mean to swoop down while we're landing tomorrow.'
'Ah. So not only did they know we were coming, they knew where we were supposed to come ashore.'
Jokai's ripe henchmen nodded. They did most of their communicating by gesture. Their mouths were busy eatin.
'Interesting. You have to ask yourself how they managed that.'
'Their great sorcerer leader can spy on people from afar.'
Hecht thought Rudenes Schneidel had agents spying for him.
Jokai continued. 'They tell me the sorcerer is desperate and frightened. He believes that Piper Hecht is the only thing that can thwart his ambitions. He believes that powers greater than you are using you to block every effort he makes to relieve himself of your threat.'
'Good to hear. Though every time I turn around, here comes another Artecipean assassin.'
One of the recon brothers paused long enough to say, That's how come the sorcerer thinks you got allies inside the Night. Clever things never get near you. Clumsy assassins do. Schneidel's followers were convinced that some great, grim sea Instrumentality would devour you during your crossing. It didn't happen. Nothing even tried. Now they're all terrified that you might be a revenant yourself. Maybe one of the old war gods who infested the lands around the Mother Sea in pagan times.'
Hecht shook his head. 'We've stumbled into a superstitious age, haven't we?'
Jokai and the recon brothers eyed him narrowly, themselves not entirely sure that he was not more than just a man.
Hecht said, 'It's dark enough. Time to move on.'
Men began making a racket all through the fleet, singing to mask the sounds of capstans hoisting anchors. Carefully, showing stern lights that could not be seen from ashore, ships drifted southward.
Silence returned. Though silence was never complete where wind moaned through rigging and timbers creaked as a vessel rose and fell upon the seas. Hecht rejoined Jokai. 'On a completely different tack, do you know anything about people called the Unknowns?'
'Librarians for the Collegium, I think. I've heard that they keep a big map of the Chaldarean world. Why?'
'I'm not sure. I heard some talk when I was working at the Chiaro Palace. Principate Delari had a connection with someone he called the Eleventh Unknown. I'm not sure why that got to nagging me right now. I never thought much about it before.'
'A long time ago, the Special Office thought the Unknowns were an unholy cabal inside the Chiaro Palace. I suppose they found out differently. This is the first I've heard them mentioned since I was a student.'
It was a tense sea passage, that night. The move was supposed to deceive people ashore. Would it?
Hecht slept only fitfully.
Dawn came. The right number of mastheads were visible. None had gone missing. Andrade guessed they had moved them thirty miles down the coast.
Signal smokes rose ashore. Hecht thought they seemed panicky.
He was thirty miles from where he was supposed to be. The rising breeze would push him along faster than his enemies could run.
Unloading began shortly after noon. Only a handful of men were ashore when friendly locals pointed out that just a mile back north the ships could move closer inshore and dramatically shorten the landing process. These people were Brothen Chaldareans. They had been persecuted lately. The arrival of the fleet had deluded them into believing that the Patriarch wanted to rescue them.
The Captain-General went ashore as soon as his lifeguards permitted. Earth underfoot, he sighed, said, 'This is pure chaos. There must be a better way. If there was anyone here to resist us we'd be getting slaughtered.' He spoke to no one in particular, though Redfearn Bechter, Drago Prosek, Titus Consent, and Jokai Svlada were all close by. 'Titus, talk to these people. Get a feel for the ground. Hire some guides. I expect to have to fight off a major attack. Will we need to include the Night amongst the enemies we expect? Keep Prosek in the know.'
By nightfall the ships were headed back to Sheavenalle. A solid camp had been established, in the Old Empire fashion. It had a timber wall with a ditch at its foot. Scouts with local guides crawled all over the surrounding countryside.
Two miles up the coast, on the south bank of a creek the locals called a river, was a fishing village cleverly named Porto. It had been called something else in Imperial times and had been bigger then, anchoring the north end of trade across the narrow strait that had existed at that time. The villagers were proud of their history, religion, and dialect, which resembled Old Brothen more closely than did modern Firaldian. They had suffered numerous turns for the bad since the fall of the Empire, as Artecipea passed through the hands of frequent conquerors. With, always, the hinterlands' pagan storm just over the horizon.
Piper Hecht spent his first night on Artecipea as a guest of the leading men of Porto. They insisted that he was a deliverer. He wasted no time disagreeing.
The people of Porto delivered intelligence enough to show Hecht what he must do to withstand the approaching pagan storm. In numbers that astonished everyone. Somehow, Rudenes Schneidel had gathered almost eight thousand men to throw the Patriarchals back into the Mother Sea.
The local chieftain's son, going by the unlikely name Pabo Bogo, told Hecht, 'You destroy this bunch, you've won your whole war, Lord. There can't be many more down south. They say the Sonsans and Platadurans and King Peter's soldiers have cleared two-thirds of the High Athaphile. Only the evil sorcerer's witchcraft keeps them from complete success.'
'I'll do what I can.' Hecht hoped to use the lay of the land to get the better of an imbalance in numbers.
The transports were gone. Two Plataduran warships anchored close inshore, to be artillery platforms.
The first pagans arrived in the afternoon. They were a wild and ragged lot, reminding Hecht of Grolsacher refugees seen in the Connec. They were overheated from their rush south, and were tired, thirsty, and hungry. Hecht had positioned his visible force with the afternoon sun behind them. The pagans saw only a few men between themselves and the food and water inside the Patriarchal camp.
More and more pagans arrived, as families, clans, and tribes instead of as an army. Some tried rushing in to throw javelins. They met missiles from crossbowmen and archers. The crossbowmen, though few, were very good at what they did.
More pagans piled up. They made a disorganized charge. They suffered scores of casualties and enjoyed no success whatsoever. Even so, they tried again a quarter hour later.
Hecht watched in disbelief from inside the camp, atop a low tower infested by lifeguards. The pagans seemed compelled to do things his way.
'Looks like their big chiefs are arriving, Captain-General.' The speaker pointed. A mob including standards and banners had appeared. Followed by a vast mass of pagan humanity. That settled down briefly after some horns blared. When the horns sounded again the pagans all roared and charged as though determined to see who could be first to die. Their sheer weight almost broke the Patriarchal line. Hecht muttered, 'I didn't leave enough men out there.' He had not anticipated such numbers, so soon.
His modest heavy cavalry force, hidden in some woods to the enemy right, saw the danger. They charged. The warships discharged their ballistae, an effect expected to be more psychological than actual.
The heavy cavalry were supposed to smash through, break free, then wheel for another charge. They lost their momentum instead. The pagans were too densely gathered.
Hecht's best infantry had hidden in ravines behind the heavy cavalry. They came out, in order, as the line protecting the camp did start to give.
Hecht ordered his infantry reserve out. He told his lifeguards, 'The fools think they're winning. They don't see how badly they've been trapped. I'm being sarcastic!' he snapped at one puzzled bodyguard.
It looked like even the reserves would not suffice. Pagans kept arriving and rushing into the melee. But the later they showed, the more exhausted they were already.
An hour after the fighting began the pace of the struggle slowed. Hecht's fighters were tired, now, too.
The last of the Patriarchal infantry left cover south of the fighting, double-timing into blocking positions across the enemy's escape route. They went unnoticed till they set on a band of very late arrivals.
The pagan chieftains panicked. Not unexpectedly. Tribesmen were fierce, sturdy fighters individually but lacked team discipline. They did not train to fight as an army.
Hecht signaled light cavalry waiting inside the camp. The pursuit phase was about to begin.
