Wartorn: Resurrection

and his officers a favor now and then, and they would grow devoted to him. Using those communication mages to pass private messages all the way from Felk was quite a luxury.

'And how is your father, Fergon?' Best to go along with this for the moment, though naturally he had no idea who the man's father might be. Weisel would know, of course. But the Felk noble's personality had evidently been squeezed into nothingness by Dardas's dominant character.

'He says the red grass is knee-high,' Fergon said, as if conveying something profound, 'and the dogs are running free.' The officer couldn't completely suppress the expectant smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth.

Obviously, this was supposed to mean something, Dardas thought a little desperately. Some familiar code between Weisel and this man's father, maybe referring to a joke they had once shared. Whatever it was, a response to it was expected. Godsdamnit, why had he let this fawning, freckle-faced twerp say anything more?

'Well...' Dardas said, careful to appear unruffled. 'That's as it should be, then.'

Fergon's budding smile turned to* a puzzled frown. 'Uh... of course, General Weisel.'

It was the wrong answer, Dardas thought darkly.

'Enough, Fergon. Leave me.'

The aide scuttled out of the tent.

He would have to be replaced, Dardas thought. Maybe more than replaced. He'd had no trouble killing that Far Movement mage with his poisoned knife. He was more than willing to commit such a deed again. To be honest, he had enjoyed it.

What he had learned from that mage was certainly valuable. He was basing this upcoming campaign against the city-state of Trael on the knowledge he had gathered about the true nature of Far Movement magic.

One of his great talents in battle, one that had served him so well in his last lifetime, was an ability to adapt whatever resources were at hand to further his position in the field. This was something ingrained in his nature. Once, as a child, when a much larger boy had assaulted him, young Dardas had snatched up a tiny twig from the ground and jammed it brutally into the bigger boy's eye. The twig was just a twig, not obviously useful as a weapon. But wielded correctly and without any mercy or hesitation, it had won him the fight.

Far Movement was powerful magic. The portals, so the mage had said before dying, opened into another reality, the reality beyond life.

Dardas had been dead once. He had no clear memories of what that had been like, but obviously his being had survived in some form, or Matokin wouldn't have been able to retrieve him.

His plan was to open several portals around the city of Trael. But... no exit portals would be opened. Those holes into the next reality would simply stand wide.

Whatever dwelt in that other world would be free to come into this one. And those inhabitants, freed from that milky limbo, would find Trael in their path.

Dardas wanted war. Perpetual war. He felt excitement tingle through him. Who knew what would come out of those portals. Monsters? The walking dead? Whatever, it could only complicate this war, thus extending it until he could consolidate his own position of power.

Someday maybe he would even be in the position to turn the army back northward, to conquer the city of Felk itself and unseat Emperor Matokin.

He laughed aloud, savoring the thoughts, as he had savored every sensation since returning to life.

At the moment he was waiting on Raven's return. How thrilled the girl had been when he named her his liaison officer to the army's magic-using forces. At first, he had thought to use the granting of the title as just another means of tying her tighter to him. But he had quickly realized the immense value of having such an officer at his side.

The rift between his regular troops and his army's magical units had been obvious from the start. That rupture had to be mended. Matokin had given him wizards, the best he had to offer, and told him to make use of them. So be it. Weapons had been turned on their masters before.

In the meantime though, it was crucial that those scouting parties he'd sent ahead to Trael obeyed their new, unorthodox orders. Dardas had figured there would be resistance, especially from the Far Movement mages. Whatever else, this was no doubt a dangerous gambit.

So he had sent Raven, who had a foot in both societies, so to speak. Magical and nonmagical. She wasn't an official wizard, but she didn't fear magic, and her loyalty to the empire was impressive. Dardas had worked to turn that loyalty more directly upon himself, by taking her into his confidence, showering her with attention. He felt his scheme had succeeded.

However, Raven was overdue from her mission. Dardas frowned and stepped out of his tent. He surveyed the camp, seeing that the troops were indeed prepared to move put whenever the word came. Dardas didn't know what exactly would happen when those portals were locked open, but he wanted his army ready to move, in any direction.

He drew in the air. Even this was still exciting, the simple act of breathing. He had to stay alive. He needed someone like that wizard Kumbat on hand, at his personal beck and call, for whenever death tried to reclaim him. Matokin's greatest hold over him was the unspoken threat of withholding those rejuvenation spells that prolonged the resurrection magic that had brought him back to life.

It was a complex game, but his plans were falling into place, neatly.

They had bivouacked in a shallow valley. Spotters and pickets guarded the ridges. Nothing was going to sneak up on his army.

Finally, he saw Raven striding across the grounds toward his pavilion. She moved with a greater confidence these days, he noted. It was appealing. Perhaps he would find the time to bed her one of these days.

She saluted when she reached him. 'General Weisel.'

'Raven,' he nodded. They should probably go inside for her report, but he was enjoying the feel of the waning day's breeze on his face too much. 'What is the word?'

The girl looked somewhat troubled, he saw. 'I contacted three of the four scouting parties, sir,' she said. 'The Far Movement mages will all comply with your orders when they receive the signal.'

'And the fourth party?' he asked.

Raven shook her head. 'None of the Far Speak mages was able to make contact. The Far Speak wizard assigned to the fourth squad simply did not respond. Without him to correlate the location, there was simply no way to transport there.' She looked rather pale.

Dardas considered. 'Well, scouting parties get lost. It is all a part of warfare.' Any number of mishaps might have befallen the squad.

'Yes, General.'

He peered closely at her. 'But there's something further disturbing you, Raven. Am I right?'

'It's ... nothing, sir.'

'I think not. By now, girl, you surely realize that I value you. I've made you an officer. I've entrusted you with important secrets.' He moved a step nearer to her. 'You must be able to confide in me.' He spoke this last in a tone that was like a purr. It was better to charm her than to order her to divulge.

Raven bit her lip, then said, 'I encountered some difficulty while I was being Far Moved.'

'Difficulty?'

'Yes, General.' She explained. It was a strange little tale about hearing voices, a whole host of them, closing in around her while she was in transit through the milky, limbo world of the portals.

'Interesting,' he said, genuinely intrigued.

Voices. No doubt the voices of that reality's inhabitants—presuming that Raven hadn't imagined the whole thing. He doubted that, though. She was made of cooler stuff.

'Fergon!' Dardas called.

The aide appeared at once, waiting attentively for Dardas's orders. But there was a lingering uneasiness on the young officer's face. Yes, thought Dardas. Something would definitely have to be done about this one. It could wait though.

'Assemble the senior staff. And get me a Far Speak mage who can communicate with our scouts.'

'Yes, General Weisel.' Fergon was gone.

'In a few moments, I'll give the signal.' Dardas turned once more to Raven. 'Exciting, isn't it?'