Arcane mercenaries emper.., p.5
Arcane Mercenaries: Emperor, page 5
Grant already decided the heart of the staff would stay here. Moving this many people into the field presented challenges for logistics and communication. Everyone knew where to find this building, and the communication chains were already established from every command element across the area of operations. The staff could work efficiently without his presence. Grant just had to decide how to build a rhythm of regular communication.
He would have more awareness of the center axis than anyone in the headquarters and could even take personal command during the battle. But the headquarters would track the progress of the east and west offensives, and he had to understand the Tul threat in those areas. It was a risk moving forward with a small command element, but it was one he had to take.
Grant delayed the most challenging decision of his career. Leaving Ez in the headquarters meant the machinery would run flawlessly, but keeping her in the bureaucracy's heart would come with a high price—one higher than he could bear. The daily discussions with the many staff elements gave Grant insight on who to trust and leave in charge in his absence. Alenann had an excellent staff, and they could handle the paperwork.
“Field marshal, please thank your operations staff for their quick orders. The minister approved my modifications and sent riders back to our division, and I believe she also sent word to the capital.” General Michaux approached Grant from behind the operations maps. “I know the commander, and he’ll double their pace.”
“Thank you, General Michaux.” This was the best news Grant could get. “Will the prime minister order conscription?”
Grant caught the sound of a staff slamming into the floor and the measured pace of boots approaching the large room. With each pounding note, the headquarters fell silent and faced their impending doom. Grant sighed and faced the door, although he caught General Michaux removing a few pieces of lint from his uniform.
“Where’s Lindroth?” The words came out of the cardinal’s mouth like a snarl. Priestess Hamerling followed the man and held the staff as he thrust it behind him.
Grant said nothing as he stood opposite the cardinal at the large table with the array of maps.
“Hamerling, go get that fool. She should have been here already.” The woman hurried to follow the command and fetch the Eklund general.
Cardinal Wallner glared around the room, daring an officer to match his watery-blue eyes with a subtle hint of defiance. Other than Grant, no one took the bait, and the flow of messengers waited in the hallway to avoid the confrontation.
Hamerling and Lindroth returned in a moment, and Grant was pleased the Eklund commander was nearby.
“Staff, clear out of the room. I will have a word with your field marshal and the generals.” Cardinal Wallner looked resplendent in his official robes traced with gold, and the conical hat gave the image of excessive height that loomed over the officials around their tables and desks.
No one moved, and the cardinal’s face turned red. Grant couldn’t stop his grin from turning the corners of his mouth. Their faithful performance humbled Grant as a commander and a leader, and he couldn’t be more proud of his team.
“Colonel Ehn.” The operations division chief came to attention and waited for Grant’s command. “Please assemble the staff downstairs. We’ll start the changeover briefing in one hour.”
Sina’s words about needing the church echoed in his mind, and he had to let the cardinal save face. Ignoring the man exposed Grant’s operations to a new level of risk he was unwilling to take. He swallowed his pride and watched the headquarters staff prepare to change venues.
Faithful to his command, the team gathered their belongings, organized a few things in their work areas, and formed up by division to leave the room. Grant said nothing as the team departed.
The cardinal said nothing as officers and aides filed by the imposing man, and Grant was comfortable with the tension between them. Rienne watched his performance from the corner of the room.
The door clicked shut, and Grant waited.
“You’ve issued orders, devil spawn.”
Grant grunted.
“Under what authority do you issue commands to the nations of this alliance?” The cardinal paced around the table, hunting his prey.
“The emperor appointed me—“
“No, you filth of the earth. Do you give orders by the authority of the heavens above or the darkness below?”
Grant spread his legs to shoulder width and crossed his hands behind his back at parade rest. He focused on the maps behind the cardinal, just like his sergeants had taught him as a young recruit. He dared not breathe a word.
“Does my holy presence strike your devil tongue silent?”
“Hardly,” Grant said.
“And you, Michaux. You gave orders to the Nanteene forces based on the dark-spawned plans from this creature’s desk. Have you no thought of your eternal soul? Or even those members of your command?”
Michaux stayed in a position of attention but followed Grant’s lead.
“I asked you a question, general. Permission to speak freely. Unless, of course, you are under the devil-gained powers of this field marshal.”
“No, your eminence. Minister Delcroix and I delivered the order to our advancing forces to support the alliance. It is the wisest move.” The general clicked his heels together when he finished.
“Fool. Led into the hands of the dark ones because you can’t come up with an original thought. And you, Lindroth. Our newest general. You’re also giving orders. Based on what authority?”
“The queen’s, your eminence. Her majesty approved the plan to advance to counter the east axis.”
“And who placed that crown on your queen’s head, Lindroth?” The man moved within inches of the Eklund general, but she held the disgust off her face.
“You generals need a reminder. The source of all political power is the church. There is no coronation without the church and no election without our holy presence. It has always been so, and it will continue long after this war is over. The heavens above smile down and bless our opportunities—especially those entrusted with the leadership of nations.”
The boots thudded as he walked, but he never stopped near Grant.
“But no staff or commander paused their work to gain the church's blessing. This alliance must understand where the church takes part in these command actions.”
Rienne shot Grant a look laced with panic. Grant had his blade and a loaded pistol at his hip. One smooth draw of either weapon would solve this problem. Could they convict the field marshal’s actions within his headquarters? Grant doubted the emperor would give him that much leeway. Instead, he choked down his words.
“You must remember the source of your power. You must choose your destiny with the utmost care, but you must follow the light.” The cardinal continued with his sermon voice. “The success of this campaign and the future of each alliance member rests in the balance of our actions.”
As the words trailed off, Grant couldn’t hold back. “That may be true, your eminence, but which campaign are you referring to? Ours or the Tul’s?”
The man spun toward Grant. Hatred smoldered in the cardinal’s eyes, and Grant tried not to laugh. Rienne caught herself as she rolled her eyes. Grant would have to apologize to Sina later. The church would never back the alliance, not as long as the emperor embraced the Touched.
“To follow this spawn of darkness is to embrace defeat.”
Grant left his position of parade rest and marched two steps forward. Glaring into the man’s eyes, he said. “We’ll see.”
9
RIDE
Time in the saddle was good for Grant’s soul. Each mile away from the capital lightened his mood, but he couldn’t shake the confrontation with the church. The cardinal’s threats hung over his spirit like an executioner’s axe. Lindroth and Michaux shared a few comforting words, and Rienne tried to bolster his confidence. He appreciated their efforts, but it was just another burden of command.
Grant wouldn’t let the likes of Wallner and Beck win, and he turned to the countryside. His military column stretched for miles along the emperor’s roads and enjoyed the gathered crowds’ praise as they passed through the local villages.
The draft had already pulled the young and healthy away from their families. The elderly and the children lined the roads with pieces of colored material and handfuls of flowers. Many would not survive this war.
The Arcane Mercenaries picked up their pace with renewed energy, and Grant thanked the village leadership in each town square. Hope, Grant’s faithful horse, raced to the head of the column after each minor ceremony. Jafran was never far from Grant’s side, and Rienne often observed Grant’s efforts.
The Arcane Mercenaries formed the vanguard of the advance, and several Alenann units lined up behind the famous mercenaries. Grant’s team of leaders rode with him and shared thoughts about their plans.
Fields, orchards, pastures, wild grasses, and wagon-sized bridges over small streams dominated the terrain once they escaped from the clutches of the capital. Horse, infantry, cannon, and supply wagons marred the pastoral landscape.
The farther they pushed away from the city, the bigger the smile plastered Grant’s face. His mind worked over their operational problems, but life seemed more manageable once they got in motion.
The Nanteene division would need days of forced marches to reach Krosno. The defending Alenann units required a careful withdrawal to Krosno to establish fieldworks, and Grant was all too aware a disengagement could turn into a morale-crushing defeat or even a rout. With the Arcane Mercenaries moving forward with the Alenann reserve, Grant intended to fortify the flagging spirit of an army in desperate need of a win.
General Michaux assured him the Nanteene would reach the battlefield in time. Grant raised an eyebrow at the man’s confidence in his national forces, but the field marshal didn’t doubt him. He was more worried about the Tul and their relentless pursuit of the retreating Alenann forces.
He couldn’t shake the doubts in his mind, whispering how much he overestimated his abilities to turn the tide of war. When his professional thoughts shifted to the operational challenges, he returned to the one word he could use—impossible. Outnumbered and pulling back, the alliance might not muster enough forces in time to check the Tul victory.
Doing nothing wasn’t an option for Grant, and the march reinforced the message of action. They had to engage their forces in the battle, and a solid allied combined force could stand against the Tul. Their adversaries weren’t invincible, and hard fighting would teach the Tul a lesson about allied forces.
Riders came and went, even with Grant’s forces on the march. Grant took a short briefing with his leadership team at each rest and issued quick orders. He didn’t doubt his decision to move against the center axis after the updated charts showed the shift in Tul forces. He’d be able to take command of the troops in the field.
“Where’d the smile go, Grant?” Ez pulled up her horse next to Grant. They’d done this so many times, even their mounts knew when to match the pace.
“Overthinking about beating the Tul.”
“I can have the staff pull out the maps we have. We should have current maps from the scouts we sent ahead in two days.”
“You and your paperwork, Ez.”
“Adorable, right?”
“Wasn’t quite the word I was thinking.”
“Torturous?”
“Much closer.” Grant adjusted the brim of his hat and enjoyed the moment they shared at the head of the column. He caught the motion in the distance of the Arcane Mercenary cavalry screening their advance, and it was a stark reminder this was anything but a joyride in the idyllic pastures. He considered doing work while they rode. “No, it’s not about the maps.”
“Church brought you down.”
“Haven’t thought of them since I swung a leg into the saddle.”
“The defense of Alenann comes down to a single roll of the dice. Toughest decision of our lives, and nothing in the Mage Wars compares.” Ez was a professional rider and enjoyed the time away from the rustle of paperwork as much as Grant.
Jafran joined the pair. “The soldiers are in good spirits, and the Arcane Mercenaries are eager for this fight. Too much time in the city made us lazy and fat.”
Grant chuckled as he relaxed into the saddle. “You think it comes down to one battle? Seems a bit too historic for me. Like some ancient civilization lining up watching their champions duel.”
“It’s been done that way in the past, but that was long before StarFall,” Rienne said from behind Grant’s shoulder. She bounced in the saddle and joined the group at a trot. “I don’t think the Tul will allow a Touched champion to take the field and determine the outcome through personal combat.”
“Would be so much easier if they did,” Grant said.
“The Mage Wars would have been decided in an hour if we dealt with our problems with single combat. A duel to decide the world's fate,” Ez said with a broad grin.
No one could defeat her in individual combat. Some overconfident fool would face off against his friend and second in command, and Ez would win. She would shoot any opponent in the forehead before they realized the woman never missed a shot. He dreamed the Tul would allow him to pick a champion.
“That would be terrible for the mercenary business,” Jafran said. He played a straight face for longer than Grant expected, but then his face glowed with bright white teeth and a deep rumble of laughter from his belly. “Ah, for the simple times before the Mage Wars.”
“We’ll have to drink to that when we camp for the night,” Ez said. “With water or coffee or whatever Grant is drinking.”
Grant longed for the days before StarFall. The wars were terrible, and the Touched bore the mental wounds of endless battles. But Grant’s scars began when he jumped into that smoldering crater, longing to know what caused that strange glow. Curiosity blinded his caution, and the consequences were life-changing. He would give anything to return to the simpler days. No Touched could change the flow of time, though.
Riding in silence wasn’t awkward for Grant and his friends. Grant considered their ability to live in each moment to be the foundation of their deep respect for each other. With lives already lived decades beyond their friends and companions, they didn’t need to fill the silent minutes with wasted words and flighty thoughts. Their presence alone bolstered Grant’s feelings toward the upcoming battle.
As the sun passed from its overhead position to cast long shadows from their mounted bodies, Grant noticed the fast approach of a squad of cavalry. In a moment, Grant recognized the quick clip of Colonel Jakab Donat, the Arcane Mercenaries’ cavalry commander. As he watched the man approach with his riders, Grant considered a battlefield promotion for the man. He didn’t need Alenann or Nanteene forces looking down on a cavalry colonel, even if the man had decades of experience and probably was born in the saddle.
His masterful horsemanship was a sight to behold as he pulled up, and, with a flourish of his hat adorned with the plumage of local birds, he presented his salute. “Most glorious field marshal, I haven’t seen you this relaxed in months. Is your chief of staff too preoccupied with remembering life in the saddle instead of giving you paperwork?”
Grant snorted as Ez glared.
“I’ll give you a running start, Jakab,” Ez said.
Jakab clutched his heart in fear and returned his hat with a new flourish. “I regret I must skip that enticing offer.”
“Then I’ll just dock your pay.”
Jakab pretended he didn’t hear the last jab and addressed Grant. “The scouts picked out a campsite for your field headquarters. Another hour up the road and outside of a village. Not big enough for us to get supplies and far too small for us to requisition a house for your esteemed rank.”
Grant grunted as he thought about the centuries of warfare in this part of the country. How many generals appropriated inns for headquarters or hospitals in these towns? Did the flag of the army even matter to the locals? Probably not. They likely only remembered those who paid.
“Have the scouts secure the area, pay the farmers for using their fields, and send word about our location back to the capital.”
“Consider it done, my glorious commander.”
Grant wanted to give the man a retort, but Jakab had already wheeled his horse and cantered away to execute his orders.
“He does that to get under your skin,” Ez said.
“There’s none better,” Grant said.
Ez raised her eyebrow.
“OK, Jakab might be number two on that list.”
Rienne cleared her throat.
“Three? Jafran, help me out.”
“Field marshal, I’m considering when to bring you the paperwork Colonel Esmerelda has been saving all day. Do you want your field desk set up in your tent?” Jafran asked.
“It’s a good thing we live such long lives, my friends. Revenge could take a very long time, but I’ll find a way.”
Ez, Rienne, and Jafran shook their heads. Grant knew they were right.
10
EMISSARY
Krosno was an unremarkable town straddling a crossroads near a muddy river. It also was the seat of a regional government. Two church spires poked above a low curtain wall built in an earlier century, and a clock tower rang out the hours of the day. The village would never hold back a determined assault or withstand a siege.
The confluence of rivers and roads in the area was more important to Grant’s military calculus than the insufficient walls. He’d prefer mountains or rolling hills to channel the Tul into the alliance defenses, and forested terrain would limit the maneuverability of their skilled cavalry. Grant had neither in this area and had to retreat too far to find that favorable defensive ground.
The swampy land and slow-moving river near Krosno were helpful, but the road system would allow the rapid movement of his cannon and reserves across the battlefield. The Tul forces couldn’t bypass or ignore the walled city, and he could anchor his position within the walls.
