"Yes."
"Of fear or-"
"Not of fear." The wine was tart, refreshing to the heart and Dumarest took some, holding it in his mouth before swallowing. "How are you making out?"
"How would you expect? They handle a gun as if it were a brick? A few have learned how to load, cock and fire and, of those few, some even manage to hit the target. Those who were trained by Gydapen are better."
And were being used to instruct others but even they were short of the standard Dumarest hoped to achieve.
"You can't do it, Earl." Gartok helped himself to wine. "With the best will in the world you can't do it. It's been tried before. On Marat some farmers were being oppressed and formed themselves into a defensive unit. They got hold of weapons and elected a leader. They marched and drilled and learned how to use a gun and hit a target almost every time. They thought they were ready and made their defiance. Need I tell you what happened?"
"They failed?"
"It was a shambles." Gartok gulped at his wine. "They scattered when they should have held their ground, advanced when they should have retreated, fought when they should have waited and waited when they should have gone into action. No skill. No application. Nothing but raw courage and it wasn't enough."
"And?"
"These men you've found don't even have courage. They simply obey because they're used to taking orders. Roland thought that was all we needed. He didn't understand as we do that a good soldier obeys, true, but he uses his own intelligence when carrying out orders to achieve the maximum benefit from any situation. To listen to the Lord Acrae you'd think all a commander had to do was to swamp guns with targets. Amateurs!" He echoed his disgust. "Damned amateurs!"
"Like Tomir?" Dumarest rose as the mercenary stared at him. "Is he an amateur?"
Gartok frowned. "What do you mean, Earl? He's the son of a foremost dealer on Dyard."
"But not a trained and experienced mercenary. Not a seasoned commander. He's coming with armed men but what else? Flyers? Heavy equipment? Mobile detachments? Long-range artillery? Field-lasers? How much is Embris willing to spend? The boy will want a cheap victory in order to prove himself, right?"
"I guess so."
"Don't guess!" Dumarest was sharp. "You're a professional and I want a professional opinion. In Tomir's place what would you do?"
For a moment the mercenary remained silent then he said, slowly, "Heavy forces or light-which way will the cat jump? A wise man would use every man and weapon he's got and saturate the area. He'd crush all thought of opposition before it could even get started. But that would be expensive and so many men could create a problem later. Embris isn't noted for his extravagance and he has no way of knowing you intend to oppose him. I'd say Tomir will arrive with a small force and have reinforcements at hand waiting his call."
A calculated assessment and probably correct.
"And?"
"We could get him when he lands, Earl. Snipers set to open fire when he appears. A few shots and it will be over."
"You're not thinking, Kars. Kill him like that and his father will want revenge-and he wouldn't spare any expense to get it."
"True." Gartok helped himself to more wine, leaning forward so that the light of the lamp shone strongly on the seams and scars of his face giving him the momentary appearance of a gargoyle. "What then?"
"We wait for him to attack."
"That's crazy! Why give him the advantage?"
"We have no choice." From a cabinet Dumarest took a folded paper and opened it. The photographs he'd taken had been trimmed, matched, details enhanced and the whole copied to give an aerial view of the area around Belamosk together with that of other holdings. "He's coming to claim Gydapen's land. To attack him before he gets it will be to alienate the Council and to invite retaliation. We'll be giving him an excuse to commence a war. We can't hold both Belamosk and Prabang so Prabang has to go."
"You surrender it?"
"I have to. Now Belamosk will have the only armed force on Zakym aside from Tomir's men. He'll have to attack us first before he can hope to expand. If he doesn't and reaches for other holdings then the Council will appeal to us for help. Either way we shall have right on our side."
"Right?" Gartok was cynical. "That, my friend, belongs to the side with the biggest battalions."
"And the largest rewards to those with the smallest." Dumarest cleared the table with a sweep of his arm and spread out the map. "Assuming Tomir will attack from the direction of Prabang he will raft his men in to this area. Agreed?"
Gartok studied the terrain. "Flat ground and a wide field of view. Close enough to avoid excessive fatigue yet far enough to be safely out of range. A natural choice, Earl. So?"
"If he does then the column must move along this defile and through this pass. We can set up defensive points here and here." Dumarest's finger tapped at spots, on the map. "But if their commander is wise he will be expecting an ambush and divert his attack to pass along here. It's the next best route."
"If he follows the book, Earl, yes. It's the classic pattern."
"So we set our men here and here and catch the column in a crossfire. They'll be cut to pieces before they know what's hit them."
"Maybe." Gartok was doubtful. "I've seen these map-strategies fail before. It's a mistake to rely on them. If Tomir follows the book your plan could work but what makes you think he will?"
"Pride." Dumarest straightened from where he leaned over the map. "He is young and eager to prove himself. He's an amateur but he won't let that stop him. He'll want all the credit and all the glory but, above all, he'll want a quick victory. That's a combination guaranteed to breed mistakes. He'll forget something or overlook something and, when he does, we'll have him."
"So we move to Belamosk?"
"Yes."
"And wait?"
"And wait." Dumarest folded the map. "And get ready to welcome Tomir."
He came in a dozen rafts adorned with bright pennants each vehicle filled with armed and armored men. Dumarest watched them from his place on the summit of a hill, seeing the helmets, the body-armor, the glint of weapons. A show of force designed to intimidate and a little exaggeration to enhance the display. The rafts were not filled to capacity-half the number would have served to move the men, but against the bowl of the sky they looked menacing; shapes of destruction coming to deal death.
A courtesy visit, so Tomir had claimed, but Dumarest knew better. Now, lowering his binoculars, he called to the mounted man standing at the foot of the slope.
"Ride to the summit of knoll 8 and raise the blue standard."
A pre-arranged signal which would keep half his forces hidden, expose a third of the remainder as a diversion and warn Gartok not to hesitate when the rafts came close enough to ensure direct hits.
Turning he studied the castle. The walls were deserted and the great doors closed. Rafts could drop into the courtyard but, if they did, a storm of fire would bathe the area. Tilting his head he looked at the sky. The suns were wide apart and long hours remained of the day. As yet Tomir had planned well.
"Earl?" Gartok was below astride a sweating animal. "I've spotted movement to the east. Ground troops, I think, keeping under cover. The rafts could be a diversion to get us to expose our positions."
A possibility Dumarest had considered. "How far distant are they?"