She was not certain what she herself would do in his place.
When the war is over, she told herself again and again, finding it within her mind even when she was thought she was brooding on other things. When the war is over …
But of course, when this war was over, another would be poised to begin.
“I say all we need to do is turn and attack them,” Atholfol Ivrithir said stubbornly, getting to his feet to lean across the table.
“That’s your answer to everything,” Thoromarth said. “It won’t necessarily work.”
“You’re blind as well as imbecile,” Atholfol snapped. “The vanguard of their army and the fantail of ours are barely five miles apart now. Let them close the distance further, and they’ll attack us in force.”
“They’ll try, certainly,” Rithdeliel said.
Vieliessar’s pavilion was so crowded there was no need to kindle the stove for warmth, and at that, only her most senior commanders were present. Each day, after combat practice, cavalry drill, and a meal, she gathered some of her commanders to her, doing her best in each sennight to meet with all the commanders in her army, from the War Princes who had pledged to her to the komen who commanded but a single taille of knights. But it was in the council of her senior commanders that the army’s decisions were made.
“They’ll manage,” Gunedwaen said to Rithdeliel. “Atholfol is right: let the distance between us narrow any further and the Alliance will attack in strength. But I’m not certain attacking them is the answer.”
“Why not?” Atholfol demanded irritably.
“Line meets line,” Gatriadde Mangiralas said. “They’ll attack in line because there’s less danger of riders being fouled if one of the destriers goes down on the ice. We respond in line for the same reason, and also to block a flanking maneuver. But either we commit twice their numbers—and we don’t have twice their numbers—or they get around the end of our line and reach the supply wagons.” Gatriadde had gained a great deal of self-assurance in the last several moonturns; he no longer looked to anyone for approval before he spoke.
“If I were in charge of the Alliance forces, I’d skip the fight and go straight for the supply train,” Nadalforo said. “That nearly finished us last time. They won’t make the mistake of keeping the wagons intact again.”
“We have Wards on the oxen,” Rithdeliel said.
“There are a dozen ways to destroy wagons without involving witchborn. Throw a torch into them. Shoot their drivers. Shoot the teams—or, if you want to start a stampede, throw acid on any of the ox teams. They’ll smash half the wagons to kindling before you can kill them,” Nadalforo said.
“They’d never,” Rithdeliel said. “Arilcarion said—”
“Oh, High House Warlord!” Nadalforo said, laughing. “Do you think it matters what some dead clerk wrote in a moldering scroll?”
Most of the komen looked shocked, but a few of those present, mostly the former mercenaries and the infantry captains, were smiling or trying to hold back laughter. Vieliessar would not laugh: she knew as well as any how hard it was to set aside the lessons of a lifetime. But there was one truth Arilcarion had not set down in his scrolls: The purpose of war is to win.
“I was the first to cast aside the Code of Battle,” she said. “It is true the Alliance has followed, but it does so without imagination. It merely does all Arilcarion forbade.”
“Like slaughtering helpless prisoners,” Komen Diorthiel said sourly. “At least it was not the komen who committed such an atrocity.”
“They are still dead,” Dirwan said sharply. He was the captain of the infantry, and his units had suffered the heaviest losses during the battles both in Jaeglenhend and in the West. Any who were captured had been tortured to death.
“The fact remains: komen expect to fight other komen,” Vieliessar said gently. “While you and all you lead understand that victory is not always sheathed in the scabbard of battle, the komen of the Alliance will resist performing the tasks of ‘mere servants who are not true warriors.’”
This time everyone joined in the laughter, as she meant them to. Even if the Alliance thought to destroy her wagons, she doubted they could persuade their komen to attack laborers and oxen instead of their fellow knights.
“Someone will figure out how to get it done sooner or later,” Nadalforo said. “We have been lucky thus far that no one there is truly in charge. If I were Runacarendalur of Caerthalien, I’d do whatever I must to gain sole permanent command of their army. I’m sure he’s thought of everything we have.”
So am I, Vieliessar thought grimly. Each day she survived was a new amazement to her—were their positions reversed, she would have drawn a blade across her own throat moonturns ago. But either her Bond with Prince Runacarendalur was not complete or the destiny that had surrounded her from the moment she set foot on this road protected her. I care not which is true, so long as one or the other is!
“We have a few days yet to decide how to face their attack when it comes,” Vieliessar said. “And to discover a way to widen the space between us. Iardalaith, find Lightborn to ride with the wagons, if you will. Lord Atholfol, it is a good thought to guard them so. But even if we turn aside any attacks, there is yet another matter we must settle. Soon enough we must turn south.”
She had become certain that she could not find the location of Celephriandullias-Tildorangelor from within any of the domains. Thurion had said the search would require power, and the defense spells of the two great armies drained every Flower Forest within their range. But south of the Uradabhur domains were lands claimed by no House. She had charted every landmark her dream-visions had given her. The ghostlords had ridden north and west in pursuit of Pelashia’s children. So she must go south and east.
And surely there was a Flower Forest somewhere in that uncharted wilderness.
If there is not …
“You can’t take an army into the forest,” Thoromarth said simply. Beyond the Southern Pass Road lay forest dense enough to give cover to a sortie party. And forest that dense would be impassable to the supply wagons.
“We shall do so when the time comes,” Vieliessar said, with more confidence than she felt. “My lords, find me a way to either move us faster or slow the Alliance. And now I give you all good night.”
Her commanders—princes, Lords Komen, Lightborn, mercenaries, outlaws, and commonfolk—rose from the table or stepped away from the walls. Slowly the pavilion emptied. Almost before the last had gone, Drochondeur, Master of the Household, bustled in at the head of a small army of servants to prepare the outer chamber of her pavilion for night. Vieliessar retreated to her sleeping chamber to let them work. Little had been settled, but she hadn’t expected more. She had an idea of what she might do about the Alliance attacks. The rest must wait on inspiration.
And upon my belief that there is a Flower Forest south of the borders. Or I have led my army halfway across the world to die.