Part 20 (1/2)
Kerrigan glanced back. ”Seven against an empire.”
”Eight, counting Will.”
”Right.” Kerrigan's voice shrank. ”It will be eight, won't it?”
The Vorquelf reached out and slapped a hand against Kerrigan's shoulder. ”That's the only command I'll give my little company: no dying.”
”Disobey that order and you'll kill us?”
”Worse, I'll bring you back.”
Kerrigan frowned. ”If you go back to being quiet, will your sense of humor go away, too?”
”I wasn't joking.”
”Okay, well, I think I'm all talked out now.”
Resolute laughed, and discovered he didn't mind the sound, as alien as it felt rolling from his throat. ”We will do what we must, Kerrigan. We may be the smallest force in this war, but our mission is the most vital. We can't fail, so we won't. Anyone who gets between us and our goal will discover I can be distinctly unfunny, and I won't mind making that quite obvious to them.”
General Markus Adrogans found Pain's quiescence mildly disturbing. It had been nearly a week since his troops had quitted Svarskya and begun the arduous trek into the mountains that separated Okrannel from the Ghost March. The Okrans in his command were able to spin out nightly stories of the battles fought in those fastnesses, both against the Aurolani and, before them, the Norivese. They made no attempt to disguise their contempt for those who had lost their nation at the same time Vorquellyn had fallen-though the stories of their battles left no question that the Norivese had once been formidable foes. Being from Jerana, Adrogans knew little of the Norivese. In times past they used to sail down the coast and do some raiding, but they seldom hit anything beyond rich Okrans ports. Their galleys had sported black sails with a big red ball in the middle and they had been savage enough raiders that the Jeranese had not mourned their conquest. Feelings toward them had been much hotter in Okrannel, since it was much more frequently a target of their raids. Though it did boggle his mind that the Aurolani could have been seen as an improvement by the Okrans, there was logic to it.
After all, the Aurolani had been content to let the Okrans occupy these mountains. Prior to that, the mountains had been something of a no-man's-land. Both nations claimed it, and regularly fought over it, but seldom in anything more than a b.l.o.o.d.y skirmish or raid. The Norivese preferred to attack by the sea and the Okrans could call up enough troops quickly to fend off landward raids. When Noriva fell to the Aurolani, the Okrans occupied the mountains. Unfortunately for them, they arrayed themselves to defend against raids and when Chytrine came for Okrannel, she brought armies.
Standing in his stirrups, he studied the long line of men, horses, and equip- ment working its way through the mountain valley. He had scouts and outriders throughout the mountains, and Gyrkyme overhead to guard against surprises, but even knowing the path was clear did not allow him speed. Though winter would be retreating soon enough, in the mountains that far north it would be a slow process. So his troops still struggled through deep drifts and consumed a lot of food to keep up their strength.
And, ultimately, they could travel no faster than their supplies and equipment, and those moved along at the torpid pace of eight miles a day. The travel day was long as well, starting before dawn and ending after sunset, with the bonfires created by the forward scouts luring the men into camp.
The twenty dragonels were difficult to move because both they and their supplies were heavy. Soldiers grumbled because none of that stuff could be eaten, and they'd not seen the dragonels in use enough to realize their power. In fact, his troops tended to discount that power since they'd already defeated an enemy who had dragonels, conveniently forgetting that the weapons actually had not been used against them.
Despite the grumbling-and when was there ever an army that did not grumble about something -morale was high among the troops. But there was no reason it shouldn't be, since these were the men and women who had fought a winter war and won against an enemy better used to winter than they were. One and all were ready to shed their heavy clothes and fight ”in proper weather.” They very much liked the fact that they were violating nebulous orders from far Narriz. None of them were fighting for their countries; they were fighting for him and their comrades.
Phfas rode up beside him, letting a yellow-toothed grin split his leathery face. ”The progress is good.”
”You are not worried about how quiet theyrunare?”
The Zhusk shaman shook his head. ”This far from home they grow sleepy.”
Adrogans frowned. ”I did not think they were tied to place asweirunare.”
”They are tied, as are you, to the place you were bound to them.” The skinny little man shrugged. ”If you listen carefully, you will hear them.”
The Jeranese general pa.s.sed a hand over his eyes. ”They will not be as useful to me as they have been, then?”
Phfas shook his head curtly. ”The Zhusk may venture far from home, but theyrundo not.”
A bubble of annoyance rose from the pit of his stomach. Pain had been terribly useful in pinpointing enemy formations based on the misery of the troops waiting for him. While he had not enjoyed her riding him as she glutted herself on the pain of a battlefield, the times she had let him project agony into creatures had been very useful and had saved countless lives.
He thought for a moment, rather surprised at his reaction. The loss of battlefield information was the most critical to his situation, for with that information he became a better general. Knowledgeable about his enemy, the condition of the troops, the possibility of hidden reserves, all of those things let him issue orders that made his force more effective.
The ability to project pain, on the other hand, made him a better warrior-a superior warrior. On the surface that might seem a very good thing. It certainly had boded well for his people when faced with boombags at theSvar Bridge.Without that ability, serious damage would have been done to his troops and might have even prevented him from taking Svarskya.
What made him a superior warrior, however, would make him less of a good general. He had no fear of combat, and had seen more than his share of it in his long career. Even on the winter campaign, he had fought and been in personal jeopardy. Despite that, his true role was to rise above the skirling chaos of battle and issue orders that would win victories. Empowered by Pain or any otheryrun, he would forget what he was best at and forget what his people could do.
He glanced down at Phfas. ”Why didn't you tell me about this?”
Another shrug, then a little grin. ”I have never been so far from Zhusk.”
Adrogans laughed. ”How does it feel to be mortal again?”
”I have been linked withyrunfor longer than I have not. I feel naked and old.”
”If that's going to be a problem for you and your other people, I can arrange for you to head back to Okrannel.”
The little man rubbed a bony hand over his nose. ”No. Some stories tell that the Zhusk came from the north. We hunted these lands before the Okrans. I want to see where we came from.”
”Do you think you will find another place to reconnect with theyrunV Phfas shrugged. ”It matters not. This is no longer theyrun'swar. It is no longer a Zhusk war.”
”Then why do you come?”
The shaman threw his head back and brayed out a sharp laugh. ”Are you like the others, nephew?”
Adrogans growled. ”Don't speak in riddles.”
”Think clearly. It is no puzzle.”
Adrogans sc.r.a.ped a hand over the stubble on his jaw. The Zhusk were an aboriginal people who existed on the Zhusk Plateau, near the Okrans border with Jerana. They acknowledged no masters, paid no tribute, and in their homeland could be very nasty fighters. Adrogans had a.s.sumed that because he was half-Zhusk and had fought so long against the Aurolani that Phfas and the others had joined the fight out of a sense of personal loyalty. With their homeland no longer threatened, he wondered if they would return home.
”It is still a puzzle.”
Phfas shook his head, then laid a hand on Adrogans' knee. ”Even you stop thinking of the Zhusk asmen.
This war is a man war. The Zhusk do notlikeany other men. We see them as foes, but they are stillmen. If we abandon our kindred to the Aurolani, we are not men.”
Adrogans dropped his right hand to Phfas' left. ”I beg your pardon, Uncle. You are right. I had stopped thinking of you as men.”
”It is a common affliction... among men.” The shaman traced a finger along the long line of people struggling through the valley. ”All of them are far from home. None of them haveyrun. If they go on, so do we.”
The scouts located a good place to camp before the eight-mile mark, and Adrogans called for an early halt to let men and beasts rest. He wondered if his a.s.sociation with Pain had blinded him to the hards.h.i.+ps his people were feeling, so the early rest and some extra rations buoyed spirits.
Duranlaun, a Gyrkyme warhawk, reported to Adrogans just after the sun had gone down. ”My scouts have ranged far ahead of the column. By footfall you have four more days before you leave the mountains.”
Adrogans nodded and rolled out a map on which he had been tracking the army's advance. ”We'll be coming out into foothills that have some drainage heading east, but nothing navigable. What have you seen beyond the mountains?”
The Gyrkyme tapped a talon about an inch from the mountains at a point near a delta that indicated a river that originated in the Boreal mountains of Aurolan. ”There is a large settlement here. It is built over the ruins of a city. It does not seem that old, but has some fortifications built up. Log palisades, some earthworks; nothing substantial.”
”Do you think we can take it without dragonels?”
”Possible. I will send more people out there and we will bring back plans as best as we can draw them.”
”How far away are the Nalisk Mountain Rangers?”