Wartorn Obliteration

especially when faced with the equally powerful emotions of joy and expectation that Dardas was experiencing.

He didn't have time to bandy about the theory. At the moment, he was just glad Weisel was out of the way.

Dardas noticed Raven lingering on the periphery of where he'd set up his temporary base of operations. She had performed an invaluable service for him by pointing out the possibility, which he hadn't considered, that this enemy might have studied his ancient strategies. It was conceivable that Raven, with that one bit of advice, had saved this army countless casualties. Dardas couldn't imagine rewarding her enough, once this was done. Perhaps someday he would elevate her to the status of his permanent consort. After all, she knew his secret, knew he was Dardas. He would want her close to him.

The Battle of Torran Flats... that was why it had looked so familiar. It had been a great victory of his, and apparently history had recorded and remembered it. If he had acted as he had during that original battle, surely this enemy would have sprung some cunning trap. Maybe his whole army would have been slaughtered, the ferocity of his warriors and the might of his mages notwithstanding.

By now, there had been several, relatively small engagements between the two armies. First blood had been spilled, and Dardas fancied he could smell it on the night wind, the scent bitter and coppery and... stimulating.

As yet, however, the all-out clash between the armies hadn't commenced. Dardas had wondered if this enemy would show signs of shying from a nighttime battle. But each of his exploratory thrusts had been met with decisive force, to say nothing of the wily, bold move that had drawn out a unit of his fire-working wizards. Those casualties had been high, but his army could absorb the losses.

Of course, when things really got under way Dardas had several resources he could tap that would vastly increase his advantage. Those Far Movement mages were certainly going to earn their pay. Dardas had a number of strong, compact units of fighters scattered throughout his forces, with Far Movement and Far Speak wizards attached. He planned to use these for fast disruptive attacks, keeping them in almost constant motion through the portals, stabbing the enemy with short vicious jabs.

This Isthmus plain would be glutted red with blood before the sun rose.

Fergon delivered the fresh intelligence. Dardas looked it over and grinned anew.

'Send forward this cavalry company, here,' he pointed to one of the maps on the table before him. One of his senior officers acknowledged the order and relayed it to a nearby Far Speak wizard.

The rhythm of battle was building. He could feel it. Soon, the full force of the two armies' front ranks would be sent against each other. Dardas keenly anticipated it. For the moment, though, he would continue with these jockeying maneuvers, studying how the enemy responded.

'Sir?'

Dardas looked up. Fergon was there again, but without a report in hand.

'What is it?' he asked. He would be very annoyed if the junior officer wanted to make mention of his father again, who Lord Weisel had known socially in Felk.

'It's Berkant, General,' Fergon said. 'He says he has a message from Emperor Matokin, an urgent one.'

'Is there any other kind?' Dardas grunted. He looked past his aide and saw the wizard standing back some distance, waiting. 'Very well. Bring him.'

Fergon fetched the wizard, who appeared remarkably calm, despite the night's uproar. Then Fergon and the other officers withdrew out of earshot, giving the two privacy.

'Battle doesn't faze you, eh, Berkant?'

'I am not among your combatant magicians, General.'

Dardas gave the wizard a nod. 'As you might guess, I am extraordinarily engaged at the moment. I rely on your assurance that this communication is crucially important.'

'It is, General.' Berkant had his familiar shred of fabric in hand.

'Proceed,' Dardas said.

Berkant fell swiftly into the seeming stupor. A moment later, with unfocused eyes, he said, 'General, I am told you are facing an opponent army.'

'That's true, Lord Matokin.' As always, communicating in this fashion was mildly eerie but Dardas had adapted to many strange things over the past few lunes. 'I am confident we will be victorious against this—'

'I am confident, too, General,' Matokin said through the conduit that was Berkant. 'I have had confidence in you from the start. You were chosen very carefully.'

Compliments from Matokin? Dardas wondered. Surely the great Felk lord hadn't contacted him just to say this.

'Thank you, Lord,' he said, concealing his puzzled frown, though he still didn't know if Matokin could see as well as hear through Berkant.

'Everything regarding you has been handled very carefully, General... Weisel.' There was no mistaking the ironic emphasis. 'In fact, when you originally arrived here in Felk, before you even assumed your duties as commander of the Felk army, I made sure a token of your loyalty remained here with me. I keep it with me at all times, which turns out to have been a fortunate precaution. The idea was Lord Abraxis's, may the gods give him peace. I wouldn't take any credit away from him.'

Whatever ploy this was, Matokin was at least getting to the point. Dardas waited grimly.

'Blood magic is an invaluable tool for maintaining discipline among the many wizards that have been so meticulously trained at our Academy here,' Matokin's words continued from Berkant's mouth. 'When I founded that Academy, and set in motion this unifying war, I fully understood the vast power and great delicacy of what I was letting loose into this world. Magic has, in the distant past of both the Northern and Southern Continents, been the cause of untold distress. Its misuse, in fact, was the root of the Great Upheavals.'

Dardas blinked. The Upheavals were an ancient chaotic period of history that had occurred long before his original life, even. They had led to the fall of the mighty empires that had once ruled Northland and Southsoil.

Matokin was saying that magic was responsible?

'But,' the Felk lord went on, 'I will not allow that to happen again. I control magic in this world. I was born with a tremendous natural talent. I am also endowed with a perfect vision for the future of this Isthmus. Nothing will frustrate that plan. Nothing... and no one.'

Dardas didn't cringe. Cringing wasn't in his nature. Matokin had powers, yes, but Dardas was a force to be reckoned with in his own right.

'What is it you want, Lord Matokin?' Dardas spoke it with a blunt edge in his voice.

'I want Mage Kumbat returned to Felk.'

Dardas was silent a long moment. Finally he said, 'And if I refuse?'

'I appreciate your not vacillating and still pretending Kumbat disappeared between portals.'

'And I appreciate your appreciation,' Dardas said curtly. 'Tell me what you intend to do if I refuse to release Mage Kumbat.'

'I believe I've made myself as clear as I need to, General. I have what I need, right here with me, to snuff you out like the flame of candle. Blood magic is potent, and very effective.'

'Is that all you can threaten me with?' Dardas asked, adopting a milder tone now. Matokin could have obtained whatever measure of blood was necessary when Dardas was still insensible immediately following his resurrection.

'All?' There was a note of surprise in Berkant's voice.

'Yes. Is that all? Do you honestly expect me to believe that you would kill me right at the moment when you require my talents and services the most?' Dardas allowed himself a chuckle. 'You say you've been told about the enemy army. No doubt you are aware of its size. Without me to command this Felk military, that other army could, conceivably, tear through this one, and thereby end your dreams of uniting the Isthmus under Felk rule.'

Dardas savored the moment. It had chafed him from the start, being under Matokin's thumb, having to answer to someone 'superior' to himself. Matokin may have indeed been the one to set this war into motion, but without Dardas's command of the army, that war of conquest would have remained an unfulfilled vision. The failed dream of a delusional, power-mad mind.

He waited for Matokin's reply. He would not surrender Kumbat. Kumbat was his.