“Didn’t know you two were so close,” Catheline commented, moving nearer and offering her hand.
“We weren’t,” he said, taking her hand and getting to his feet. “But his talents will be missed.”
Catheline’s gaze became guarded, red-black eyes downcast as she nodded to the crater. “I think we have a far greater loss to mourn.”
The White lay in the centre of the crater, body curled around three mangled forms. The infant Whites were mostly whole but clearly dead, thick gore leaking from slack and open mouths as the White nuzzled them, letting out a sound Sirus hadn’t heard from it before. It was somewhere between a whine and a rumble, the pitch of it sharp enough to pain the ears. More than the sound he could feel it seeping into his own thoughts; the raw pain of a grieving parent. The two surviving infants crouched near by, tails twitching and eyes darting nervously about.
“She got away, you know,” Catheline said. “The Lethridge bitch. A Blood-blessed in one of their flying contraptions picked her up.”
“She failed,” Sirus said, nodding at the White.
“This time. We can take no more chances, General. We must end this. In the past I have allowed my emotions to guide us. That was my error, for which I expect I’ll soon be punished. You will formulate a plan to ensure our victory beyond any doubt and I will implement it regardless of how long it might take. This army is now yours.”
The calamity in the Grand Cut and the rocket attack had cost the army twelve thousand Spoiled and two thousand drakes. The Greens bore the brunt of the losses thanks to the speed with which they had charged into the pass, but the Reds had also suffered greatly, losing close to a third of their number. It was a stark illustration to Sirus that the drakes were a finite resource. They had been the key to victory in so many engagements but every battle reduced their strength. And when they’re all gone, he mused amidst a carefully modulated pall of fear, all He will have is an army of Spoiled. An army led by me.
Veilmist reported that, even after such a setback, the overall strength of the army stood at close to one hundred and eighty thousand. However, Sirus found it an easy matter to convince Catheline they needed to increase their strength yet further. “Our enemy is clearly more resourceful than we could ever have expected,” he told her. “Every time we meet them they reveal a new and more deadly novelty. We have no ships that fly in the air, no rockets of unfeasible accuracy, nor can I find a mind in our ranks capable of producing them. Perhaps the most important lesson I learned from Marshal Morradin was the importance of numbers. We need to overwhelm our enemy. Attack in such strength no amount of invention can save them.”
The three columns set off the following day, making for regions Veilmist identified as possessing the most-developed agriculture. “Thousands fled our advance,” Sirus explained to Catheline. “People have to eat. It stands to reason they would flee to where they expect to find food.”
Each of the columns was led by a contingent of tribal Spoiled as they possessed the most honed tracking skills. They were under orders to avoid large-scale engagements and kill only when necessary. Their success was rapid and surprising even to Sirus. It appeared that, having avoided the passage of the White’s army, many refugees had naïvely assumed they were gone for good. Several large groups were captured in the open as they attempted to return to their homes. Reds also prowled the skies, scouting the locations of refugee camps in the hills. These would then be set upon from the air and the fleeing people herded by pursuing Greens into the arms of the Spoiled. The most fruitful area of recruitment lay in the farmland north-east of the Neck. Here most people lived on plantations rather than villages, meaning they were too small and sparsely occupied to be easily fortified. With their farm buildings and crops set alight the people had no option but to flee, once again continually harassed by Greens into following a pre-chosen route.
Once a decent number of captives had been harvested Sirus would take the Blue crystal and climb onto Katarias’s back. Escorting a large contingent of unwilling captives across miles of country was a troublesome business. It was far more preferable to fly to the column’s location and convert them in place. Once all the recruits were converted they would begin the orderly march south to join the main body of the army.
Sirus had persuaded Catheline to limit the drakes’ habitual liking for hunting down the children and elderly left over after a large-scale capture, arguing that it was a waste of time and made the unconverted prisoners harder to handle. This had the result of littering the country-side with large numbers of orphans and old people. Usually the children would flee whilst the oldsters stood around in helpless shock. On a few rare occasions the children would linger in the vicinity, crying out to their converted parents as they marched away, deaf to their tearful pleading.
After three weeks Veilmist reported a total of thirty-eight thousand fresh recruits, more than sufficient to make good their losses and swell the ranks for the advance. Will it be enough? Catheline asked, her new-found caution at the forefront of the thought she pushed into Sirus’s mind. We can send the columns farther north if necessary.
Marching north will increase the risk of encountering large-scale opposition, Sirus replied. There are a number of port-towns on the Varestian Peninsular. They will undoubtedly have been evacuated by now but there are sure to be more recruits in the outlying villages. Veilmist estimates a further yield of ten to fifteen thousand. Thanks to the Imperial arsenal we captured we have weapons enough for all. If employed correctly, an army of this size and discipline can have no equal.
She gave a faint pulse of amusement. Is that eagerness, General? I thought Morradin was the bloodthirsty one.
He didn’t need to summon any fear to mask the intent behind his reply, it being entirely sincere. I should hate to leave this task undone.
As expected the first port they came to was empty. It was more of a large fishing village than a port, its streets silent and small harbour devoid of ships. The Varestians had seen fit to raise the harbour door and disable its mechanism, ensuring the docks were subsequently inundated by the tide and rendered useless. An extensive search revealed hardly a scrap of food or ammunition, the only living inhabitants a few cats, dogs and a far larger number of rats. Catheline, in an increasingly rare display of pique, ordered the place burned to the ground and the army marched on beneath skies darkened by a tall column of black smoke.
For once Veilmist’s calculations proved to be substantially wide of the mark for the Varestians had been efficient, even ruthless in clearing the outlying villages of inhabitants. Scouting parties reported a number of corpses amongst the empty houses and farms, each one with their throat slit or a single bullet through the head.
“They know us now,” Sirus concluded when Catheline expressed her puzzlement at the murders. “Every living adult who refuses to leave is a potential recruit, so they are determined not to leave any.”
Another thousand additional recruits were rooted out of the small farms in the hill-country to the west, but Sirus judged most were too scattered to justify the time and effort needed to capture them all. The army moved on, the neat ranks of Spoiled following the coast south in a single huge column with Greens on the flanks and Reds above and scouting ahead. Their line of march took them past yet more empty villages and another two abandoned ports. The last one appeared to have been evacuated in haste, the Varestians leaving the harbour doors undamaged and a large amount of stores in the dock-side warehouses, including food and a quantity of small-arms ammunition. A Spoiled working party several hundred strong had begun to prepare the supplies for transport when the entire warehouse district erupted in a series of explosions.