Suddenly a hand locked over his wrist and a fist sailed in from the edge of his field of vision and smacked his jaw. It was just hard enough for him to loosen his grip and stagger back a step. The short sword was snatched from his hand.
When he turned, rubbing his jaw, he saw that Radstac now held it.
"Traitors..." Aquint said. He felt genuinely betrayed. After all, he had rescued this pair from whatever military disciplinary action awaited them after their unauthorized arrival here in Callah. He had entrusted these two with the responsibilities of Internal Security agents.
"You wanted to meet the Minstrel," Radstac said. "We're taking you to see him." From her pocket she pulled a strip of black cloth. A blindfold, Aquint thought.
Here in the middle of the lot, they were screened from the street by the weeds. No bystander was going to come to Aquint's rescue. He had no choice but to submit.
He saw the tiny flash of movement, but did not let his eyes betray it. Radstac was coming toward him with the blindfold. Deo was still holding the crossbow on him. Aquint had seen the figure moving behind Deo.
Radstac halted sharply, turned, and shouted, "Behind, on your right, low!"
With horror-wide eyes, Aquint watched Deo pivot tightly and fire the crossbow bolt. It twanged keenly, and Aquint heard the sound of the bolt striking something soft.
Radstac stuck the point of the sword against his ribs to keep him from running heedlessly toward Cat. Her hard, scarred face showed no emotion as she handed him the blindfold and told him to put it on. Numbly, he did so. She told him to pull up the cloak's hood once more, and he obeyed. She gripped one of his arms, and Deo came to take the other.
In lockstep they led him off. Aquint couldn't bring himself to ask if Cat was still alive.
DARDAS (4)
Anticipation and gleeful joy sharpened his senses to knife-edge keenness. Unfortunately, it was daylight and Weisel had control of the body, so there wasn't much Dardas could do to physically celebrate.
Still, the news of the rival army coming to meet them was absolutely thrilling.
This Isthmus was mustering up armed, organized resistance to the Felk conquest. Finally! Now, Dardas would have a genuine war to fight. And there was nothing better in life than war.
However, it seemed that it would probably take some convincing to persuade Weisel of that fact.
"I want reports, damnit!" Weisel snapped. "I want current reports!"
Fergon, his personal aide, winced. "Yes, General. The Far Speak scouts are sending them as quickly as—"
"Not quickly enough!" Weisel cut him off. "I want to know what's happening with that army out there every single moment. Is that clear?"
"Very clear, General."
Weisel dismissed him curtly. Fergon saluted and hurried off on horseback.
Was it necessary to treat your aide so? Dardas asked.
Are you so fond of the boy?
That's not the point. We will be going into battle almost certainly in the near future. As a general, you will be called upon not just for your military expertise—somehow Dardas managed to say this without laughing—but for cool-headed reliability. Your officers and even your troops will want to know that their commander is calm, confident, and thinking clearly.
Weisel drew a deep breath. Dardas could feel the man's anxiety. It was powerful. It had started the moment word had reached Weisel's tent about the enemy army.
At the moment, the vast Felk host was moving southward, just as that other army was moving north. Weisel was riding his strong, hardy horse, surrounded by the entourage of his personal guards. As customary, he was toward the rear of the Felk forces. It gave him a good view of the various companies arrayed ahead of him. They were on the broad, massive prairie south of the city of Trael.
For Dardas's part, he was quite pleased that they were finally outside of that damned tent of Weisel's. Since the assassination attempt, Weisel had barely set foot outside, and that pavilion had become something of a canvas prison. Now he had been forced outdoors, and the cool air was refreshing. The sight of all those troops was stirring. It was glorious to be alive.
I still need current intelligence, Weisel grumbled silently.
This Felk nobleman was going to be tested by this coming battle, and the outcome of that testing, Dardas judged, was rather foregone.
You will have that intelligence, Dardas assured him. Better field intelligence than any war commander in history.
Dardas could sense that this wasn't doing much to calm Weisel. Once things got started, once the two armies actually met, Dardas knew that the implementation of strategies and counterresponses would fall inevitably to him. Weisel would have no idea what he was doing when instantaneous decisions and positive action were called for.
Weisel would want his advice, and Dardas would give it. He would know how to meet this resistance, how to parry with various units, thrust with others. It was the merry dance of warfare. Dardas's instincts were honed. His talent for war was, literally, historic.
General Weisel would continue to defer to him as things heated up. Even without command of this body, Dardas would be the one leading this coming battle.
But who are they? Weisel asked suddenly. This other army—it's too large to belong to any one state. Not even Petgrad could assemble something this large.
It's an agglomeration, surely, Dardas said. Various states banding together against a common enemy.
That's very glib, General Dardas, Weisel said, sourly.
Dardas gave a mental shrug. It didn't especially matter to him where these rival troops had come from, though he was quite sure his theory was correct. He was simply happy that the natural order of existence had at last asserted itself and provided him a worthy foe.
At least, he hoped this was a worthy foe. If this army was a collection of diverse militaries, he hoped it was led by a creditable general.
Still, the reports so far received from the Felk scouts at the army's forefront showed that the rival array had some organizational integrity. Troops and cavalry weren't just blundering northward haphazardly.
We have advantages over this enemy, General Weisel.
Weisel held his horse at a steady trot. At least outwardly he was maintaining something of a stolid front, except for his outburst at Fergon. Of course we do, he agreed, not sounding entirely convinced.
Dardas pressed on, annoyed at having to prop up this creature of such hollow courage. We have magic. We have a means to move ourselves great distances. We have wizards who can start fires remotely. We have instant communications. All these advantages have never been tested in actual battle. But it is unmistakable that these are crucial benefits.
Of course, Weisel repeated, only slightly more confidently.
Dardas gave up for the moment, instead enjoying the sights around him. The grandeur of this army in motion was breathtaking. He found it quite moving. How nostalgic it was. He remembered so very vividly the days he'd led his Northland horde against the armies of rival warlords. Always it was a thrill. Always he saw his troops as extensions of himself, a great mass of power and brawn and weaponry, advancing implacably against all adversaries, conquering as he pleased.
Presently, they were still some appreciable distance from the army to their south. They might meet in the field today, though this would only happen in the waning watches of the day's light. More likely, they would move gradually into full mutual view, each slowing, arranging and rearranging their forward units, feeling each other out. Actual contact might not occur until tomorrow, with the day's dawning.