“Almost as close. Yes. That's what I thought. We don't want to fight a war on two fronts. Nor do I want to advance into Alendi lands and have the Orduli advance to my rear, cutting me off from a line of supply or retreat. The Prashuli could do the same, of course, in time. This way we hit one flank of the threatening enemy and roll them up east to west. Comments?”
It is what I had thought. Maps are wonderful things. They make everything so clear. As soon as I had seen the map I had seen the solution to our military problem. Only by coincidence was it a solution to my own, but I couldn't be happier.
I cleared my throat.
“Yes, Cerulian?”
“Nothing sir, dry throat.”
He stared me in the eye for a long moment without expression. He glanced down at the map and away once more.
“Then I am decided that that will be our course. Dismissed, gentlemen.”
32
I was shaking with relief as I walked back with Tul. Not that I had gotten what I wanted but that I had stopped myself from saying what I had been about to say after I cleared my throat to get his attention. I had been going to ask if the cohort could be doing anything useful in the meantime, meaning to prompt him to see something obvious that he had missed. If I had he would have seen it. And forbidden it expressly.
He was thinking only of politics, of protecting what was his, of making money where he could and influence where he wanted it, of weakening a rival and strengthening himself. Those things, I found, increasingly passing through my own mind. But I was also thinking, primarily thinking, of survival. If the region was going to go to hell I wanted the biggest damn army I could get, regardless. I was going to instruct Sheo to stop, encamp, and recruit his little buns off no matter what the cost. I didn't have enough money, though I would send everything I had, so I would have to write scrip and seal it with my seal. Debt with no immediate way of paying it when it was presented. But I had a plan for that as well. Or at least an idea. If my guess was right I would have the money. If not I was going to have a problem. Still, it takes a brave man to walk up to a commander in the middle of his army and stick a bit of paper under his nose demanding money for it. Tell him to go away and wait and he doesn't have much choice, right? See this sword? See my men? Now sod off and come back in a few days.
“You're quiet,” Tul said.
“I was thinking about my analysis. Hoping it was not tainted by self interest.”
“Liar. Send a letter to your commander.”
“Hmm. Yes sir. I will.” But it wouldn't be quite the letter that was expected.
We were coming up to his tent. His cohort was set aside from the main force and his command tent was there, not in the center of things. Before we parted he slapped me on the shoulder and told me my analysis had been good.
I walked on alone, feeling smug.
33
Meran had continued to perform his duties as though nothing had changed, though he was now a Freedman. My client, I reminded myself, and a rod for my back which I had made for myself. Technically every other client I gained would be subservient to him. It was not in any way enforced, didn't really mean anything, but these ancient traditions are remembered. It meant no noble of the city in my clientele. Ever.
He still slept on the floor at the entrance to my tent and I stepped over him, suddenly wondering who was keeping an eye on my cash if he were here at nights. I almost kicked him awake to find out but decided that I had better trust him and it could wait till morning in any case. Then I remembered that I had ordered Kerral to guard it. It seemed a long time ago and these things can slip your mind. He would have taken care of it. One of my men would be guarding the wagon at night. Good. One less thing to fret about.
A lamp had been left alight on my table and I crossed to it, too tense to sleep. Sitting at the table I picked up a book and opened it where I had left off some months ago. The gift of the loupe had made me go back to An Examination of Magical Principles, Unattributed. There weren't that many copies in existence. Sorcerers suppress such publications, preferring to keep a monopoly on the teaching of the subject. A spell sells for one hundred to ten thousand coins. They wanted the income and any dissemination of information was to be discouraged so that they could keep it. There was, of course, nothing to stop me or anyone with a stone from experimenting but experimentation is dangerous because the patterns and shapes of magic are non-intuitive. Try a new pattern and anything could happen. I remembered the comments Dubaku had made about the nature of spirits, and my offhand comment that there might be a connection between the way spirits do magic and what we do. The mages had laughed but Dubaku had not. It was something I worried at. Was it possible there was a connection? The spirits see the world differently than we do. Dubaku had said that. If a spirit looked at the patterns of a spell would he understand them as we do not? Would he see a direct and intuitive connection between the pattern and the effect? It was heady stuff, if I could get a spirit to sit by and watch me work the spells I knew and then learn from what he said, I might be able to start making predictions about new patterns before I tried them. What an amazing research tool that would be! What an advantage!
“Go to sleep.”
I didn't jump. I mean, he was in the room and I knew he was there. Why would I be surprised that he spoke?
“I can't.”
“Awake before dawn, not sleeping. Bad.”
“How much money is left? I don't remember.”
“Seven thousand and forty. I used some.”
Enough to raise another cohort, but not more. Money to raise troops, scrip to supply them, and the enemy to provide food? I couldn't do handy math on this one, too many variables, but in theory I could raise seven thousand men at a silver a man to start, and keep them if I could get them into position to hit hard and make off with coin and food. I doubted that would happen. Seven thousand would be too many to be useful at the moment in any case. Better if he raise another three cohorts, giving me four in total. He might even be able to make a dent in that number in eight days. Word that he was recruiting would have spread to the lands he would be moving through. People would come to him. If he raised three more cohorts or less I would still have cash to feed them for a while.
I pulled some paper and a pen toward me and began to write.
“Sealing wax.”
He was up and at my side in moments with what I needed.
“What's happening?”
I realized that he would have no clue and decided to tell him. He was my client. I could trust him. I had to try to, anyway. “Sheo has raised a cohort and is moving it into danger. I'm sending him a letter telling him to stay put…” I over-rode the lie. “To move slowly, and raise more men. Three more cohorts.”
“What's happening?”
For a second I thought he was being funny, comically asking for a simpler explanation. Then I dismissed the idea. No way he was dumb. He was asking for more information. “Things are hotting up. Sorry, I can't say more.”
I had been writing as I spoke. Now I heated the wax, dripping some over the end of the tube and pressing my signet ring to it. The ring had belonged last to my brother. It had come to me when he had died, before my father had decided I was useless to the family. Doubtless he would rather it had gone to a cousin. But maybe he was changing his mind. I wondered how many letters Sapphire had, and what they said. Were there harsh letters to be
