasn't there; she was on the other side of the straits with the rest of the non-combatants, camping out among the ruins of the City. The more restless he became, the more his knee hurt. Finally, he gave up even pretending to rest and yelled for the sentry.

'Go and wake somebody up,' he said. 'I'm bored.'

The sentry grinned, and came back a little while later with a couple of very sleepy-looking council members, apparently chosen at random - Joducai, in charge of the transport pool, and Terscai, deputy chief engineer. Then he saluted and returned to his post.

'Temrai, it's the middle of the night,' Joducai said.

Temrai frowned at him. 'I can't help that,' he said. 'Now then, those two Islanders, the old wizard and the boy-'

'Islanders?' Joducai looked confused, reasonably enough. 'Sorry, you've lost me.'

'We picked up a couple of Islanders wandering about down south,' Temrai explained. 'They said they'd been s.h.i.+pwrecked and just wanted to go home, but they could be spies, so I had them brought here.'

Terscai grinned. 'Since when have you been bothered about spies?' he said.

'Since a spy saved my life, I guess,' Temrai replied. 'I'm thinking of recruiting my bodyguard exclusively from spies. Do me a favour, go and round them up and bring them here.'

'Why us?' Joducai asked.

'You're up and about,' Temrai said. 'Everybody else is asleep.'

Joducai sighed. 'You're feeling better, I can tell,' he said. 'It was wonderful when you were dying, a man could get a good night's rest around here.'

A little later they came back with the two Islanders, Gannadius and Theudas Morosin.

'Morosin,' Temrai repeated. 'That's a Perimadeian name, isn't it?'

The boy said nothing. 'That's right,' the older man replied. 'We're both Perimadeians by birth. I'm his uncle.'

Temrai thought for a moment. 'Gannadius isn't a City name, is it?'

'It's the name I took when I joined the Perimadeian Order,' he replied. 'It's traditional to take another name, usually borrowed from one of the great philosophers of the past. My given name was Theudas Morosin.'

Temrai raised an eyebrow. 'The same as him?' he asked.

'That's right. Morosin's the family name, and Theudas is a name that runs in the family, if you follow me.'

'Not really,' Temrai admitted, cupping his chin in his palm. 'It strikes me as showing a lack of imagination.'

'Like having everybody's name ending in ai,' Gannadius replied. 'It's just the way we did things, that's all.'

Temrai nodded slowly. 'And you used to be Perimadeians,' he said, 'and now you're Islanders. I see. I imagine you feel pretty uncomfortable here.'

Gannadius smiled. 'He does,' he said. 'I'm a philosopher, so I don't worry about that sort of thing.'

Temrai m.u.f.fled a yawn - a genuine one, though it was well timed for effect. 'Really,' he said. 'And what was a philosopher doing wandering about in our territory?'

'We were s.h.i.+pwrecked,' Gannadius said.

'I see. On your way where?'

'Shastel.' Gannadius suddenly realised that he couldn't remember what relations were like between the plainspeople and the Order; he couldn't think of any reason offhand why there should be bad relations, or indeed any at all, but rationalising isn't the same thing as knowing. Temrai, however, didn't seem concerned.

'And may I ask why you were going to Shastel?' he said.

'I live there,' Gannadius said.

'Oh. I thought you said you were an Islander.'