“Well, look on the bright side,” Denjon shrugged. “The Glass River's so full they'll not be able to cross it for a while.”
“I'd prefer it if they couldn't cross it at all,” Tarja said.
Denjon's eyes narrowed. “That sounds suspiciously like a suggestion.”
“Actually, it was. Where are the others?”
“Linst is organising the supply wagons. Dorak is trying to beat some sense into your rebel friends. They're not being very cooperative.”
“That's because they don't like taking anything from the Defenders,” Mandah explained as she closed the cellar door behind her. “Least of all orders.”
Tarja nodded, satisfied that they would not be disturbed for some time. He stabbed his finger at the map and looked at Denjon and Mandah.
“We have to stop the Kariens crossing the Glass River.”
“You said that already,” Denjon said, folding his arms across his chest.
“There's only three ways they can cross,” Tarja continued. “They can build rafts and float themselves across, which is far too time consuming and dangerous. They can commandeer what trading vessels and river boats they can find, or they can use the ferries at Testra and Cauthside.”
“They won't find many river boats,” Mandah said. “Most of them have sailed south for the Gulf. They know what's coming.”
“Then that just leaves the ferries,” Denjon agreed. “How do you plan to stop the Kariens using them? We don't have enough men to fight them off.”
“We're going to have to sink them.”
Mandah gasped. “Sink the ferries? But that would cut Medalon in half.”
“I'm aware of that,” Tarja replied evenly.
“It would stop the Kariens in their tracks, though,” Denjon mused.
Tarja nodded. “With the ferries gone, the worst they can do is turn south-west and attack Testra. The heart of Medalon is the Citadel, and until they occupy that, theirs will be a hollow victory indeed.”
“It won't be easy, Tarja,” Denjon warned. “Even if the Kariens don't try to stop you, our own people will. You'll destroy their livelihood along with those ferries.”
“I know, which is why I'm only taking a few men. We'll backtrack to Vanahiem, cross over to Testra, and then make our way overland to Cauthside. Hopefully we can take out the Cauthside Ferry before the Kariens reach it.”
“Then take the Testra Ferry out on your way back?” Mandah asked.
Tarja nodded and glanced at Denjon.
“That will take you weeks,” the captain said with a shake of his head. “The Kariens will be in Cauthside long before you.”
“The logistics of moving an army the size of the Karien host are considerable,” Tarja reminded him. “They can only move a few leagues a day, or be forced to break their army up into smaller units. The latter is unlikely. They'll stay together, thinking their impressive size will cow the Medalonians into submission.”
“That's a bit optimistic,” Mandah remarked with a thin smile. “The vast majority of Medalonians live south of the Glass River.”
“You'll be cutting it fine,” Denjon said with a frown.
“I'll hand-pick the men who accompany me. We've some good men out there and none of them come from the river towns or have family whose livelihood depends directly on trade across the river. It'll ruin the merchants and families who depend on it for their wages and I don't want any second thoughts when it comes to the crunch.”
“And the Hythrun? What do you want me to tell them?”
“I'll leave that to you,” Tarja shrugged. “Once you get to Hythria, you and Damin can start planning the conquest of Medalon. There's not much we can do until we find out how many men he can spare us, at any rate. I'll join you as soon as I can. In the meantime, you can send out some other squads with orders to do whatever they must - cajole, threaten or destroy - to stop the river boats from docking on the western bank. I want every boat on the river - even those moored on this side too - safely out of reach of the Kariens.”
“You know, given enough time, the Kariens will find a way across. They've engineers and boat builders aplenty and there's more than enough timber on the other side of the river to build rafts to move their troops across.”
“I'm counting on the change of seasons. By the time the Kariens have constructed their own transport, the Glass River will be even more swollen than it is now with the spring melt from the Jagged Mountains. It'll be far too dangerous to attempt a crossing until the flood waters have subsided.”
“I'll come with you,” Mandah announced abruptly.
“Don't be stupid,” Tarja retorted without thinking.
“But I was a Novice once,” she explained. “I know how to behave like a Sister of the Blade. Disguised as a Sister I can commandeer the ferry and once aboard you can take it out into the middle of the river, set fire to it, then swim ashore once it's well and truly ablaze.”
“That may even work,” Denjon said thoughtfully.
“It's too dangerous.”
Mandah laughed softly. “Dangerous? Tarja, I was fighting in the rebellion long before you came along and nothing much has changed that I can see. Why is it too dangerous for me and not for you?”
Tarja was unable to answer her. He could hardly admit his bravery had more to do with his desire to escape his own thoughts than it did from any innate sense of honour. Turning back to face the Kariens meant not having to continue south. It meant not having to face R'shiel for a little while longer. He was afraid to admit how much that thought relieved him.
“She has a point, Tarja. You'll raise less suspicion travelling with a Sister than you would if you travel alone.”
“Then it's settled. I'm going with you,” Mandah declared.
“Are you really so anxious to throw your life away?” he asked her with a frown.
“I don't plan to throw my life away, Tarja, and I wasn't aware that this was a suicide mission.” Her eyes challenged him to deny her accusation.
Tarja looked away first. “No, I'm not planning a suicide mission. You can come if you wish. We'll be riding hard though. It won't be easy.”
“If I'd wanted 'easy', Tarja, I would have stayed with the Sisterhood.”
Later that evening, Tarja sat in the taproom of the Roan Vale tavern finishing his meal, wondering why Mandah had accused him of planning a suicide mission. He didn't feel suicidal. But neither did the prospect of dying unduly concern him. As he pondered the matter, he realised that the only thing he felt about death, when he consciously thought about it at all, was apathy. He did not hunger for death. He did not particularly hunger for life. He simply didn't care.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
Tarja looked up at the old man who had spoken and glanced around the room. The taproom was filled to capacity and the only spare seat was the empty bench opposite him. He wondered for a moment if the others were avoiding him.
“Suit yourself,” he replied with a shrug.
The man sat down with his foaming tankard and smiled at Tarja. He had long white hair and a disturbingly familiar air about him that Tarja couldn't quite place.
“You look troubled, my son.”
“These are troubling times.”
“And you bear a heavier burden than most, I suspect.”
Tarja shrugged but did not offer a reply. He had no wish to fall into conversation with this old man, whoever he was.
“I hear you flee Medalon to join the demon child?”
Tarja looked up sharply. “Where did you hear that?”
“The rumours are everywhere,” the old man told him. “There's not a Defender here who isn't whispering the news to his comrades.”
That's true enough, he thought. Too many of these men were there when R'shiel revealed her power. It's long past the point of being a secret.