Dominating Balaia’s geography were the Blackthorne Mountains, which ran like an untidy scar north to south, coast to coast, not quite dividing the land into two equal parts.
To the east, the marginally smaller area that its indigents liked to call civilisation. Rich farmland, dense forests, free-flowing water courses and natural harbours gave ideal conditions for people and trade to flourish.
To the west, rugged terrain, crag, thin windblown soils and shrubland predominated, with only small pockets suitable for settling to any profitable degree. South-west, the crowded Wesmen Heartlands; north-west, the Torn Wastes.
Popular myth held that East and West Balaia were once wholly separate lands drifting in the vast ocean waters before colliding with slow and cataclysmic result. The rockfalls that still blighted areas of the Blackthornes gave some credence to the story.
‘Now, you don’t have to be a general to know there are three points of potential entry into the east. To the south, the Bay of Gyernath, to the north, Triverne Inlet and, of course, Understone Pass a third of the way down the range. We can discount the three recognised overground passes here, here and here in terms of an invasion because they are long, dangerous and simply unsuited to mass troop movement. That doesn’t mean, though, that I will be ignoring them completely.’ He reached across the map and picked up a glass of water, standing straight while he drank.
‘You don’t think they’ll attempt to sail further along the northern and southern coasts, I take it?’ asked Barras.
Darrick shook his head. ‘Not in great numbers, no,’ he said. ‘I fully expect them to send skirmish and raiding forces at least as far as Gyernath, but they don’t have the ships for mass troop carriage. Going across the bays is easy, quick and any size of vessel will do.’
‘So what will they do?’ Vuldaroq’s eyes traced the outline of the map and Balaia’s uneven, pitted coastline.
‘There are two linked agendas we have to consider, one subordinate to the other,’ replied Darrick. ‘The Wesmen have long vowed to rid the world of the four Colleges. The Wytch Lords want that too, but only as part of the plan to control the entire continent.
‘The main thrust of an invasion is therefore likely to be concentrated on Understone Pass and Triverne Inlet. I’ll take the two in turn.
‘Understone Pass will take the majority of traffic. It’s quick, heavy equipment movement is relatively simple and the Wesmen already control it at both ends. Fortunately, its width is not so great that overwhelming numbers can emerge at too fast a pace, but any army will have to be confronted right at its eastern entrance, so limiting our defensive options.
‘I will station myself there with five hundred horse and five thousand foot as a matter of urgency. Understone itself is merely an early-warning station; its KTA garrison numbers fewer than one hundred and is pitifully trained and experienced. I will call for more magical support when I have assessed the defensive requirements first hand.
‘I can’t over-stress the importance of holding them at the pass. Understone is less than four days’ ride from Xetesk, only five from where we are standing now, and there is precious little in between to halt an advance.’
He paused to gauge reaction. The senior mages were concentrating hard. Barras was biting the tips of his fingers, Vuldaroq’s lips were pursed and Heryst was nodding, still scanning the map. Styliann frowned.
‘You have a point to raise, my Lord?’ Darrick asked of him.
‘Could we not take the pass?’ he suggested.
‘It is not tactically necessary given my defensive brief, and I personally would consider it an act of monumental folly to try. The pass is undoubtedly being reinforced as we speak. The barracks inside can accommodate in excess of six thousand men.’
‘But with significant offensive magic . . .’ said Styliann.
‘Hand to hand, we would lose men in a three-to-one ratio. We don’t have the numbers to spare. Your magic would be required to improve those odds better than one to one for me to consider it as a serious option.’ Darrick shrugged. ‘I know of no such magics that can be brought to bear to that effect.’
Styliann smiled. ‘No. But should taking the pass become a strategic necessity - after all, we will surely need to take on the Wytch Lords, and they can hardly be expected to come to us - is it possible?’
‘Everything is possible, my Lord Styliann.’ Darrick’s response was cool.
‘Do you have something in mind you’d like to share?’ asked Vuldaroq.
‘No,’ said Styliann. ‘I just do not wish to see us closing the door on any potential advantages.’
‘I believe I can be trusted to ensure that doesn’t happen.’ Darrick’s bow was almost imperceptible. ‘Now, Triverne Inlet, open, hard to defend away from the beaches and less than four days’ ride from Julatsa . . .’
But Styliann wasn’t listening. Not to retake the pass risked ultimate victory. But he couldn’t push the point without giving a clue to his aspirations. Something would have to give and, looking at Darrick, he knew he couldn’t change the General’s mind alone. Perhaps it was time to let the Colleges know of Xetesk’s latest experiments. It would redefine the phrase ‘significant offensive magic’ for certain. He smiled inwardly and returned his attention to the military planning, suddenly desperate for a meeting with his best dimensional research mage, a man named Dystran.
Chapter 9
The Raven travelled for three days through countryside that changed by degrees from flat woodland to rough shrub and finally to barren hills, moors and valleys. The weather settled into a cycle of sunshine interspersed with cooling cloud blown up by occasionally strong winds, but throughout it all, the temperature had a warm evenness, even at night, and riding was comfortable.
They saw no one.
Approaching Septern’s house across a high moor, the ground changed from heather-strewn hard soil to lifeless dusty earth. In the distance, the air shimmered, light shining through a thin film of what looked like dust whipped up by the wind. The horses moved easily over the flat ground, and all around them, as for as the eye could see, the terrain was largely featureless but for the odd stunted tree or plate of rock jutting from the cracked dead earth.
‘What happened here?’ asked Hirad. He looked back over his shoulder to where the vegetation sprang up in a line almost as if it had been planted deliberately.
The Dark Mage blew out his cheeks. ‘I don’t know. The after-effects of a spell battle, I should think. It’s a little like the Torn Wastes, though not as blasted.’
‘Could it be something to do with Septern’s workshop?’ asked Ilkar, peering into the dust-filled distance.
‘Possibly.’ Denser shrugged. ‘Who knows what effects an un-maintained dimensional rip might have on its surroundings.’
‘What in all the hells is a “dimensional rip”?’ The Unknown’s face was blank.
‘Well, basically, it’s a hole in the fabric of our dimension that leads to another one or simply into interdimensional space, although there’s obviously far more to it than that.’
‘Obviously,’ muttered Hirad.
The Unknown glared at Hirad. ‘And are we near enough to this dimensional thing to suffer some kind of interference?’
‘Hard to say. I’m no expert on dimensional theory,’ replied Denser. ‘What Septern might have done is anyone’s guess. Septern was a genius, but his records are incomplete.’
‘He certainly was,’ said Ilkar. He scanned the horizon in the direction in which they had been travelling. He narrowed his eyes and spurred his horse into a walk forwards. Hirad, dragging on the reins of his mare, fell into step by him.
‘Can you see something, Ilks?’
‘Nothing much,’ replied Ilkar. ‘That shimmering messes up my long sight, I’m afraid. All I can say is that there appear to be large dark shapes a little to our left. How far, I can’t say.’