There, on his left, another hoargoun was struggling with a pack. That creature was not burning, but a thin trickle of smoke rose from the corner of the burden it raised over its head. The creature’s arms went back, preparing for a long throw that would plant the device deep in amid the Mountain Guards.
Adrogans stabbed his left hand at the hoargoun and let pain flow. He let pure agony wrack the hoargoun, locking its muscles and bowing its back. The satchel sank lower, then the creature toppled backward. It hit the ground in a cloud of snow, and the satchel bounced once before it exploded.
With that explosion, the Aurolani left wing evaporated.
So did the fire atop the tower in far Svarskya.
One of the other hoargoun, one that fell in the initial charge, had been fitted with one of the explosive devices. Someone decided it should be called a boombag, and for want of a better term, it stuck. Vilwanese mages and several weapons-masters hauled it off to a small hollow and opened it. Inside they found a cask of firedirt with a long fuse surrounded by shot, metal, and ceramic debris. It appeared the device was meant to be used as the second hoargoun had attempted to use it, though one warmage did note that the harness was not really conducive to easy removal.
Could Nefrai-kesh have meant the hoargoun to commit suicide? He looked north to the city. Lights burned, from the towers and broken walls, out to the city warrens that surrounded the inner, older city. Is he telling me that we will face such things every step of the way?
That prospect shook Adrogans for a moment.
Phfas came to stand beside him and look at Svarskya. “You take this as a warning, yes?”
“Is there another interpretation, Uncle?”
The wizened man nodded. “The dog that does not want to right barks louder than the one that does.”
Adrogans considered that for a moment, then nodded. “Even if those devices had worked, not enough damage would have been done to allow his troops to win. And if he had meant to use the boombags to win, he would have employed them against the bridge garrison. You’re right; there is some other game being played here, and I don’t know what it is.”
The Zhusk shaman snorted. “He is foolish, if he plays games when we are making war.”
“Yes, but perhaps he has a grander prize in mind.”
“Will that stop you from winning yours?”
Adrogans smiled and rested his right hand on Phfas’ shoulder. “No, but if I knew what his prize was, we might be able to win that as well.”
“Excuse me, General, we have a report about the battle we are prepared to send to Lakaslin by arcanslata!” The signal-mage gave Adrogans a piece of parchment, then cast a spell to make a light so he could read it. ”Is it satisfactory, sir?“
The Jeranese general nodded slowly. “This will do for my private archives. Delete any reference to boombags and give all credit for the victory here to the troops on the field, not the devastation done by those things.”
“But, sir, warning others of the devices…”
“I know, but they failed here, so perhaps they won’t be used again.” Adrogans gave the man a nod. “If we let others back home fear things they might never see, we contribute to the Aurolani effort. I won’t aid the enemy that way.”
“Yes, sir.” The signal-mage bowed and withdrew.
Phfas smiled. “You see a glimmer of his prize?”
“Not really, but we both agree Nefrai-kesh was sending a message. I’ve just decided his message was meant for me alone.” He scratched at the stitched cut over his right eye. “As such, it is unimportant to anyone else, but a message I shall take to heart.”
56
Will had known intellectually that raiding supply caravans would not be easy. The supplies and replacement troops Chytrine would need meant vast numbers of people and huge amounts of equipment would be heading south. Just the draft beasts and their keepers would outnumber the raiding force they had assembled. Had he been planning an equivalent strike on a gem merchant’s caravan, he would have wanted the forces a lot more even and the strike to be on his own turf.
The experience Crow and Resolute had gained through decades of hitting and running, combined with the knowledge of the local area provided by the Murosan Lancers, gave them an edge. Unconventional tactics worked further in their favor, like dropping trees across the routes the Aurolani used, or switching the little marking stones around so a supply train marched off along a road that took them well out of their way.
Crow and Resolute set out definitive rules for how to attack the enemy in any of their ambushes. Magickers were always a target, and the best shots—be they archers or draconetteers—were assigned to kill them. Next were the draft animals. Sleighs that couldn’t be drawn could not deliver their goods. If they could isolate a part of a supply train and steal the goods, they did that, but anything they couldn’t get to, they burned.
And from the first siege of Fortress Draconis, Crow had learned how devastating a burning wagon of firedirt could be, so when fire-arrows played over the supplies, those were favored targets, and everyone got under cover when one was engaged.
The two of them even planned their ambushes in depth, setting a reserve and lines of retreat that would make pursuit difficult. After an initial rattle of draconette shots cut down sleigh drivers and mages, arrows would rain down from another direction, killing beasts. When the troops assigned to protect the caravan moved to attack the ambushers, they themselves would be raked with flanking shots.
In the six days they had been out, they had diverted four groups—two being parts of the same caravan that had gotten stretched out during a snowstorm. They hit one of those groups hard when the leader decided to camp for the night. That particular raid still sent shivers through Will.
That section of the supply train had been the lead element, and had decided to wait for the other half to catch up. In all fairness to the leader, the snow had started getting thicker, so traveling was not going to be easy. He chose for them to shelter against the lee side of a line of hills, so they got some protection from the wind. The terrain did force them to stretch the caravan out, and the storm meant the guards at one end of the camp couldn’t see or hear those at the other end.
And all the while they set their camp up, Resolute and others studied the layout. They learned who was sleeping where and marked out what wagons were the most important. This section had very little firedirt, so instead of exploding it, the raiders decided to steal as much as they could to replenish the supplies of their draconetteers.
Though gibberers are normally nocturnal, the drive to get supplies south meant they had been pushing themselves hard. The storm came as a welcome excuse to rest. And had the howl of the wind not covered the raiders’ stealthy advance, the rasped, rumble-growl of snores would have sufficed.
Will remembered watching Resolute drift soundlessly through the night to reach the first gibberer picket before the beast even knew he was close. The Vorquelf had approached from downwind, denying the gibberer a chance to catch his scent. The first it knew of his presence was the tight clasp of his hand over its muzzle. The second was the sharp, short stroke of a razored longknife across its throat.
Despite being half-metal, Sallitt Hawkins had reached the next guard equally silently. As it turned and sniffed at the scent of blood on the air, the meckanshü caught its neck in the V of his right arm. His left hand caught hold of the metal wrist, then he twisted and dragged the gibberer back over his right hip. Another twist from Sallitt, this one shorter and sharper, and the gibberer went limp and slid to the ground.
Will moved with them through the night, entering the camp as if part of a legion of ghosts. Knives and garrotes made short work of guards and those few hapless gibberers who ventured from tents to find water or relieve themselves. Resolute sliced through the wall of the leader’s tent and stabbed one of his bladestars through the creature’s chest.