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So, here we were, a little army flying off with the wind across Vallia toward Bryvondrin to meet these upstart foemen who would not leave us alone.

The wind held fair and we bowled along. Standing on the quarterdeck I looked around on the empty spaces of the sky. How odd, how weird, thus to see an armada of sailing ships billowing grandly through the air! Their sails did not gleam, for they were patched brown and pale blue, dappled with camouflage. But the sight of massive ships upheld in the air, bowling along with all sails spread… incredible. A sniff at the air and a closer look at the cloud formations ahead gave me unwelcome news. The captain came over at my call and he agreed that we were in for a change in the weather.

“In for a blow, majister — and the breeze will back, I think.”

“Aye, captain. I am not as sanguine as I was that we will reach Kanarsmot before the gale strikes.”

“We can but pile on all canvas and trust in Opaz, majister.”

“Aye.”

The plan had been to land near Kanarsmot, a town on the Great River situated where, on the southeastern bank of the river, the boundaries of Mai Makanar to the north and Mai Yenizar to the south marched. By this stratagem we would array our forces in rear of the invaders, cut their supply lines, free the town, and then be in a position to hit them in flank and rear and dispose of them with little hope of escape.

But the wind gusted and freshened. And, as we feared, it backed.

Well, weather is sent by the Hyr-Pallan Whetti-Orbium, the meteorological manifestation of Opaz, and we must do what we could. We battened down. There were no seas to come leaping and crashing in over the bulwarks; but as the breeze blew with ever greater strength and backed around the compass, our yards were hauled farther and farther around. Soon we were facing a stiff easterly. The rushing roar of the wind stuffed our mouths and nostrils and half-blinded us. On the ships staggered, lurching as their invisible keels gripped into the lines of force. At last, when we were within only three dwaburs of the town, it was apparent that we could make no further headway.

The twin suns were sinking, flooding the land below with their mingled streaming lights. The jade and ruby cast long tinted shadows. The country here was tufty, cut up by small hills and gullies, scrub country and yet being well-watered festooned with traceries of forests. The clouds sent racing shadows leapfrogging across the grass.

“Down, captain,” I shouted, my words blown away. I pointed down and stabbed my hand urgently. If we continued aloft we’d be blown miles off course.

So, in the last of the light, we made our landfall.

We came down fifteen miles short of Kanarsmot and we knew the enemy was in force somewhere between us and the town.

Thus are the grandiose plans of captains and kings foiled by the invisible breeze. A pretty bedlam ensued as the reluctant animals were herded from the capacious interiors of the ships. The men disembarked and set about bivouacking. The wind tore at cloaks and banners. We pitched a dry bivouac, no fires being lighted. Cavalry patrols, zorcamen, were sent out immediately. When I gave firm orders that the flutduins, those marvelous saddle birds of Djanduin, were not to be disembarked, Tyr Naghan Elfurnil ti Vandayha stomped across to me, raving. His flying leathers were swirled about his legs by the breeze. He had one hand gripping his sword and the other outstretched, palm up, as though he was begging for alms.

“Majister! My flyers can scout that Opaz-forsaken-”

“Come now, Naghan — look at the weather!”

“My flutduins can fly through the Mists of Sicce itself.”

“I don’t doubt,” I said, dryly. “However, I shall need your aerial cavalry for the morrow. The breeze will drop by then.”

Naghan Elfurnil was a Valkan, and he had been trained up by expert flyers from Djanduin. An aerial detachment was with us; but I was not going to throw them away in weather like this.

“The jutmen will be our eyes tonight, Naghan.”

“They’ll be outscouted, you mark my words.”

“It would perhaps be best if Jiktar Karidge did not hear you say that, Naghan. He has a temper-”

“Oh, aye, majister. Karidge is a fine zorcaman, I’ll give you that.” Naghan gave a huge sniff that was instantly whipped away by the wind. “But I’ll never live to see the day when zorcas can outscout flutduins.”

I forbore to suggest that, perhaps, this night, he had lived that long.

“Those oafs we will fight tomorrow have flying fluttrells. Not many. But you’ll need to look sharp to drive ’em off.”

“And, strom, since when has a fluttrell had a chance in hell of matching a flutduin?”

Well, by Vox, that was sooth, and we both knew it.

So the pandemonium continued, and slowly and in the end surprisingly, order and quietness came out of chaos. The army bivouacked and the sentries were posted and the patrols went out. If we were not outscouted, we could set down all fair and square. I did not think we would outscout our opponents, for they had the advantage of the terrain. And, as the night progressed and the reports flowed in we understood that on the morrow we would advance to battle with a good idea of the strength and location of the enemy, and that they in their turn would know of our strengths and positions. There were some cavalry clashes during that night. The army was up and breakfasting and on the move early. The wind had dropped; but we judged three burs or so would have to pass before the weather was fit for aerial cavalry. In that time we formed and marched forward. The commander of the local forces came in with a remnant of exhausted totrixmen. They had been pushed back by the first onslaught over the Great River and had subsequently harried the invaders as best they could.

“The whole situation was completely quiet,” the commander told me. He was a waso-Chuktar, Orlon Turnil, and he looked worn out. “But they will not expect so quick a reaction, majister. Truly, the flying ships are marvels.”

That was the trouble with the current mess in Vallia. Our enemies pressed in on all sides and we had to leap from here to there to repel each attack. It was strange to think that not so far away we had friendly forces quite cut off from us by enemy occupied territory. We had to build our strength so as to be able to field enough armies of sufficient power to handle each trouble spot. That was taking the time, and, by Zair, it was tiring me out.

“You had best take your men and see them bedded down,” I said.

Chuktar Turnil looked at me.

“I think, majister, I did not hear you. We shall, of course, ride with you this day and fight in the line.”

I did not smile. “I think, Chuktar Turnil, you did not hear me aright.” And then I added: “You are right welcome. May Opaz ride with you.”

As he cantered off to rejoin his men, the six legs of his totrix going floppily in all directions, I gave orders that his little force should ride with the cavalry reserve.

During a regulation break in the line of march we spread the maps and studied the tactical situation. Up until now it had been strategy and operations. Now we got down to the sharp end of planning.

“At the moment,” said Karidge, thumping the map, “they must at least have reached this line of trees.”

His headgear glittered with gold thread, his feathers bristled. He was a light cavalryman from the tips of those feathers to the stirrup-marked boots. I had chosen his zorca brigade and joyed in the choosing.

“And is this river fordable?” I pointed.

“Aye. The men will get wet bellies; but they can cross.”

“By the time we reach there, the enemy will have set down less than an ulm off. I think that will do.”

Nath scratched his nose.

“You mean to fight with a river at our backs?”