Wartorn Obliteration

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.

And that day would be a memorable one, Dardas thought with keen anticipation.

Of course, it was possible to Far Move a few units into nearly direct contact with the other army right this moment. That might be interesting. Strike the first blow prematurely, even recklessly. Stories of U'delph's annihilation and the way the Felk had appeared from nowhere had doubtlessly circulated southward, inspiring fear. Dardas had made sure a few survivors from that city were set loose just for this purpose.

But Weisel would never agree to it. It was too bold. Weisel desperately wanted to be the heroic, dauntless general, but his basic nature was a cautious one. He would want to study their enemy before committing to anything, and this was, Dardas had to admit, the militarily prudent thing to do.

Besides, Dardas, too, wanted to gain a sense of this other army's leadership. He wanted a feel for his adversary's tactics. He wanted to 'know' who he was fighting.

There was a company of wagons on their right, carrying food, supplies, and ordnance. One of those wagons, however, was secretly bearing a different cargo, the wizard Kumbat. He was still bound and gagged, as per Dardas's orders, and was being carefully guarded. Dardas was seeing to it that nothing happened to him. Raven had been instrumental in securing the mage, and Dardas was grateful to her for it.

That pair from the Internal Security Corps, who had arrived when the army was still encamped, had since returned to Felk, empty-handed and none the wiser. They couldn't very well continue their investigations while the army was heading into battle.

Kumbat would ensure Dardas's longevity, freeing him from whatever pressure Matokin might decide to exert on him. Actually, no longer needing to rely on the Felk emperor for those rejuvenation spells freed Dardas utterly. He could now do what he would, and Matokin could do nothing to threaten him.

Though this had already occurred to him, Dardas hadn't considered it so directly and fully. The realization filled him with a satisfied glow that was as powerful as Weisel's anxiety.

You seem pleased, Weisel observed.

Dardas clamped down on his emotions. Only the most potent could bleed over like that into his host's consciousness.

I am looking forward to the battle, Dardas said, quite honestly.

You don't... feel fear? Weisel asked a bit shyly.

Dardas didn't, but said, Of course I feel fear. But it is a valuable fear. It is one that will keep you sharp, alert. One that will, contrarily, bolster your courage.

Weisel let out a barely audible sigh. That's a real army out there. It's not some pitiful little village we're going to simply run over on our way to our next victory.

It's time this army faced a real challenge, Dardas said.

Why do you say that? Weisel asked suspiciously.

Dardas couldn't contain it any longer. General Weisel, an army exists for specific purposes. It is the instrument through which a political entity, like your Felk Empire, can exert itself upon its rivals. An army can serve the will of any number of causes, whether they are worthy or monstrous. But that army, those soldiers, have purposes of their own. They have been trained relentlessly to perform in combat. If they are denied that opportunity too long it leads to serious trouble. Every fighter here, even those who would consider themselves the most craven, or the most inexperienced, longs in his or her heart to fight. They are starved for the taste of blood, for the chance to prove themselves in the greatest, truest sense. They need to battle an enemy. And now, finally, their moment is coming!