“So you had to face Tuorel with half the army you should have had,” Gaelin said.
Baesil’s vitriolic scorn failed him, and he turned away.
“I met him at Cwlldon Field. That was a mistake,” he said. “I never should have engaged Baehemon there. I knew we didn’t have enough men, but I thought I might be able to out-maneuver him or fox him somehow. All I did was get a lot of good men killed and barely put a dent in Baehemon’s army.
And on top of that, I learned of Shieldhaven’s fall the next day. That was a week ago.”
“It’s in the past,” Gaelin said. “What’s left of the army?”
“I’ve about two thousand men,” Baesil replied. “Two hundred Knights Guardian, another two hundred knights and heavy cavalry – those are the retinues of the southlords, mostly – about three hundred light horse, four hundre d archers, three hundred pike, and a couple hundred infantry and skirmishers. We’ve also started to raise the levy of Byrnnor, so there’re five or six hundred farmers with pitchforks and bailing hooks scattered among the real troops.”
“How many more could we raise?”
Baesil glanced at him. “Oh, if we turned out the countryside, probably two or three thousand in the next week. But they wouldn’t be worth a damn. I’d be sending them to slaughter if I threw them into a battle without some equipment and a little training.”
“What do you know of Ghoere’s forces?” Erin asked.
Baesil looked at Gaelin and then the bard. Gaelin said, “Go ahead, Baesil. Erin’s been with us from the start in this thing, and she’s a White Hall bard, like Tiery. She’s had plenty of chances to betray me already.”
The general cleared his throat and nodded. “Well, after Cwlldon Field, Ghoere’s army dispersed to run down the scattered units we’ve got all over the place. They’ve kept a portion of their fighting strength together, maybe four thousand heavy troops, but the rest of their forces are engaged in securing the countryside.” He pointed across the rain-soaked fields toward the south. “The main body camped about twenty-five miles that way last night. They’re making for us with the best speed they can manage, but it’s getting a little harder for them.”
“When will they be here?”
“Three days, if they hurry, but if I were Baehemon, I’d get close and then camp a mile or two away.” Baesil gave Gaelin a dark look. “I’ll have to decide whether to retreat again.”
Gaelin weighed the information. They were in among the tents now. He was surprised by the number of units in the camp – there were standards and banners from dozens of different households, levies, and royal companies. But each was decimated, reduced to a fraction of its strength. This was an army that had been mauled.
“What do you want to do?” he asked the count.
“Well, I want to stand and bloody Baehemon’s nose. If we retreat, these are my lands he’ll be pillaging. But I don’t think we can beat him. We’ll need to fall back, up into the highlands, and try to rebuild our strength. There’s no sense taking him on until we know we can win.”
There was silence for a moment. Gaelin felt out of his depth in discussing strategy with Baesil. His own military experience was limited to a few years of raid and counterraid against the goblin marches.
“Here’s my suggestion,” he offered. “I don’t think we’re going to win this war in three days, no matter how badly we maul Baehemon, so let’s not try. We’ll fall back before he gets here, help the northlords chase the goblins from their lands, and try to build up an army strong enough to face Ghoere.”
Baesil nodded. “That’s my plan, but I’m leaving a few volunteers behind to hold Castle Ceried. No sense in letting Ghoere take it without a fight.”
“Good,” Gaelin said. “There’s one more thing: Before we go, I want to give Baehemon and Tuorel something to remember us by. We have seven hundred mounted troops?”
“That would be about right,” Count Baesil agreed.
“What if we visited their camp in a day or two, when Baehemon gets a little closer? The infantry can pull out beforehand to get a head start, and we’ll give them reason to sleep light at night.”
Baesil frowned, thinking. “We’re not likely to do them any lasting harm. No, I’m not going to do that.”
Gaelin stepped past Baesil, and scratched at his chin, looking out over the army’s camp. “Count Ceried, I know I only showed up on your doorstep a few minutes ago, and I appreciate the fact that you have a better grasp of the situation than I do. I will give your recommendations a great deal of con- sideration. I understand your advice, but think about a raid.”
“It’s a stupid idea, Gaelin. We’re outnumbered, and our chance of achieving surprise is negligible. Therefore, I won’t do it.”
“Count Ceried, that is not the Ceried muster out there. It’s the army of Mhoried, and it’s my concern as well as yours. I don’t need you to lead it. I need you to help me lead it.”
Baesil crossed his arms in front of his chest and stood his g round. “Who do you think you are, Gaelin? I built that army with my own hands, and they won’t march a mile until I say so.”
“Whom do you recommend as your relief?”
“What?”
Gaelin held Baesil’s eyes. “I asked, who else can run the army? I don’t know how, and you’re relieved of command.”
Erin drew in her breath. “Gaelin, have you lost your mind?”
“Aye,” Baesil agreed. “Have you lost your mind, boy? My men are nearly half of Mhoried’s army.”
“I didn’t say that I was releasing you from your feudal obligations, Baesil. Those men stay in my army. But I don’t need you to lead them if you don’t get it through your head that I am not your puppet, your spokesman, or your rallying cry. I am the Mhor, and, by Haelyn, that means I am going to lead the fight to free my country.” He advanced to stand nose-to-nose with the count and lowered his voice. “Well?
How do you want to handle this? I need you, Ceried.”
Baesil’s jaw hung open in surprise. Deliberately, he swallowed and scowled. “All right. We’ll do it your way. If you need my help, I will continue as the general of Mhoried’s army. But I still advise against a raid on Baehemon’s camp.”
Gaelin released his breath and nodded, keeping his face neutral.
“I will be honored to accept your service, Count Ceried.
N o w, let me ask you a question: A re you hesitant to attack Baehemon because you’re afraid of being defeated again?”
The general stiffened, his nostrils flaring. “That’s ridiculous!”
“Then, I want you to plan an attack of some kind against Baehemon before we withdraw.” Gaelin looked away, softening his stance. “It’ll make our troops feel good to throw a punch back at Ghoere after the pounding they’ve taken. And if we’re successful, we’ll take two or three hours away from Baehemon’s march every day, since he’ll be forced to fortify his camps.”
Grudgingly, Baesil nodded. “All right, then. We’ll mount a raid.”
“I’ll leave the details to you,” Gaelin said. “And I’ll need to talk to you at greater length about the military situation.”
Baesil nodded. “Give me a couple of hours to get the information together. Also, it would be a good idea for you to review the troops. They’ll be heartened to see the Mhor with their own eyes.” With that, he turned and left.