Arcane mercenaries gener.., p.32
Arcane Mercenaries: General, page 32
Grant sat down on the earth floor as Jafran finished, and his friend was right. They had critical information about the StarTouched and the Tul plans, but it wouldn’t change the outcome of a battle or the campaign against Eklund.
“We have to get past the general,” Rienne said. “The queen must be our priority. Get us back to our lines and deliver what we know.”
Grant didn’t argue with their assessment.
How could he convince the queen to end her operations against Alenann? The Mage Wars pitted nations against each other over the StarTouched, and Doctor Gornick’s experiments took the threat to another level. Could he convince her about the dangers of dealing with the Tul?
“I think it’s time to play the part of a general,” Grant said.
“I thought that was the essential part of getting into this camp,” Rienne said.
At least she still had some elements of her humor, Grant thought. Jafran watched him patiently, letting the plan play out in Grant’s mind.
“It’s time to represent the empire, and I can use this new rank to meet with the Queen. Heaven knows there’s no ambassador nearby,” Grant said.
“If the countess keeps our imprisonment secret, your plan won’t work,” Jafran said.
“Ah, the tales of the filthy general in prison will get around the camp, Jafran,” Grant said. “I’ll bet some of the guards from their last visit are already spreading rumors around the mess tent. We won’t be secret for long.”
Grant worried about the kernel of truth in Jafran’s assessment. They had to get past the general’s barriers to reach the queen, and if Eklund were anything like Alenann, they would have a difficult path to carve through the bureaucracy.
Nobles always had an air of authority around them, whether or not they deserved it. Most senior military leaders also had noble upbringing or official titles to support their military pedigree. If he could pull off the same act…
Who was he kidding? He didn’t have a political bone in his body.
He was a man devoted to his family and his simple life before StarFall, before the Mage Wars descended across the lands. Grant endured the battles and campaigns, and he rose through the ranks. The emperor saw something in him, and now he had a job to do.
They only had one option, and it was the military one. As a mercenary captain, he had no authority to negotiate anything beyond his contract. He followed orders and fought where he was told. Ez ensured they got the paperwork's details right and guaranteed they had adequate supplies to keep their forces in the field.
But Grant wasn’t just a mercenary captain—the emperor chose him for a challenging responsibility. Grant was an Alenann general officer. Part of his soul cringed at the acceptance of his role. After Maro, he deserved time in this prison. Part of him felt like an imposter.
The people in the camp didn’t know he received his rank days ago. In their eyes, he was an authentic Alenann senior leader empowered to negotiate on behalf of the emperor. His option was to get them out of this camp alive to return with their critical information.
“Alright, new plan.” The pair looked at him expectantly. “It’s time to be a general.”
Jafran was the most disciplined soldier Grant knew. Rienne had no problem bursting out in laughter.
54
MILITARY LEADERSHIP
Grant examined his torn and blood-stained clothes. He would reprimand a private for looking this haggard. When they planned to act as soldiers arriving from the battlefield in need of medical attention, the plan looked better. Now that Grant needed to act like a government representative, he was woefully unprepared.
General Havek probably had a dress uniform in his baggage train and an aide-de-camp who would pull it all together for him. Heck, the stuffy general was probably wearing it at the height of the battle in case they won. Someone would have to orchestrate a peace agreement. What would that fool think if he knew Grant was already in the camp with the queen?
Who was he kidding? Grant was an impostor in his dinged mail, torn clothes, and blood-spattered clothing. He was a killer who was nearly impossible to kill. He’d failed so many times that he lost count a decade ago. Everything depended on Grant’s abilities that he didn’t possess.
Jafran laid his hand on Grant’s shoulder. Confidence poured from his command sergeant into Grant’s spirit. They’d come so far and risked everything in this one gamble. They had no choice but to carry it out until the bitter end. He couldn’t imagine having a better companion than Jafran at his side if this were the end.
Grant thumped his fist on their makeshift prison cell door until the bolt rattled from the impact. Boots shuffled and low curse words filtered through the prison door.
“You can’t escape from here. There are guards outside the house, and the whole compound will fight you.” The jailer’s broken Alenann made its point.
“We understand. I request the right to negotiate. To parlay.”
Would those words translate into Eklund? He wouldn’t surrender his command, but they had to honor his request. That’s what always happened on the battlefield after the dying was done. Wasn’t it?
Grant wanted to ask Rienne, but he couldn’t waver.
“Negotiate what?” the jailer asked.
“I’d like to meet with the general again. I’ve considered her terms and would like to discuss.”
Jafran raised his eyebrows, and Grant shrugged his shoulders. Rienne rolled her eyes and sighed. The plan was going perfectly now.
But the bolts slid back, and the jailer stuck his head in to check their chains. All three raised their arms to show they had no intention of making a run for the door or forcing their way out.
“On my honor as a general and a gentleman, we’d like to discuss terms with the countess.” Grant didn’t look toward Rienne to see her reaction. Hopefully, she could keep this together while they made their play for the next phase.
“I’ll get her.” The man went to close the door, but Grant placed his hands on the surface before the jailer could slam it in his face.
“No, that’s not how negotiations are done. I’m not standing in this converted farmhouse in the dark and cold while you fetch the countess.” Grant put on his best imperial tone and tried to look down his nose at the man. It always worked for the nobles Grant encountered.
And it did.
“Step out. One at a time. You first, general.”
Grant complied and shuffled forward into the main room. The jailer looked over the shackles for tampering or looseness. Finding none, he motioned Grant to stand near the fireplace. He accomplished the same for Jafran and Rienne.
Convinced they were as harmless as he could make them, the jailer turned to the external door and banged four times. Metal clicks came from outside the door. Daylight faded quickly at the end of the first day of the Battle of High Forest.
“Prisoners wish to see the countess.”
“Let them wait,” a soldier said out of Grant’s vision.
Grant stepped forward into the pool of light at the door. “General Gwydian to negotiate with Countess Stenmark. You’ll take us to her at once.”
The guards stood back and considered the tone. Dealing with regular prisoners and even their officers was easier than dealing with a general. They were at significant personal risk without understanding what the countess may think of their actions or decisions. Like all obedient soldiers, they’d run their concerns up the chain of command.
“Keep them here.” One soldier sprinted off after those words. Grant could track the direction without being outside, and he wouldn’t push his luck.
In a few minutes, the soldier returned at a normal pace. This time he was with the garrison commander.
“General, I understand you wish to negotiate?” Captain Hopfer asked.
“Yes, captain. I do.”
“I will be happy to take your terms—”
“Impossible. You don’t speak for the general or her staff. My words are only for the countess. I’d say the queen herself, but I understand that is remarkably unlikely.”
“I’m trying to be reasonable, general. If I may—”
“You may not, captain. I speak on behalf of the region and am appointed by the emperor. This is not a discussion between a general and a captain.”
Grant felt bad for the captain. He knew how he would take being talked down to by the brass of every army he’d served. And she had been nothing but excessively polite to him. But his plan needed to move past the intermediate steps and skip to the top. That was within his authority as a general officer.
“I understand, sir. But she may not be taking visitors now.”
“Send a runner ahead that we will meet immediately. I’m willing to enter negotiations now.” Grant motioned his head toward High Forest and the fading battle.
Grant surprised himself when the captain nodded and took them with a patrol of guards to the largest houses on the farmstead. It was closer to a manor than the humble one-room dwellings typical of local farmers. The acquired building was two floors and had tile shingles instead of a thatched roof. It was likely the residence of the local landed nobility.
The door opened to a big family room with a roaring fireplace already pushing back the fading light of the Alenann fall. Several aides moved around the walls, with maps and reports already pinned up. A table at the back of the room was likely the farmhouse’s family table converted to a command desk.
Countess Stenmark worked diligently with aides and personal staff as she analyzed reports and issued orders. She didn’t look up as Grant and his companions entered the room. The sentries watched as the captain approached the table and saluted the countess. After a few words, she looked up from her work and leaned back in her chair.
She calculated something in her mind and nodded at the captain.
“Take those chains off the prisoners.”
“Ma’am?”
“The general gave his word as a gentleman they wouldn’t escape. There are ample guards in the command center, and they are about to enter negotiations. Do it.”
The physical weight dropped off Grant’s wrists, but the new freedom also lifted the burden on his soul. If only he knew what he would say, he’d be more confident.
“General, can we offer you a drink or some food?” Stenmark asked.
Warnings flashed through Grant’s mind. Taking a meal with his enemy could be the last thing he did, but showing his fear wouldn’t advance his goals. It was time to jump in and take that risk.
“Coffee and some food would be great. For my staff as well,” Grant said and matched her tone.
Surprisingly, the countess nodded and gestured to her personal staff to comply with the request. A hot cup of coffee in Grant’s hands never felt so good, and some food recharged his spirit—and his Touched power.
“You wish to negotiate?” The countess watched him as he carefully chewed his food and sipped the delicious beverage.
“Let’s start with the battlefield conditions. When I left, the Alenann forces had a defense in depth and an advantage of prepared positions. Combined with aggressive artillery, I imagine you’ve suffered exceptional casualties.”
It was a bold statement, but Grant bet it wasn’t too far from the truth. But the countess wasn’t giving away information in her reaction. She stared at him with a stoic look and waited for him to continue.
“You are also deep in Alenann territory, and the weather is about to turn. Forage will become more difficult, and you are far away from your supply lines. I’d hate to be here once the first frost hits.”
Still nothing from her face. Grant wanted her to show something. Anything.
“General, you are wasting my time recounting what we both already know. What are you negotiating?”
“I’m ready to negotiate a peaceful withdrawal of Eklund forces from Alenann territory. Before we destroy you.”
It was an outrageous ploy, but everything he said had sound logic. Everything was true.
The countess chuckled and leaned back in her chair. “You have a great deal of faith in Havek. He’s an incompetent commander who doesn’t even know where his front line is. With you here in our compound, their resistance will likely crumble. I think we’ll be inside the gates of Semturm before the first frost.”
Grant said nothing. He knew he had lost again.
55
GAMBLE
“That could have been smoother,” Captain Lindroth said as she approached Grant’s group. Her shoulders were tight, and she clutched her hands behind her back. “I would have advised you your strategy would fail.”
Grant raised an eyebrow. “I don’t bring in enemy officers into my planning sessions.”
“The countess doesn’t like surprises, general.”
“Then warfare shouldn’t be her business,” Grant replied. “War is chaos and confusion, and surprises happen at every level. Leaders must be imaginative and decisive with incomplete information.”
Rienne observed Grant’s speech as if she was taking notes, but he ignored her. He didn’t have time for the bard’s philosophy.
“What is it you want?” Captain Lindroth asked.
Grant considered his next words. What did Grant the individual want? Grant the mercenary leader? Or Grant the general? Those were different answers, and he questioned sharing anything with the garrison commander. His discussion with the countess was an abject failure. He sized up the captain one last time and made his choice.
“I want the bloodshed to end, Lindroth. More than anything else, I’d like soldiers to go home to their families and grow old with their children. Big dreams, I know. But I want that as a person and leader,” Grant said.
“Me too,” Lindroth whispered.
Grant cocked his head to make sure he heard the young captain correctly.
“Captain, your campaign against Alenann will grind down, and winter will be here before you stock enough supplies to endure it. You didn’t break through at High Forest, and Semturm is ready for a siege. More will die if we don’t come to an agreement.” Grant gestured toward the distant treetops. A crackle of gunfire emphasized his point.
“Wagons keep rolling in with wounded stacked on top of each other. We buried the dead in the fields. Will you get us time to tend to our wounded and bury our dead?” Her eyes bored into Grant’s soul, and she expected his honest answer.
“Absolutely. Our soldiers fought because we ordered them to, and we need to honor their sacrifice. But we can’t waste time arguing about the size of the table or which officer sits near another. We must end this before passion overcomes our logic,” Grant said. Would she be an ally?
“It all comes down to fear, honor, and interests,” Lindroth said.
Rienne’s head came up. “You’ve read the classics.”
Lindroth nodded and smiled. “I always wanted to be a soldier, and I wanted to be a leader. My family wanted to marry me off and bear children. I want those too, but I wanted more. I chose this.” Her arms went wide to the camp.
“You know the queen?” Jafran asked.
“Not personally, but she picked me out of a large group of officers. I keep the camp running smoothly with logistics, discipline, and security. I grew up with fielded infantry, but this job offered promotions ahead of my peers. And now I’m deep in enemy territory, trying to figure out what to do with a general and his staff.”
Rienne didn’t let go. “Those words you used—fear, honor, interests. There’s fear everywhere. Fear of failure. Fear of losing. Fear of being wrong. But it’s honor that dragged us this far. It’s honor that will keep us fighting long after the fight should be over. What does your honor say?”
“My interests are in line with my country and my queen,” Lindroth said. “We want to win, but I want to bring as many home as possible. This has been a long summer. But we shouldn’t keep talking here. Perhaps a tour of the camp?”
Lindroth could help them prepare for their next engagement with the countess, but what was her interest in helping them? The countess was a general and influential in the eyes of the Eklund military. Did Lindroth want the general’s job? Did she seek favor with the queen? He would see where this went.
Captain Lindroth guided the small group toward the hospital tents. Bodies lay on the ground in stretchers in the chilly evening air, and moans came from their failing bodies. Cries of the wounded drifted from within the tent flaps as the surgeons attempted their battlefield heroics. They would save what they could.
Their guide didn’t take them inside or let them talk to the medics. They visited the makeshift grave behind the hospital tents. The open grave welcomed those who couldn’t be saved, and soldiers stood with shovels to cover their compatriots’ fallen bodies. It was gruesome work and tore souls to pieces.
Grant watched a team of medics carry a stretcher to the end of the open trench. They had the thousand-yard stare of soldiers too long on the front lines and were numb to their profession's carnage. They heaved the body into the pile and turned away from another failure. The medics cleaned their hands in a bloody bucket stationed at the rear of the tent, and none said a word as they reentered their domain.
“This is what I want to prevent,” Lindroth said after the medics left. “I run the grave detail for the army, and I support the surgeons and their staff. I can never get enough supplies for the doctors. The best I can do is keep their knives and saws sharp.”
She turned away from the tents and faced the battle lines.
“Why the invasion, Lindroth?” Grant asked. “Why now?”
“I would ask you the same, general. Aren’t fifteen years of the Mage Wars enough? We’ve fought this long, and no one can win. Isn’t it time to end this?”
Grant wanted to end the Mage Wars long ago, but the battles ground on. He tried to die too many times, but he survived every battlefield. He went from private to mercenary captain to general. The war should have ended fifteen years ago.
