No sense in returning to an argument already lost, she told herself. Especially not when Geran was already abroad, beyond her ability to recall or even contact for now. No, all she could do now was to throw herself into the challenge Geran had set out for her. She set her mouth in a determined frown and began to speak. “Today I struck a deal with Kendurkkel Ironthane of the Icehammer mercenaries,” she began. “With the Icehammers, we have the strength we need to defeat the usurper Marstel’s Council Guard wherever they meet us. On the tenth of Ches-fifty-two days from today-we march on Hulburg.
“For the next five tendays, we will be engaged in maneuvers and training, come good weather or bad. By the time we march, we will be fast, disciplined, organized, and aggressive-a well-balanced sword in the Lord Hulmaster’s hand.” She paused, measuring their reactions before continuing. “Fifty-two days may seem like a long time today, but it’s not. If any here have doubts or questions about a spring campaign, now’s the time to voice them.” Kara held the rest of the room with her gaze for a moment more, and then leaned back in her chair.
No one spoke at first. Then Nils Wester cleared his throat. He was a wiry man of fifty years with a weatherbeaten face and dark, fierce eyes under bushy gray brows; before he’d rebelled against Marstel, he and his large clan had kept hundreds of sheep on their pastureland high on the hills west of the Winterspear Vale. “I’ve little learning in strategy,” the wiry old stockman said, “but I suppose I don’t see why we’ve got to give that fat old bastard Marstel fifty days to get ready for us, Lady Kara. My warriors could march by the end of the tenday! Why wait?”
“Because we need time to reequip and train,” Kara answered. “Half the men from the old Spearmeet musters don’t have any armor heavier than a leather coat or a weapon better than an old hunting spear. We might be a match for the Council Guard even so, but if you count the merchant coster armsmen in Hulburg, the Cinderfists, and whatever magic Marstel’s master mage can employ, the odds are longer than I’d like. Trust me, we’ll need the five tendays to make a field army out of the fighters we’ve got here.”
“Marstel might find more sellswords by the time we march,” the old magistrate Theron Nimstar pointed out.
“True enough,” Deren Ilkur said, “but regardless of whether we wanted to strike quickly or not, we simply don’t have the provisions or material to march now. It will take me some time to gather a supply train that could support our little army in the field for more than a few days.”
“Do we need more?” Nils Wester asked. “Hulburg ain’t more than forty miles from here-two days if you’ve a mind to hurry.”
“In good weather,” Kara pointed out. “And assuming no enemy force takes a position to contest our march. Imagine that we find we have to march another twenty or thirty miles out of our way to avoid some obstacle Marstel puts in our path, or that heavy rains make the tracks-such as they are-impassable. I don’t care for the idea of marching back to Thentia for our supper three or four days into the campaign simply because we’d neglected to adequately provision ourselves.”
Wester grimaced, but subsided. “Well enough,” he replied. “I can see the reasonin’ of it. But-no disrespect intended, Lady Kara-where’s Lord Geran? If this whole campaign is a plan o’ his, I’d like to know what part he aims to play in it.”
A good question, Kara answered in the privacy of her own thoughts. She couldn’t blame Wester for asking about exactly the same concern that she’d been worrying at for days now. On the other hand, the last thing her captains needed to hear were her own doubts about the wisdom of Geran’s actions. Wester was a good man, and a fiery leader to the Spearmeet muster who’d followed him into exile, but he was a difficult subordinate. He’d quickly fall into the habit of questioning every order she gave him if she showed any signs of equivocation.
“Lord Geran is engaged in a secret mission,” she replied. “I wish I could speak freely about what he’s doing, but I can’t rule out the possibility that Marstel’s spies-or the scrying of his mage Rhovann-might unearth some report from Lasparhall. If our enemies learn what he’s about, they might take steps to counter his efforts, and his life could very well be in danger. Suffice it to say that we have too few allies and too many enemies at the moment; Geran means to amend that before our campaign begins.” All of that was, of course, true enough, which spared her conscience; she’d never been a good liar. But that might be anything from secret diplomacy in Melvaunt or Hillsfar to seeking out magical assistance to raising the common folk of Hulburg against their oppressors. Let Wester and the others guess at what exactly she meant. “Now, are there any other questions or concerns before we get to work?”
No one spoke for a long moment. Kara studied the faces of her captains; some were grinning in eagerness, anxious for a chance to redeem themselves, but others-mostly the older, more experienced men-harbored dark flickers of doubt. They understood well enough the disparity of numbers and the slender resources available to the Hulmasters for their campaign. The defeat Marstel and his Cinderfist allies had dealt them back in the fall was still all too fresh in their memories.
Without even realizing what she intended to do or say, Kara slowly rose and leaned her mailed fists on the great table. “Marstel’s soldiers are growing fat and lazy in their comfortable winter barracks, bullying old graybeards and children,” she said in a snarl, allowing her voice to rise. “We’re the warriors who met the Bloody Skulls on Lendon’s Wall and stopped those savages dead in their tracks. Marstel’s sellswords caught us spread out all over Hulburg and surprised us with sudden treachery last time; they won’t surprise us again. When next we meet the usurper’s forces in the field, I promise you this: we will cut them to pieces! Now-are you with me, or not?”
Sergeant Kolton scrambled to his feet and struck his fist to his chest. “Aye!” he shouted. “I’m with you, Lady Kara!” Chairs scraped and mail rustled as the others in the room stood and spoke, filling the room with a chorus of “Ayes!” and “We’re with you!” and even a few cries of “Death to the usurper!”
Kara straightened up and nodded to herself. She had them for now, at least. As the cacophony of replies faded, she spoke again. “Good!” she said, grinning fiercely. “Now let me tell you how we’re going to smash Marstel’s hired blades.”
SEVEN
20 Hammer, the Year of Deep Water Drifting (1480 DR)
A soft snow was falling at three bells after midnight as Hulburg slept. Dawn was still almost five hours away, and even the most determined revelers had abandoned the streets and taverns. Geran and Sarth stood in the shadows by the garden gate of the Temple of the Wronged Prince, wrapped in the eerie silence of the snow and the sleeping town. It seemed they were the only two people awake in the whole of Hulburg, although Geran knew that was a misleading thought. They’d seen two or three patrols of Council Guards on their way to the temple and its grounds, and avoided at least one pair of the tireless helmed warriors with the gray skin. The constructs took no notice of passersby during the day, but that didn’t mean they would ignore two armed men at an hour when no honest folk were out and about.