He whispered in the Old Man's ear. "This time it's the holocaust. There are no more ideas. No more epics to play out on this tortured stage.
"Old friend, I want to go home."
The Old Man sat like a statue. A handful of memories had been cast into the turgid pool of his mind. He struggled to catchthem.
He had lost a lot. Even his name and origins.
The bent man took his hand. "Be with me for a time. Help me not to be alone."
Loneliness was a curse that had been set upon him ages past.
Once, in some dim, unremembered yesterday, he had sinned. His punishment was countless corporeal centuries, alone, directing diversions which would please Them, and possibly move Them to forgive....
He had said it himself. Things had become too complex tocontrol.
The Guild general stepped from the portal into his apartment-and the cauldron of an unbelievable battle. He had no opportunity to learn what had happened. Two elderly, iron-hearted gentlemen, to whom the Guild meant more than life itself, awaited him.
"Hawkwind! Lauder! What...?"
They said nothing. Sentence had been passed.
They were old, but they could still swing swords.
TWENTY-FOUR: Kavelin A-March
The volunteers poured in. Campfires dotted every patch of unused land.
"They must be coming out of the ground," Ragnarson observed.
Haaken stood beside him on the wall. "It is hard to believe. So many. Who's doing the work?"
"Yeah. Some will have to go home. You sorted out the ones we want?" Haaken, Reskird, and his other staffers had found trebled work dumped upon them. Kavelin, preparing for war, could no longer proceed on inertia.
Ragnarson had to devote his entire energy to being Regent. He had to browbeat the Thing into accepting this venture, and to prepare a caretaker regime for his absence. Gjerdrum had gotten that job, primarily because his father, Eanred Tarlson, had been a national hero trusted by every class.
Gjerdrum thought being left behind worse than being accused of treason.
Haaken, Reskird, and the other zone commandants had selected six thousand men for Ragnarson's expeditionary force. On a backbone of regulars they had fleshed a corpus of the best reserves and most promising volunteers. A force of equal strength would be left with Gjerdrum.
It would be essentially an infantry force. The venture had raised little enthusiasm among the Nordmen, whence the trained knights came. Ragnarson would take a mere two hundred fifty heavy cavalry, counting those of the Queen's Own. Fleshed out, Ahring would field a thousand men, only half of whom were real horse soldiers. Most were light horse, skirmishers, messengers, and the like.
The infantry would be the Vorgrebergers, the Midlands
Light, the South Bows, a battle each from the Damhorsters, Breidenbachers, and Sedlmayr Light, plus a hodgepodge of engineers, select skilled bowmen, and Marena Dimura aux-iliaries.
Ragnarson was an inveterate tinkerer. He would have fiddled till he had his force balanced to the last billet. Only Haaken's nagging got him moving.
Ragnarson understood what few of his contemporaries did. That training and discipline were the critical factors in winning battles. That was why little armies whipped big ones. Why Shinsan was so dreaded a foe. Her army was the most disciplined ever formed.
Ragnarson's plan depended on trickery and surprise, and his cabal of wizards.
"I'm nervous," he told his brother. "We're not ready for this."
"We'll never be ready," Haaken countered.
"I know. I know. And it pains me. All right. Get them moving. I'm going back to the Palace."
He soon joined Gjerdrum in the empty War Room. Every available map of the east was posted there. Scribes directed by Prataxis had made copies for field use. His intended route was sketched in red on a master.
He kept worrying. Could he make it without being detected? Could he feed his men on the wild eastern plains?
What about water? Could he trust the maps to show genuine creeks and water holes?
I've got to stop this, he thought. What will be will be.
There was no turning back. If nothing else, even failure would startle Shinsan. His spunk might make O Shing back off awhile, giving the west time to respond to Varthlokkur's warnings.
This was the second time Kavelin had had to be the bulwark. It wasn't fair.
Varthlokkur arrived. He was a pale imitation of the wizard of a week earlier.
"It's still dead?" Bragi asked.
"Absolutely. Even the Unborn is weakened."
For no reason the wizards could determine, the Power had ceased to function six days past. Only the Unborn retained any vitality, and that because it drew on the Winterstorm, partially tapping different sources of energy.
The weakened Radeachar was busy. A spate of enemies had
2I3pelted against Kavelin's borders after the Power's failure. Visigodred's assistant, flying the huge roc, was as pressed, scouting beyond the borders.
Radeachar would stay with Gjerdrum. His presence would keep the Nordmen in line.
"Marshall," Prataxis called from the door, "you have a minute? There's a man here you should see."
"Sure. Come on in."
Derel's man wore a Guild uniform. Ragnarson frowned, but let him have his say.
"Colonel Liakopulos, General. Aide to Sir Tury."
Ragnarson shook his hand. "Hawkwind, eh?" He was impressed. Hawkwind was the most famous of High Crag's old men, and justifiably so. He had performed military miracles.
"Colonel Oryon asked me to come. The General approved."
"Yes?"
"Oryon was my friend."
"Was?"
"He died last week."
"Sorry to hear it. What happened?"
"Trouble at High Crag. Oryon was in the thick of it. You know how he was."
"Yes. I know." The main message wouldn't register. Guildsman fighting Guildsman. It couldn't happen. "What?... Explain."
"He threw some wild charges around after he got back. Not at all in character. He always kept his mouth shut before. So people listened. And started digging. I believe he mentioned rumors of a junta trying to take over?"
"He did."
"There was one. We cleaned it out. The leader, General Dainiel, had disappeared from his apartment just before Oryon's return. Hawkwind and Lauder moved in. Six days ago Dainiel reappeared out of thin air. A transfer. It had that Shinsan smell. They cut him down. None of his intimates knew for sure, but thought he'd been to Shinsan to meet with other cabal heads. Dainiel had hinted that they were ready to grab control of the west."
Ragnarson looked for someone to tell "I told you so." Derel was the only one handy. Telling him wouldn't give any satisfaction.
"Thank you for your courtesies. Thank the General. I feelbetter about the Guild now. Oryon probably mentioned my suspicions."
"He did. The General apologizes for the pressures. The Citadel never planned to force its protection on anyone. That's Dainiel's doing. He wanted a strong force kept near the Savernake Gap.
"We can't offer much restitution right now. It's not much, but Hawkwind offers my talents."
Ragnarson raised an eyebrow. "How?"
"Training soldiers is my forte, Marshall. You appear to be mounting an expedition. Yet your men aren't ready. It'll take imaginative leadership to teach on the march."