Aurungzeb seemed to slump, the rage which had ballooned his frame leaking out of him. He ground his teeth audibly and then hissed, “What manner of man is he? Is he a magician? Can he read our minds? I would give half my kingdom to have his head on a spear. Batak!”
There was a leathery flapping sound, and a pigeon-sized homunculus swooped down from the rafters to land on the table in the middle of the room. Several of the officers present backed away from it; others wrinkled up their noses in disgust. The tiny creature folded its wings, cocked its head to one side, and spoke with the voice of a full-grown man.
“My Sultan?”
“Damn it, Batak, cannot you be here in person? How much longer must you hole up in that tower of yours with your abominations?”
“My researches are almost complete, my lord. How may I be of service?”
“Earn the gold that has been showered upon you. Rid me of this Torunnan general.”
The homunculus picked up a discarded quill from the table, nibbled on it and then cast it away, spitting like a cat. The glow which infested its eyes wavered, then grew strong again.
“What you ask is no light thing, my Sultan. The assassins—”
“Have declined my offer. Apparently one of their number has been lost in Torunn already, and they have no wish to hazard more. No, you are the wizard, the great master of magic. Your late master Orkh had every confidence in you, else he would not have made you court mage after him. Now fulfil his confidence. I want this man dead, and soon. The final assault on Torunna will begin within weeks. I want this paladin of theirs cold in the ground ere it begins.”
“I will see what I can do, my lord.” The glow in the homunculus’s eyes went out. It glared at the men who surrounded it, baring its miniature fangs. Then it took off, the wind from its wings sending papers flying from the table. It bobbed in midair for a moment, and then flew out of the open windows and disappeared.
“Such creatures are inherently evil, and should not be utilised by a follower of the Prophet,” a voice said harshly.
Aurungzeb turned. It was Mehr Jirah, and beside him was Ahara, a vision of veiled midnight-blue silk. To their rear stood the austere figure of Shahr Baraz. Silent attendants closed the doors again behind the trio.
“In time of war, all means must be utilised,” the Sultan mumbled uncomfortably. “Is there something we can help you with, Mehr Jirah? This is a closed indaba of the High Command. There is no place for mullahs here. And Ahara, my Queen, what brings you here at this time? We are a gathering of men. Women—even queens—do not appear at such gatherings. It is not fitting.”
Ahara remained silent, but looked at her companion.
“We wish to speak with you, my Sultan—both of us,” Mehr Jirah said. “Our matter, however, is of the greatest importance, not something to be blurted out in haste—thus it can wait until the indaba has run its course.”
His calm certainty appeared to subdue Aurungzeb. He seemed about to speak, but thought better of it, and turned back to the table, one hand toying with the hilt of the curved dagger he wore tucked into his belt sash.
“We were nearly done, at any rate. Shahr Johor, you made a grave error of judgement, but I can see what led you to it. For that reason I am willing to be clement. I will give you one more chance, and one only. Tell me of your plans for the final campaign. A swift outline, if you please. I can see that Mehr Jirah and my Queen are impatient.”
This last was said with obvious curiosity.
The Merduk khedive unrolled a large map on the table and weighted down its corners with inkwells. “The planning is already far advanced, Majesty, and is completely unaffected by our losses in the north. As you know, we have had to bring forward the date of our advance due to the loss of the seaborne supply line—”
“Nalbenic bombasts. They swore they could sweep the sea of Torunnan ships, and what happens? They lose half their fleet and keep the other half cowering in port.”
“Quite. Our logistics are slightly more precarious than I could wish, which means that—”
“Which means that this is our last throw.”
“Yes, Majesty. This is likely to be the last chance we will have to take the Torunnan capital. We simply do not have the resources, or the men, to continue this campaign for another year.”
There was a long, almost reverent silence in the chamber at these words. They had all known this, of course, but to have it stated so baldly, and in the presence of the Sultan, brought it home to them. The Ramusians might view the Sultan’s forces as illimitable, but the men around the table knew better. Too many troops had died in the heavy fighting since the fall of the dyke, and their lines of supply had been whittled down to a single major road: a slender thread for the fate of any army to hang upon. The reconstruction of a Merduk Ormann Dyke now seemed foresight, not pessimism, but for the victors of Aekir it was a bitter pill to swallow.
Finally Aurungzeb broke the stillness. “Go on, Shahr Johor.”
The young Merduk khedive picked up a dry quill and began pointing at the unrolled map. Depicted upon it in some detail was the region between the Torrin river and the southern Thurians. Once a fertile and peaceful land, it had become the cockpit for the entire western war.
“The main army will advance in a body, here, down the line of the Western Road. In it will be the Minhraib, the Hraibadar, our new arquebusier regiments, the elephants, artillery and siege train—some hundred thousand men all told. This force will pitch into any enemy body it meets, and pin it. At the same time, the Ferinai and our mounted pistoleers, plus the remnants of the Nalbenic horse-archers—twenty-five thousand men in all—will set off to the north and advance separately.”
“That second force you mention is entirely cavalry,” Aurungzeb pointed out.
“Yes, Majesty. They must be completely mobile, and swift-moving. Their mission is twofold. Firstly, they will protect the northern flank of the main body, in case the red horsemen and their allies are still at large in that area. If this proves to be unnecessary—and I believe it will—they will wait until the main body has engaged the Torunnan army, and then come down upon the enemy flank or rear. They will be the hammer to our anvil.”
“Why do you believe this enemy force in the north is no longer in the field?”
“They freed a large quantity of female captives that our troops had rounded up. I am certain they will escort these back to the Torunnan capital. It was, I believe, only due to the presence of these captives that any of Khedive Arzamir’s army escaped intact at all.”
“Hammer and anvil,” Aurungzeb murmured. “I like it.”
“It’s how he caught the Nalbeni in the Torunn battle,” one of the other officers said, an older man with a scarred face.
“Who?”
“This Torunnan general, Majesty. He halted them with arquebusiers and then threw his cavalry at their flanks. Decimated them. If it worked against troops as fleet as horse-archers I’ll wager it will against Torunnan infantry.”
“I am glad to see we are learning lessons from the behaviour of the enemy,” Aurungzeb said wryly, but his brow was thunderous. “Very well. Shahr Johor, when will the army move out?”
“Within two weeks, Majesty.”
“What if this vaunted general of theirs does not come out to meet us, but stands siege in Torunn? What then?”
“He will come out, my Sultan. It is in his nature. It is said he lost his wife in Aekir, and it has taught him to hate us. All his strategies, even the defensive ones, are based on the tactical offencive. These scarlet-armoured cavalry of his excel in it. He will come out.”
“I hope you are right. We would win a siege, no doubt of that, but then the war would drag through the summer, perhaps later. The Minhraib must be returned to Ostrabar in time for the harvest.”