“Amralen? Oramol? What are your thoughts?” asked Vorish.
Amralen shifted on his cushion. He looked uncomfortable.
“Anthorians are brave, but to fight fire we have to be more than brave. I wasn't at the last battle, but everything I've heard says it was not just bravery that won. Menish was brave, everyone who fought there was brave. But Menish was clever. To win this battle we have to be both brave and clever. It's like a duel where the two fighters are matched. One will win because he knows a throw or a twist of the sword the other doesn't. When the fighters are not matched, the smaller one will sometimes know a trick the larger one doesn't.”
“I agree with Amralen,” nodded Oramol. “We have to be clever.”
“And we have to be brave, “ said Vorish. “I also agree with Amralen.”
“But you've brought your army,” said Krithyol.
“I brought a few men, they may be of use. Barvolin wisely mentioned that the Gashans can throw fire. This is what I've been thinking about most.”
“We're not afraid of fire,” said Yarva.
“Of course not. I know Anthorians well enough. You're afraid of nothing,” said Vorish. He sounded as though he meant it. Menish said nothing. He saw what Vorish was doing. “But as Amralen said, to beat them we'll have to be clever.”
“You mean think of some strategy?” asked Barvolin. “That won't help us much. Remember that our people like to meet their enemies head on. We don't have trumpet calls that each is trained to obey like the old Relanese did.”
“The Relanese still do use trumpet calls,” said Menish. “Vorish’s army is trained to understand them.”
“That's true,” said Vorish. “It may be useful. But this battle must be fought in the Anthorian way. It's your fight. I've only come to see if I can help.” He had disarmed their fears now. “I keep thinking about this fire they throw. The thing that I keep thinking about is how surprised they would be if we could throw fire back at them.”
“They certainly would,” said Amralen. “We would drive them before us like dogs. Chase them into the lake!”
“Yes, but we can't throw fire at them, can we?” asked Drinagish. Menish was pleased he had spoken up, but he wondered what Vorish was leading to.
“Of course we can't,” said Vorish. “But I wish we could. If we could just let them think we could throw it.”
“Ah, I see what you mean,” said Yarva. “It might make no difference if we could actually throw it or not. The panic we would cause would be enough.”
“Yes, imagine it,” said Athun, speaking for the first time. “Poor devils seeing a horde of Anthorians charging at them and throwing fire. I would run for my life!”
There was a murmur of laughter.
“But this is idleness,” said Adhara. “We can't convince them we can throw fire unless we can actually do it. And we know we can't.”
“Well, how could we convince them we were throwing fire?” asked Vorish. “What does this fire look like when it's thrown?”
“It's difficult to describe,” said Menish. He had told him this often enough before. Why was he asking again? Vorish never forgot anything. “You see the ground burst into flame in front of you. One moment there's nothing there, the next there's a great fire.”
“Do you see anything before it flames?”
“The Gashans had some strange devices with them, I wondered if they were part of the magic. Once I thought I saw flame flying through the air before it struck. But I had other things to think about.”
“I remember it,” said Barvolin. “It was just like that. Nothing, and then whoosh! A huge flame where there was nothing.”
Vorish nodded.
“If we could make one of those explode in front of the Gashans we would terrify them. How could we make one?”
“Something that burns quickly…” said Theyul. He trailed off hesitantly.
“Drinagish, you must have some idea.”
“Something planted in their path?” said Drinagish. “We could use pitch, that burns well.”
Vorish’s eyes gleamed.
“Yes, that's what we need! A bucket of pitch in their path. If that burst alight just as they approached it we'd have them frightened.”
“Yes, they would think it was us throwing it,” said Yarva, excited at the idea.
“And we would drive them before us!” said Krithyol.
“Into the lake!” laughed Vorish. But Menish thought it was not going to be that easy. The clan chiefs were still thinking of cattle raids, not battles. And what was Vorish thinking of? “Here, let me show you this.” He lifted a board onto the table. It was painted with strange designs, but Menish recognised it. It was a plan of the battlefield. “I had this made in Atonir by questioning people who were in the last battle. It's a picture of the battlefield as if you were a bird flying high above. This is the river, see? And here is the lake away down here. This area is the battle plain and there are wooded hills either side here and here.” The clan chiefs crowded around it, Menish noticed the Drinols did not. They had seen this before.
“What's it for?” asked Neathy.
“It is a tool for planning battles, Neathy. I'll show you.” How did he always remember everyone’s name? “If we say that Gashan is this marker,” he produced a tiny figure of a man and stood it upright on the board. “Gashan will advance from the lake up the valley. Anthor is this marker.” Another figure, this one larger, was placed at the other end of the valley. “If Drinagish's fire is set here, perhaps, and Anthor charges, Gashan will retreat back to here.” Vorish made the movements with the markers.
“But what if they scatter into the woods?” asked Drinagish. “They might be able to fight us off from there.”
Vorish was obviously pleased with Drinagish’s question.
“Perhaps that's where I can help,” he said. “If I put some of my people in the woods ready to ambush them and drive them back to you they'll have no hope.”
“There's something I am not sure about,” said Oramol. He was known as one who said little but thought deeply. “How will we light this fire of Drinagish’s?”
“Oh I'm sure something can be worked out,” Vorish assured him. “I've with me a team of engineers. Some people say they're wizards, but they've no magic. They're just clever, like Menish.” He smiled. “They'll devise a way to light Drinagish’s fire. We'll probably have to work out some signal so that the fire is lit during your charge, not after or before. Then we'll put the fear of Anthor into those Gashans!”
Menish saw it all. Not just the battle, but the way he had manoeuvred the clan chiefs. They were prepared to be intimidated by the Emperor’s army, to demand that they fight their own battle in their own way. Vorish had ensured that the strategy he had already planned appeared to be an idea of Drinagish’s as well as letting them charge head on into Gashan. But Menish saw himself at the head of that charge, dying.
“What about the Eye of Duzral?” asked Barvolin. “Menish said they still had the Eye.”
“I'm relying on Anthor’s courage there. We don't know how well they can use the Eye. I suspect they'll forget quickly when our plan begins to work-”
There was a commotion and the clash of steel among the tents outside. A woman’s cry rang out, not of pain but of outrage. They heard the thud of fist on mail.
No orders were passed but Athun and Treath rushed outside while Vorish coolly sipped some of his wine while he waited. There were more sounds of fighting but they returned a few moments later with two of Vorish’s blue surcoated guards who hauled an Anthorian woman between them; one of Vorish’s infantrymen followed, prodded along by Athun. Treath carried a curved sword that was smeared with blood and dust. There was a fresh gash in the infantryman’s leg and he was limping. The woman struggled and kicked. She tried to bite the men who held her and, with some clever footwork, she almost tripped one. All the while she kept up a torrent of abuse which only stopped when she saw Menish and the clan chiefs.
“What is the meaning of this?”
“Sire! I've been insulted, and these brutes have interrupted a death duel!”