“Will this alchemical mixture harm my soldiers in any way?”
“Mivar reported about one man in a thousand having a bad reaction, and Mivar defined a ‘bad reaction’ as vomiting or losing control of one’s bowels. The reaction lasted the duration of the mixture but produced no longer-lasting harmful effects.”
Several of the army officers winced.
“Gavin,” Ovir said, “why did you bring six stones if we only have five arcanists?”
“I always like to have a spare. Why?”
“I would like to try using one, and if I can, why not have six formations?”
Gavin surveyed the others at the table, his expression inviting comment.
“Six formations would make for a more thorough trap,” Captain Gartun said, “but six formations would contain fewer soldiers than five. A smaller formation might be overwhelmed more easily than a larger formation.”
“How overwhelming do you expect these mercenaries to be?” Corliss said. “You heard the same report I did. They’re not holding organizing drills anymore. The men are demoralized from wondering if they’ll be getting paid, and no one seems to have a clear understanding of who’s in charge.
“I realize you should never underestimate your enemy, and I realize they’ll fight once their backs are against the wall, so to speak…but in all seriousness, what kind of fighters are they going to be?”
A three-word phrase floated to the forefront of Gavin’s mind from the gray mists that surrounded his consciousness; it had been like that ever since Iosen’s basement. Strange words or concepts or memories came unbidden to his conscious mind, and this phrase was no different.
“Shock and awe,” Gavin said, drawing everyone’s attention to him.
The army officers glanced to one another before Corliss said, “Shock and awe, sir? I’m not sure we understand.”
Gavin wasn’t sure he understood, either, but the meaning suddenly clicked into place like the final tumbler of a lock manipulated by skill and quality lock-picks.
“They’re already demoralized, so we convince them that they have greater chances of living if they don’t fight than if they do. And here’s how we’ll do that. Once we’re in position, we’ll conjure our standards…battle standards that haven’t been seen by anyone in over six thousand years. That will draw attention and, if we do it right, cause fear. Then, my apprentices will destroy the watchtowers. If you just saw the watchtowers intended to warn you get destroyed, what would you do?”
“I would rally the troops into a counter-charge,” Corliss said, “but they will probably shit themselves.”
The leadership of the army accepted Gavin’s plan, and the following day, Gavin worked with his apprentices to teach them how to destroy the watchtowers. The concept of an explosion was foreign to them until Gavin thought of igniting marsh gas in a confined space, and then, they understood. That day, Ovir also tried using a Speaking Stone and found one would indeed respond to him, and the army officers devised the six formations the army would form.
The army stayed encamped throughout the following day, and Gavin and his apprentices mixed up the alchemical compound that would allow the soldiers to see at night. The first night they tested it, ten soldiers developed bad reactions and were sent to the wagons set aside for the sick and wounded.
The second night, the six formations separated and began the march to their respective positions, which were about three hours’ march from the mercenary camp. They would time their approach to the mercenaries so that they were in their assault positions just as the twilight between night and day shifted to the morning dawn.
Chapter 57
Gavin rode at the head of his formation…Declan on his right, Kiri on his left, and a herald close behind Declan. Declan wore the matte black leather armor that was the hallmark of the Wraiths, a bow worn across his torso with a quiver of arrows strapped low on his right thigh.
Kiri herself wore matte black leather like Declan, though hers was modified just a bit. Given the peculiarities of the slave brand, it could not be covered up without causing its bearer intense pain, and so, the armor Kiri wore left her entire left shoulder bare. Like Declan opposite her, Kiri wore blades of varying sizes strapped almost to every surface of her armor where she could reach them with ease. Daggers, dirks, throwing knives, and the two short swords strapped to her back…Kiri seemed to have sufficient inventory to masquerade as a traveling blades merchant.
If anyone thought it odd Kirloth would have his slave dressed out in matte black leather armor that bristled with blades in flagrant disregard of the Kingdom’s laws regarding armed slaves, those people were very diligent at keeping their opinions to themselves. By this point, everyone knew of Iosen Sivas’s demise and the destruction of his manor house, and it seemed very unwise indeed to antagonize a man who could kill a man or melt stone with a Word.
“Sir, we have reached our designated position,” the herald said.
Gavin nodded, saying, “Very good. Halt the march.”
As the herald lifted the flag that would signal ‘Halt,’ Gavin said, “What’s the status of the captured Inquisitors?”
“They’re safely on their way back to Tel Mivar,” Declan said. “They might feel a little ill-treated at their transportation, but a potato wagon was all we could find in time.”
Gavin chuckled. “They shouldn’t grouse too much. They’re free, after all. Very well. Hand me the crystal, please.”
Declan withdrew a black velvet pouch from a convenient pocket and passed it to Gavin. Gavin loosened the drawstrings and dropped the pouch’s contents into the palm of his left hand. Gavin looked down at the crystal about half the size of his palm and took a few heartbeats to marvel at it.
This crystal and its fellows spread out among Lillian, Ovir, and the others were artifacts of the Godswar. Needing a way to coordinate forces spread over a large area, Kirloth and the Apprentices created what the common soldiery of the time called the Speaking Stones. The Speaking Stones looked to be nothing more than ordinary crystals…perhaps quartz or some other mostly clear crystal. However, when fed a trickle of power-whether that power came from wizardry or ordained faith-the Speaking Stones allowed their bearers to converse with each other as if they sat around a table together.
Gavin wrapped his fingers around the crystal and pushed into it a wisp of the churning cataract his power had become.
Gavin felt a faint resonance in his mind and said, “Report.”
Voices sounded out of thin air as a faint light pulsed within the heart of the Speaking Stone.
“Mivar in position.”
“Cothos in position.”
“Wygoth in position.”
“Roshan-in-position.”
“Thatcherson in position.”
“Very good,” Gavin said. “Let’s do this just like we practiced. On my call.”
Gavin waited a moment and said, “Wynn.”
Through the Speaking Stone, Gavin heard his high-strung apprentice invoke the Word of Conjuration they had practiced both prior to the march and during it before splitting the army. At almost the same moment, Gavin felt the resonance of Wynn’s invocation through his skathos just as the effect appeared in the air above the division Wynn led.
Fifteen feet across at a minimum, the sigil was a blazing, white light almost too bright to face and floated some thirty feet in the air above Wynn’s head. It was a composite of several pieces of heraldry, but the Glyph of Roshan formed the core of the sigil.