Chapter 41: Tactics

Captain Alron leaned over the sturdy wood table in the captain's quarters – his quarters, he kept having to remind himself – as he pored over a stack of maps revealing the terrain of the Grasslands and its surrounding states.

The din and clatter of soldiers at maneuvers in the courtyard reached him by the window, together with a shaft of noonday sun. Inside the chambers, he had to read the map by the dim light of an oil lantern.

He had just lifted one of the maps to squint at some notes scribbled in the margins, when there came a sound like the rustling of the wind, or the sudden rush of air from a room long sealed. Alron spun around, already forming in his mind a sharp retort for the soldier foolish enough to interrupt him.

The sight of the woman before him made him swallow his words. Sarah was a pale-faced beauty, cool and impassionate, her snow-white hair pulled back and tied in a strict ponytail. She wore a Harmonian priestess' cassock in blue and white, slit at the waist for travel. She carried a crystal-topped staff. Above it, the complex emblem of a rune glowed pale yellow in the dim light of the room. Even to Alron's novice senses, the rune radiated tremendous power.

"Good morning, Captain Alron," said Sarah.

Alron straightened and smoothed his uniform, suddenly aware of how rumpled the fabric was. Immediately he felt a stab of anger towards himself for letting the damned woman unnerve him. If his uniform was less than presentable, it was only because he'd been burning the candle at both ends to make sure Brass Castle was prepared for the meeting of two nations that now approached.

Over the past week, he'd worked harder than ever before, harder even than when he was breaking into the ranks of the knights as a lowly squire. That part had been easy. Alron had always been quick with his hands and on his feet, even as a child. He had excelled at swordplay, and that had been enough to win him the favor of his instructors at the academy.

As Captain of the Knights and commander of Brass Castle, he'd worked himself to the bone because he wanted something tangible to show to Bishop Luc at their next meeting. Seeing Sarah before him now made him acutely aware of the missing pieces, the preparations as yet incomplete.

"Lady Sarah," Alron said. He gave a slight bow, as tiny a gesture as he dared without risking angering the woman. "Your visit comes at the perfect time," he lied. "Preparations are almost done for—"

"We know how your preparations fare," Sarah said, evenly. "We have surveyed the castle and found your efforts to be adequate."

Despite himself, Alron swallowed hard. They were spying on him? The thought filled him with discomfort. He'd seen the powers at Sarah's disposal firsthand, and he did not wish to become the target of her magics.

"I… I see," he managed. "Then why—"

"I've come to prepare you," Sarah cut in, "For the Harmonian approach." As she spoke, she made a slow circuit of the room. Alron could see her eyes sweeping the contents, lingering on the table with its stack of maps in disarray, on the rumpled blankets of his bed, and on the hastily doffed sparring breastplate and armguards hanging from an armor rack.

He tried read the impassive look on her face. Did she disapprove? Was this, too, part of some test they had set up for him? He could hardly wait for the day this awkward alliance was over, and Bishop Luc and his witch left him alone to take care of what mattered to him – Zexen.

"Lord Luc will soon make his move," Sarah said. "Expect our troops at the gates of Brass Castle in three days."

Alron swallowed again. Three days. His head spun thinking of all the impediments yet remaining. The Bishop rightly feared losing Brass Castle to the barbarian coalition, not to mention the possibility the so-called council in Zexen – illegitimate usurpers, though they were – managing to close the fortress' gates to the Harmonians. Once Brass Castle was in the Masked Bishop's hands, Lord Luc would have the Grasslands in a stranglehold. All who opposed him would be forced to sue for peace.

But it was not as simple as that. Alron meant to throw the gates wide open for the Harmonians, but he needed more time. There were officers to pay off, officials to silence. Not to mention the logistical nightmare of it all. Three days more to prepare Brass Castle and its environs for the arrival of tens of thousands of Harmonian soldiers. The overseeing of the provisions alone took everything he had.

Sarah had stopped by the table. She swept her eyes over the tangle of maps splayed out there, but did not seem to take any special notice of the contents. She seemed almost bored, though he could never tell with Sarah. The woman had ice in her veins.

"Respectfully, my lady," Alron said, "I need more time. The preparations…"

Sarah looked up. For what seemed a long time, she held his eyes but said nothing. It was meant to rattle him, and it had the intended effect. He tried his best not to rise to the bait, but he had to admit his heart beat faster when she directed her cool gaze at him.

"You have three days," she said.

All his instincts from years of surviving in a strict hierarchical structure, doing the bidding of self-important fools, told him that he should meekly comply. But Alron was done with meek. "Forgive me," he said, almost gnashing his teeth at the indignity. "But why now? Why so suddenly? We risk unraveling everything we've built up in Vinay."

Sarah drew herself up before him. She was a small woman, easily a head shorter than him, but she seemed suddenly larger and more menacing than the most imposing brute.

"Things have changed," she said. She glanced at the pale yellow rune floating over her staff's cap-crystal. It was a tiny gesture, but Alron understood. So it was one of the True Runes. Alron's throat felt dry as parchment suddenly. "We must move at once. Lord Luc needs to secure the Grasslands before his plans can move into the final phase. Circumstances have put us in a situation where Lord Luc's plans have escalated more quickly than expected."

Alron took an involuntary step back, and Sarah swept past him as if he had never been there. She rounded the table and made for the other side of the room.

"Wait," he said. "Give me a week. I won't let you down."

Sarah turned back to him. "If you do not wish to let us down, Sir Alron, then you should prepare Brass Castle for the arrival of the Harmonian army. In three days."

She lifted her staff up as if to strike the floor. A ghostly white rune flashed, bright enough to blind.

When Alron's vision returned, Sarah was gone.

Nash was halfway out of his breeches when there came a rapping of quick knuckles on his door.

Over the years, being an international man of intrigue as well as a noted lover of women, Nash had learned to tell a knock from a knock: the timid tap of a nervous maiden; the thunderous pound of a jealous husband; the inconspicuous thump of a clandestine messenger.

This one was firm and insistent. It had a businesslike quality to it. A pity. He had hoped for another visit from one of Alma-Kinan's eager and nimble-fingered young warriors.

Nash pulled his breeches up and casually notched his belt loosely. He pulled the door open.

Chris stood in the doorway, holding a candle that warmed her cheeks in its red-gold glow. She looked him up and down, and as she took in the sight of his bare chest, her lips turned down ever-so-slightly in an expression of grudging acceptance. "Have I caught you at a bad time?"

"No such thing, my lady," Nash said, grinning. Not the person he'd expected, but a welcome visit, nonetheless. He swept his arm to indicate for her to enter, stepping aside to make room for her in the doorway.

She took the threshold with a warrior's stride, giving each side of the room a wary glance. She remained in her traveling clothes, a pair of tight-fitting leather breeches that emphasized her shapely thighs and a rugged jacket that had seen somewhat too much action since it left Vinay. Her hair was down, tumbling over her shoulders. Her sword hung buckled at her waist.

He shot her his most winning smile. "Captain Lightfellow, is this an official calling, or a private one?"

Chris cocked her head as if she did not understand the question. "I need some answers from you, Nash Latkje. We stand at the precipice. The manner in which you answer my questions will determine what role you will play, going forward."

Nash nodded soberly. "You came to find out if you can trust me…"

"I already know I cannot," Chris said emphatically. "I came to figure out how useful you will be to me."

To his chagrin, he found himself staring, slack-jawed. He had expected this conversation, or something like it, ever since he entered Alma-Kinan. He knew the Grasslanders blamed him for Chief Lucia's capture, and more besides. The fact that he'd returned with the Karayan chieftain safe and sound could hardly make a dent in all the ill will she and her people bore him. As for Chris, she and Hugo had made the most narrow of escapes from Bishop Sasarai's clutches that night. Did she hold a grudge? He'd expected to see anger burn in those pale violet eyes, but instead there was nothing. He'd grown accustomed to seeing a wide range of emotions play out on the faces of the beautiful women in his life, but he seldom saw this one. Apathy.

He had to admit it stung, a bit.

His throat felt dry, prompting him to clear it. "I'm not your enemy…"

Chris raised a shoulder and let it fall in a noncommittal shrug. "You have your loyalties, Master Nash. As I have mine." She turned from him and began a slow pacing across the room as she spoke. "Your lord Sasarai is now in our care, displaced as he is from his command of the Harmonian army on our soil. While the Masked Bishop holds the army and the True Runes, Bishop Sasarai is powerless to act."

He made a dismissive gesture. "Don't underestimate Bishop Sasarai. He is anything but powerless."

She studied him in silence for a time before going on. "Bishop Sasarai now relies on us to defeat the Destroyers and remove the Masked Bishop from power. However, before that can be accomplished, we must first break the Harmonian army, rendering the Masked Bishop vulnerable to attack."

"Not necessarily," Nash countered. "A small band could lure the Masked Bishop from the camp, set an ambush—"

Chris held up a hand to stop him. "The time for such subtleties is past. With control of the Blinking Rune and three of the True Runes, the Masked Bishop can slip any trap we set. As long as he may retreat to the safety of the Harmonian camp, any ambush we set will be useless. And, he has the mind of the Silverberg tactician to draw on. Unlike his predecessor, he will not walk into a trap."

Nash seethed at the barb directed at Sasarai, but he said nothing. Not for the first time, he considered the odds stacked against them, and found his heart sinking anew. A ragtag band of surviving Grasslanders coupled with the disarrayed army of Zexen, holding Brass Castle against the might of the Harmonian army, directed with surgical precision by the mind of one of the greatest military minds of their age, and backed by the might of no less than three of the Elemental True Runes. Try as he might, he could hardly imagine a scenario in which they might triumph. But he could not argue with Chris's logic.

"Go on," he said, a touch more sullenly than he'd intended.

She spread her hands in an explanatory gesture. "Bishop Sasarai relies on us to place him back in power. In which case he gives assurances that the Harmonian army will march home. A rather empty promise, do you not think? Given that, should we succeed in placing Bishop Sasarai back in command of his forces, his army must needs be heavily depleted in strength, perhaps even unable to mount much of a continued siege. And if not, what is to stop Bishop Sasarai from seizing the moment and striking a blow against us?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "The situation as it stands seems rather one-sided."

"You doubt the Bishop's word?"

"On the one hand," Chris reasoned, tapping her lip with a finger. "You have vouched for the Bishop. On the other hand, you are a double agent whose word is highly suspect. The only thing of which I can be certain is your loyalty to Bishop Sasarai."

He grinned. "And what does that tell you?"

"I believe you will support whole-heartedly any action against the Destroyers, as long as that action is not harmful in the long view to Bishop Sasarai or the nation of Harmonia. The true question is what happens when Bishop Sasarai regains control of his army."

"Well," he said, slumping back into a chair and sprawling his legs and arms. "Let me lay the situation out as I see it. The Masked Bishop controls a Harmonian army on your soil. While this army remains strong, the Masked Bishop is virtually unassailable. While the Masked Bishop remains in command, the army will never retreat from the Grasslands. Now let's say, for argument's sake, you've decided to take this army on." He gave her a savage grin. "The Harmonians outnumber you ten-to-one. They are professional soldiers and veterans of numerous campaigns. Their rune bearers likewise greatly outnumber yours. And their tactician may be impossible to defeat." He paused, laying his brow in furrows as if in deep thought. "I don't think this is a fight you can win. Time is not on your side. The best you can hope for is to pick your ground, outwit their commands, and strike a single, tremendous blow." He balled up his fist and thrust it forward for emphasis. "In one sudden move, you'll stun the Harmonian army, and you remove the Masked Bishop. You place Bishop Sasarai back in command of his army."

Chris raised an eyebrow. "And then?"

He shrugged. "Then Bishop Sasarai marches that army back home. Or he doesn't. Honestly, even I can't know for sure."

"But you believe trusting the Bishop's word is our best choice?"

Nash pushed up from the chair. He smiled. "I believe it's your only choice."

The morning sun, peeking through the branches of the canopy, glittered on the scales of the Saraaks as Chief Dupa led his people from Alma-Kinan. Row upon row of warriors marched in step, their heavy footfalls thundering through the glade. Spears and glaives bristled from the lizard clan warriors as they exited the hidden village. Each of them kept his or her eyes forward, never sparing a second glance at the crowd that had gathered to watch them leave.

Chris watched the proceedings from the front porch of Chief Yuiri's cottage. The remaining clan chiefs stood beside her, but she felt more alone than ever. She imagined the stares of the clansmen assembled in the glade, lining up in tightly packed formation to look on with sullen expressions as their comrades left the alliance. She felt their judgment, their condemnation of her actions, her presence, her very being.

She shook herself. "This is utter madness," she said, under her breath.

Lucia must have heard her, for the woman turned her face to her. A troubled scowl twisted her face. "Not so long ago, I would have agreed with Dupa."

"What changed?"

Lucia gave a sardonic smile. "It's not easy being a mother, you know. We all have such wishes for our children. Such hopes and dreams. But these things are as dust, and the winds of fate will scatter them where they may. I used to think that my job as a mother was to find the strength to change the winds… But now I know differently. Now I know that a mother's strength is the ability to change with the wind, for the good of your child."

Chris studied the chieftain's face as she spoke. There was something wistful there in her eyes, before they turned back to follow the Saraak exodus. She briefly wondered if the loss of Hugo had broken Lucia's spirit. But as she watched the woman, she could see only determination. This was not a broken soldier fearful of returning to the battlefield. This was a warrior ready to challenge her enemies.

"What will they do?" Chris asked. "The Saraak."

Lucia sighed. "Dupa plans to retreat his people to the ancient tunnels and the Great Hollow, and strike out from there against the Harmonians. They will fight a guerilla war against our enemies."

"The Harmonians will root them out. They will be annihilated."

Lucia turned to her and frowned. "I pray to the spirits you are wrong, Chris Lightfellow."

Chris kept her mouth shut. Such a waste. All of it. Dupa's forces were needed here, with the alliance. Instead, his foolish pride might doom the whole region to Harmonian bondage. When Zexen and clansmen marched side by side in irons, chained together as slaves, what use would these grievances be to them?

When the last of the Saraaks had disappeared along the wooded trail leading out of Alma-Kinan, the chiefs convened in Yuiri's quarters. A serving girl poured herbal tea into cups that she handed to each of the women present. Chris took her cup with a tense smile for the girl, who regarded her openly and with great interest. She took note of that. The clans differed greatly from her own people. Such lack of decorum would not have suited the council chambers of Zexen.

Yuiri waited for each woman's cup to be distributed and for the girl to softly pad from the room before speaking.

"The pact is sealed. I now call the Council of Chieftains into session. Chris Lightfellow, you represent the Zexen Confederacy, and you sit here now as chief, as an equal. You have your truce, and your words will be heard."

"Heard," Lucia said, setting her cup aside, "But not heeded. Until such time as we are safely within Brass Castle, until such time as the Zexen forces stand shoulder to shoulder with the clans against the Harmonians, the voice of Chris Lightfellow will carry only the weight of advice. After all, it is we of the clans who are fighting and dying against the invaders." Yuiri and Rina nodded slowly, adding their consent to Lucia's words.

Chris sipped from her cup as she ordered her thoughts. The warm water stung her lips, but the bitter tea had a calming and refreshing effect on her. She set the cup aside.

"I cannot accept that," she said. A hush came over the room. As all eyes fixed on her, Chris drew herself up, and shrugged off her doubts. The time for uncertainty was past. She felt the weight of past events shed from her.

"We stand on the edge of disaster," she said. "The men and women we know now as the Destroyers seek to shatter a True Rune. Yun spoke of this. She saw it in her visions. We know this to be true." The thought of Yun brought back, unbidden, an image of the girl's empty, staring eyes. Swallowing back tears, she forced the memory from her mind. "The Destroyers' plan is a threat far greater than anything the Harmonians could do to us. If the Destroyers succeed, there will be no people for the Harmonians to enslave. the Grasslands will cease to exist."

She stood up. She felt animated by a desperate urgency, as if the grace of the Goddess had descended upon her. She drew upon this energy, motioning passionately as she spoke. "The Destroyers now hold three of the five Elemental True Runes. This conflict approaches its conclusion. If we are to be victorious, we must prepare for the final battle. The Destroyers are unassailable for as long as they remain ensconced within the Harmonian army camp, protected by an aegis of tens of thousands of soldiers, with access to the marvelous power of their Blinking Rune, not to mention their three True Runes. In order to render the Destroyers vulnerable, we must first scatter the Harmonian army."

At last, Chris reached the crux of her reasoning. She had dreaded this moment, knowing what she had to ask, knowing what the reactions of the clan chiefs might be. The alliance she had fought for now teetered on the edge of a knife. But now was the time. With Dupa's exit, the others might be swayed.

"I need you to comply," Chris said, slowly, "with my plans. I need command of our forces."

Lucia shot to her feet. "What presumption! You think us ignorant of these things you say? You think us unprepared to lead our forces in this war?"

She inclined her head. "We need a commander intimately familiar with the terrain, the fortifications, the people. The Grasslands have all but fallen. While Harmonia remains on your soil, you must depend on Zexen for succor."

"This is absurd," Lucia spat. She remained on her feet, her cheeks ruddy with anger. "You ask too much, Chris Lightfellow. We just watched our comrade march his people out of Alma-Kinan for your sake."

"Because you know what is at stake," Chris said. "What must be done."

Lucia spread her palms. Her eyes flashed. "Your very presence on our soil is a sacrifice. You led the knights to burn my village, and yet you stand here, alive. Don't speak to me of necessity."

Chris felt a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her instinct was to protest, but she pushed that instinct away. She saw genuine pain on Lucia's face. She needed to address that, use it.

"The wounds between our people run deep," Chris said. "The people of Karaya cry for vengeance. So too do the voices of Vinay cry out for justice over Iksay." She paused for a moment, to let those words sink in. "For generations, our people have shed each other's blood over these lands. Hatred is a living thing, passing from mother to son, from father to daughter, surviving in the hearts of our people. When I throw open the gates of Brass Castle and invite the clans into our sanctum, there will be many who boil with anger, just as you stand before me now. Goddess knows, there will be many who would prefer to hand our cities over to the Harmonians over letting the clans inside our walls."

She paused to let her words sink in. Lucia had settled down on her haunches, watching sullenly. Rina bore a thoughtful look, mulling Chris's words over. Yuiri frowned hard at the floorboards, but she too seemed to be processing Chris's speech.

Chris clasped her hands together in a beseeching manner. "Believe me. I understand the sacrifice you are making. The sacrifices you have already made. Still, I must request that you place your trust in me. Give me command of our forces, and I shall give every drop of blood and sweat in my body, wring every last bitter tear from my body, to save your people. To save all our peoples."

Feeling drained, Chris sat down. The three clan chiefs remained silent for a time. Anger had drained from them, mostly, replaced by something more contemplative, something reluctant. Finally, Lucia sighed. "There is wisdom in your words, Chris Lightfellow. And yet, still you ask too much."

Her heart sank. "Is there truly no way you can accept my request?"

Rina took in her comrades' ashen faces, their bristling postures. Chris could read them all the same – Lucia and Yuiri had lost much to the conflict with Zexen. The Safir chief turned to Chris, smiled grimly.

"Give us time, Chris. This is too sudden."

She nodded, heavy-hearted. "I understand. I will give you time. But do not take too long in deciding. Time is running out."

Luc stood over his maps in his command tent, nursing a splitting headache.

The noise of thousands of soldiers striking camp reached him through the canvas. The thunder and bluster of an army on the move was deafening, but he barely heard it. The voice of the True Wind Rune drowned it all out.

Even in his own mind, he was never truly alone. The True Wind Rune was always there. As the years passed, it only grew in intensity. There had been so many times over the years he thought he would go insane from hearing that riotous howl of sounds and images. In the past months, things had escalated. With every day the voice seemed to gather strength. It got even worse when he slept, and so he avoided sleep.

There was a rustle of canvas, and the tent flap parted to reveal Sarah. His companion wore the same simple frock as always. He had noted that she, though a master of illusion, seemed to prefer her natural form in his presence. Thoughts of her pale naked skin came to him, and he flushed.

"You called, Master Luc," she said, bowing her head. He had tried to make her stop that, but it seemed to be in vain. At least she would meet his eyes, now.

The sight of her, so coolly beautiful, so exquisitely strong and yet so dutiful, he was driven to distraction. He felt intoxicated by the scent of her, and he briefly glanced towards the screened-off bed at the back of the tent. No time, he chided himself as he fought down the primal urge. They were so close now. Their preparations for moving on the Ceremonial Site were almost complete. Soon, he would have rest.

He motioned towards the maps rolled out onto the trestle table. "Albert tells me the Grasslanders will follow one of two courses of action." He made a circuit of the tent, rubbing furiously at his temples. Seeing the look of concern on Sarah's face, he let his hands drop, willing himself to ignore the pain. "If they can put their differences aside, the Grasslanders will make an alliance with Zexen and march their forces for Brass Castle. They're in a position to do it, with the Silver Maiden among the Grasslanders... More likely, the old wounds we've torn back open will win the day, and the Grasslanders will retreat to the Great Hollow, the den of the Saraaks."

Sarah smiled coldly. "Where they shall hide like rats, creeping out of their tunnels to nip at our heels."

"They will likely leverage their extensive tunnel system to attempt to strike at our flanks and cut off our supplies. Albert has budgeted for this outcome. We are prepared to lay a trap for them."

Sarah rifled through the maps, scanning the terrain. "And what about Brass Castle?" she asked, staring down at the tabletop.

Her question surprised him. Sarah rarely showed any interest in the greater scheme of things, the overarching concepts of their military campaign. Instead, she would usually fixate doggedly on the specific tasks for which he depended on her. Sometimes he even wondered if she understood Albert's plan for the campaign. He wondered if something had changed in her after what they had shared last night.

Stepping up beside her, he stabbed a finger at the flourished brushstrokes depicting a stylized fortress. Brass Castle. "There are two ways to reach the Zexen border fort from the eastern Grasslands. The remnants of the Grasslander army now lingers here, in Alma-Kinan." He brushed his finger over to the crude painted trees of a wooded expanse. "Two ways. One is through the Ancient Highway, the underground tunnels connecting to the Great Hollow of the Saaraks. The other is overland, over the plains and the sparsely wooded rolling hills on the edge of the Grasslands."

She nodded slowly, understanding dawning. "Our army moves today. We will reach Brass Castle in three days. The Grasslanders must go either through our vanguard to reach the fortress… or they may choose to retreat to one of their subterranean passages."

"In which case they will cede Brass Castle to us. There's no time to reach the fortress before we have it occupied, should they go that route." He shrugged. "It doesn't matter what they do. We have them. And whatever trick they devise, Albert will see through it."

He looked up, and realized Sarah was watching him. A small smile played on her lips. "Soon, my lord."

Luc swallowed. The voices pounded inside his mind, threatening to shatter his skull. He nodded. "Soon."