Heirs of Empire

they start, but Sean’s taking Folmak’s brigade up to the crossroads tonight still. Well, this morning, I guess.”

“So we’ve cut the semaphore chain, and it looks like no one knows we have,” Tamman mused, plucking at his lip and gazing sightlessly at the map.

“Sandy and Brashan—” Harriet glanced at Stomald “—are monitoring their remotes in Erastor and tracking the relief column. So far, nobody in either place does know we’re there.”

“Yeah.” Tamman nodded, then shrugged. “I know we’ve got them wired for sound, but I can’t help worrying until we link back up with Sean.” He studied the map a moment longer, then straightened. “I think I’ll have a word with Ithun. If something does tip the bad guys, Ortak’ll have to pull strength from our side of his position to do anything about it, and that might just let us slip an assault column through on him after all.”

“Don’t do anything rash without discussing it with Sean, Tam!”

“I won’t get creative on you,” he replied with a smile, “but Tibold’s rubbing off on both of us. Like he says, ‘Improvised responses work best when you’ve planned them well in advance!’ ”

” ’Bout time someone convinced you two of that,” Harriet sniffed, and his smile turned into a broad grin.

“We’re maturing, we are,” he asserted virtuously. “And, ah, I’ll see that no one disturbs you two while you ‘confer,’ too,” he added wickedly as he opened the tent flap.

* * *

Sean looked up as Tibold’s branahlk trotted up to the semaphore tower. The ex-Guardsman had gotten a whole three hours’ sleep, and it was almost revolting how much that had restored him. He was soaked to the waist from fording the Mortan, but he waved cheerfully.

“The rearguard should be crossing just about now, Lord Sean,” he said. “The lead brigade should arrive within the hour.”

“Banners ready?” Sean asked.

“Aye, My Lord.” Tibold grinned. The suggestion had come from Sandy, but he approved of it wholeheartedly. They’d captured more than enough Guard standards at Yortown to distribute among their regiments, and Sean had already sent Ortak a message from ‘High-Captain Terrahk’ to report he was further along than expected. With the banners for cover and the semaphore crews expecting to see Terrahk, any towers further up the chain that saw them coming should report them to Erastor as Ortak’s expected relief.

Now Sean nodded to Tibold and turned back to the man who would command this semaphore garrison.

“Keep a sharp eye out, Yuthan,” he said—for, he estimated, the sixth time, but Yuthan only nodded soberly. “You’re doing an important job, but not important enough to risk getting cut off. If High-Captain Terrahk turns up, burn the tower and clear out.”

“Aye, Lord Sean. Don’t worry. None of us wants to get killed, My Lord, but we’ll keep ’em confident until we do clear out.”

“Good man.” Sean squeezed the Malagoran’s shoulder, then mounted his own branahlk and turned back to Tibold.

“I sent one of Folmak’s regiments a little way west with a company of Juahl’s dragoons, just to be on the safe side,” he said, urging his mount to a trot. “They’ve got orders to stay out of sight from the next tower, but they’re our front door. They’ve already hauled in about thirty people.”

“That many?” Tibold was surprised. “I wouldn’t have expected Ortak to allow that much traffic out of Erastor.”

“Most of them seem to be trying to get as far from Erastor as they can,” Sean snorted, “and I sort of doubt Ortak even knows they’re doing it. Two-thirds of them are deserters, as a matter of fact.”

“There are always some,” Tibold said with a curled lip.

“I imagine there’s even more temptation than usual if you believe you’re up against demons. On the other hand, they might just think they could convince Ortak not to shoot them if they hustled back to tell him we’re coming. Once the main body gets up here, have them sent back to Malz and kept there till Yuthan and his boys pull out. After that, they can do whatever they want.”

“I don’t envy them,” Tibold said, almost against his will. “With Terrahk coming up the road, the best they can hope for is to take to the hills before he gets his hands on them.”

“That’s their problem, I’m happy to say,” Sean grunted back. “I’ll settle for making sure Terrahk doesn’t get his hands on us.”

* * *

High-Captain Ortak reread the message with enormous relief. Terrahk had set a new record for the march from Kelthar, the capital of Keldark, if he was already at Malz! He’d shaved another three days off his estimated arrival, and Ortak wondered how he’d done it. Not that he intended to complain. With those fifty thousand well- armed and (hopefully) unshaken men to reinforce it, Erastor would become impregnable. Better yet, Terrahk outranked him. Ortak could turn the responsibility over to him, and he was guiltily aware of how terribly he wanted to do just that.

“Any reply, Sir?” his aide asked, and Ortak leaned back in his chair, then shook his head.

“None. They’re obviously already moving as fast as they can. Let’s not make them think we’re too nervous.”

“No, My Lord,” the aide agreed with a smile, and Ortak waved him out of the room and bent back to his paperwork. Three more days. All the heretics had to do was hold off for three more days, and their best chance to smash their way out of Malagor would be gone forever.

* * *

For all its self-inflicted technical wounds, Pardal was an ancient and surprisingly sophisticated world, Sean reflected, and its road network reflected it. He’d wondered, when they first spotted the Temple from orbit, how a preindustrial society could transport sufficient food for a city that size even with the canal network to help, but that was before he knew about nioharqs or how good their roads were. They’d developed some impressive engineers over the millennia, and most of them seemed to have spent their entire careers building either temples or roads. Even here in the mountains, the high road was over twenty meters wide, and its hard-paved smoothness rivaled any of Terra’s pre-Imperial superhighways.

He drew up and watched his men march past. Like the Roman Empire, Pardalian states relied on infantry, and the excellence of their roads stemmed from the same need to move troops quickly. Of course, come to think of it, the same considerations had created the German autobahns and the United States interstate highway system, hadn’t they? Some things never seemed to change.

Whatever their reasoning, he was profoundly grateful to the engineers who’d built this road. After their nightmare cross-country journey, the men moved out with a will, relieved to be out of the mud and muck, and they’d made over thirty kilometers today despite the hours spent crossing the Malz fords.

They’d also nabbed three more semaphore towers without raising any alarms. He was a bit surprised by how smoothly that part had gone, but Juahl had devised a system that seemed to work perfectly. He sent an officer and a couple of dozen men on ahead of the main body in captured Guard uniforms, and they simply rode straight up to each tower and asked the station commander to assemble his men. The semaphore crews belonged to the civil service, not the army. None of them were going to argue with Guard dragoons, and as soon as the Malagorans had them out in the open, they suddenly found themselves looking down the business ends of a dozen rifled joharns at very short range. Since the signal arms were controlled from the ground, it didn’t even matter if the men manning the tower platforms realized what was happening. They couldn’t tell anyone, and so far none of them had been inclined to argue when the rest of Juahl’s men arrived and invited them to come down.

In the meantime, neither Ortak nor Terrahk seemed to harbor any suspicion an entire heretic army corps