Rufus far more dangerous than any enemy I’ve ever fought before.”
Rathfield pointed at Fort Plentiful on the map. “This is precisely why I oppose the suggested advance to the Stone House and striking at the Octagon. Here we can prepare for him. No offense intended, Highness, Count von Metternin, but the defenses you were able to throw up were barely adequate for turning a rabble. With professional soldiers here-and I include your men, Major Forest, since they are well disciplined-we can prepare defenses which will stop Rufus.”
Prince Vlad shook his head. “I disagree.”
“Highness, if you think we cannot prepare adequate defenses here, how will your forces fare when you push them forward to a place where you can prepare no defenses?”
Vlad sighed. His was a valid question, and one that the Prince had wrestled with, but for reasons he believed were entirely different than those that gave birth to Rathfield’s protest. Prince Vlad did not doubt Rathfield’s bravery or that of his men. In fact, he counted on it. But for them, this was an exercise in military science. The Fifth Northland Cavalry, devastated though they were, still could be counted upon as being some of the best troops in the world. Their charge, foolish though it might have seemed, required confidence and skill.
“Msitazi said to me that I had to learn just as the Norghaest did. I have thought long and hard on that. I wondered what the Norghaest were learning when they attacked. What did we reveal about ourselves?” Vlad stiffly held up his left hand and began ticking points off on his fingers. “We showed them that our most fearsome weapon was only partially effective against their troops. We showed them that our use of magick is as a whisper before their bellowing. We showed them that some of our people were ready to break and run. We showed them that we had one dragon, and Mugwump really wasn’t much of a threat-less so, now. In short, we proved that we are cowardly, unable to hurt them, and little more than an annoyance.”
Rathfield’s eyes narrowed. “And moving to Stone House and launching an attack will change that assessment in what way?”
“The reason the Norghaest came at us the way they did is because they based their strategy on Rufus’ knowledge of how we wage war. Rufus was present at Anvil Lake, but only after battle had been joined. His sense of how professionals wage war is distorted. Our inability to defend fits in perfectly with the contempt he has for authority. So, the Norghaest are working with that knowledge to determine how to reestablish themselves.”
“Highness, you make it sound as if you do not think Rufus is actually running things.” Rathfield crossed his arms. “Am I misreading you?”
“I have come to believe, General, that the golden tablets and working with them enabled a Norghaest sorcerer to possess Rufus Branch. I think the changes in him betoken two things. First, he’s being changed to be more like them, which enables them to more easily maintain control. Second, I believe he is wasting away because their use of him is consuming him. Rufus, if you will, has the bit in his mouth, but someone else has the reins and is riding him to death.
“Because of that belief, and because the Shedashee have indicated that the Norghaest create colonies before they emerge, I think whoever is riding Rufus is in a difficult situation.” Vlad shrugged. “I don’t have any of the troops I requested from Norisle because others determined I did not need them. I do not think it is unreasonable to imagine that Rufus’ rider is under similar constraints. The one thing I do know is that people in power dislike surprises, and by moving forward to the Stone House and actually attacking, we can surprise him. That might be enough for him or his controllers to withdraw.”
Rathfield studied the Prince in silence, then slowly nodded. “I shall have to survey Stone House myself. Woodlands with ravines and hills defeat our ability to charge, but that has proved less than efficacious against the Norghaest. What sort of a role do you imagine for us?”
Count von Metternin rubbed his hands together. “You will find, General, that your men’s talents will be quite appreciated.”
Vlad withdrew from the conversation and none of the military men noticed. In his consideration of what Msitazi had said, he’d drawn a second conclusion. What the fight had showed him was that both the Norghaest and Shedashee had a substantially different and more greatly nuanced sense of magick than he’d imagined existed. While he was incredibly proud of the thaumagraph, it was little more than a toy compared to what he’d seen on the battlefield. Msitazi’s ability to move troops great distances immediately changed the rules of warfare. Instead of troops having to charge or march through the enemy, they could just appear at his rear, capturing the commander.
The Norghaest’s ability to resurrect troops reminded him of du Malphias’ creation of the pasmortes. Prince Vlad and von Metternin had sat at the edge of the redoubt, looking out at Rathfield wandering over the fields where his troops had died. The Count turned and looked at him. “Do you wish now, my friend, that you knew the Laureate’s secret for creating pasmortes?” Von Metternin had asked. “Think of what could be done if we had the cream of the cavalry back.”
“Absolutely not.” Vlad had shaken his head. “It’s not that they would not be useful, or that their use might not prevent others from dying. That sort of powerful knowledge never remains in the hands of one man alone. Though you or I might use it responsibly, the same cannot be said for everyone else. I would rather that knowledge vanish from the world, than to have it become as common as some other magicks are today.”
Vlad still felt that way, but also realized that the only way to meet the Norghaest on an equal footing was to learn how to do what they could do. Or at least learn enough that I can stop them and make them think I know far more than I do. He shivered, realizing he was putting full responsibility for victory on himself. But then he realized that he was willing to do it not out of any desire for glory, but because Mystria was his home, and the Norghaest threatened it and his family.
To protect them he would do anything.
Which means I need to speak with Msitazi and get some answers.
Chapter Fifty-seven
26 May 1768 Bishop House, Temperance Temperance Bay, Mystria
Bishop Othniel Bumble turned the note over and over in his hands. The cream-colored stationery had been folded crisply and sealed in red wax which bore no crest or sign of the person who sealed it. It had been addressed to him in a delightfully delicate hand, written in sepia ink. The letters had been written boldly, with no hesitation.
Livinia, hovering in the doorway to his office, wrung her hands. “All is well, yes, Othniel?”
“Yes, I do believe so.” He slid a thumb beneath the flap, but hesitated. He didn’t want to tear the paper. He snapped the seal instead, then scraped away what little wax remained with his nail. He unfolded the note, turning it so he could read the three words written there.
“It is true.”
“Yes! Yes!” Bishop Bumble pounded a fist against his desk. His inkwell jumped, spilling a black teardrop onto his blotter. He rose from his chair, lifting the letter as he would the Eucharist during services. “This is everything, absolutely everything. I have them and they cannot escape.”
His wife had cringed at his outburst. “You have whom?”
“The Prince, his wife, Owen Strake, pretty much anyone I want from that clique.” Bumble laughed aloud. “Thank you, God, for delivering Your enemies into my hands. Oh, I shall do Your work so well.”
“But how could the Prince have done anything, husband? He is away, in the west.”
“Yes, yes he is.” He turned slowly to face her, smiling, not wanting to frighten her. “This note confirms that he has a means for quickly getting messages between where he is and Prince Haven-a supernatural means. He is using magick which is, by its very nature, heretical. It’s worse than Fox, my dear, much worse. The Prince has been seduced by all of this Tharyngian nonsense, his studies and all that. And he should know better.”
“How would he have learned…?”
Bumble laid the note on his desk, then composed himself. “It is quite simple, woman, easy enough for even you to understand. He spoke with Fox and Fox revealed to him the details of his heresy. The Prince could not allow Fox to die, so he arranged for his escape. In return, Fox becomes his mentor, teaching him things that a layman was never meant to know.”
