Brian Staveley - The Providence of Fire

She tried to keep her tone light, but her heart was hammering. It all depended on this. The presence of the scouts was good. It suggested il Tornja had been moving even before the Flea got to him. On the other hand, there was no telling how far ahead of the main body of the army the men were scouting. Even with the bridge destroyed, Gwenna had no illusions that she could hold the town forever. Long Fist was a bloodthirsty savage, but he wasn’t an idiot, and he had the numbers. Eventually he would find a way across.

“The Army of the North is pushing hard,” the leader replied. “My name is Jeril. I have orders to take control of the town. To prepare it against attack.”

Gwenna tensed. She’d known it was coming from the moment the scouts arrived. Sending an advance guard was standard legion procedure: fifty or a hundred men unencumbered by all the apparatus of war, trained to travel light and move fast, men who could scout the necessary terrain, begin preparations for battle, and send back word to the bulk of the army behind. To the general. That was the ticklish bit. For all Gwenna knew, the men were here as much to deal with her and Annick as they were to prepare for the Urghul assault.

“Where are the rest of you?” she asked warily.

Jeril grimaced. “We’re it.”

“Twelve to hold off the whole Urghul army?” Gwenna asked. “You must be really fucking good.”

“You haven’t seen the terrain south of here,” Jeril replied, shaking his head wearily. “It’s a nightmare. The western track is flooded out with the runoff, and everything else is worse. It was tough enough getting a dozen men through, let alone a hundred.”

“But somehow il Tornja’s going to get a whole army up here?”

The man grinned for the first time. “The kenarang ’s got his ways.”

Gwenna raised an eyebrow. “Care to share?”

Jeril hesitated, then gestured toward the lake. “There’s a dam at the south end. He’s destroying it, probably has it destroyed by now.”

Gwenna looked out over the lapping waves, trying to understand how blowing a dam fifty miles off was going to get the army north. She’d thought maybe the kenarang planned to use boats, but draining the lake would only … Oh . She shifted her eyes from the water to the shoreline. A glistening width of mud and stone was visible just below the tangled bank. It was hard to be certain, but she didn’t think it had been there earlier.

“He’s draining the lake,” she said, impressed in spite of herself.

Jeril nodded. “Not the whole thing-that would take weeks-but enough to march his army up along the coast.”

Gwenna eyed the uncovered shelf of stone, sand, and mud once more. “It’s wet,” she said. “He’ll have to wait at least a day for it to firm up.”

Jeril nodded tensely. “It’s going to be close.”

Despite the genius of the plan, something about it bothered Gwenna, like a stalking shape half glimpsed through the trees. “The Urghul,” she said, seeing it at last. “The Urghul will be able to use the same strip of land to press south along the eastern bank. They won’t need to cross here.”

Jeril nodded again. “But there are two things stopping them. First, they don’t know the kenarang ’s plan. As far as they’re concerned, this might just be normal fluctuation in the water level. They might ride halfway down the eastern bank and find the lake rising again.”

“Pretty fucking thin,” Gwenna said, shaking her head. “Long Fist has enough men to spare a few thousand on a hunch.”

“He can’t,” Jeril replied. “Not yet. A man on horseback is almost ten times heavier than one on foot, and the Urghul won’t leave their horses. As the fringe of the lake bed starts to harden, the legions will be able to use it days before any cavalry.”

Gwenna blew out a long slow whistle. “Holy Hull,” she muttered, “he really is a genius.”

Jeril smiled wearily. “No one sees his way through a battle like the kenarang . Sometimes I almost pity the bastards who have to fight him.”

His last words dug at Gwenna like a dull knife. There was no knowing where Valyn was, or whether he’d even managed to intercept the army. It was possible he’d already murdered il Tornja, possible he’d tried and failed, was captive or dead, his head impaled on a pike in the center of camp as a warning to would-be traitors. The thought made her sick to her stomach, and with an effort she shoved it out of her mind, turning instead to the half-finished barricade rising at the end of the bridge.

“Higher,” she called to the men lifting a log into place. “Those Urghul horses can clear that.”

They looked at her skeptically, then nodded.

“How are you here?” Jeril asked, frowning. “If the kenarang didn’t send you…”

“The legions react to problems,” Gwenna bluffed. “It’s our job to anticipate them.”

The scout narrowed his eyes, then glanced over the work. “Well, you’ve made my job easier, for which I thank you, but we’ll take it from here.”

“Actually,” Pyrre said, stepping out from behind the barricade, “Gwenna’s doing a nice job. I’d recommend letting her keep at it.”

Jeril frowned. “Who are you?”

“Pyrre Lakatur,” the assassin replied, sweeping into a low bow. “I realize it’s customary to add ‘at your service,’ but you Annurian military folk make the habitual mistake of thinking I work for you already, and I don’t want to confuse matters.”

Jeril started to respond, then shook his head, turning back to Gwenna. “Doesn’t matter. I have orders to take command of the town.”

Gwenna was half tempted to let him have it. She’d done her part. The eastern bridge was gone, the villagers were warned, the barricades were mostly built. She could hand the whole defense over and slip away before the kenarang arrived, figured out who she was, and put her head on a pole. She hesitated. Problem was, whatever the scout’s background, he wasn’t Kettral. She knew the training that legionary scouts went through, and, rigorous though it was, it paled beside her own. The Flea had put her in charge because he thought she could hold the town, and she found, to her surprise, that she intended to do just that.

“I have the command here,” she said, knowing the words sounded cold, aggressive, but unsure how to warm them.

A grumble passed through the scouts behind Jeril. A few shifted wide, making room to draw swords, to fight.

“I can use you,” Gwenna said, wincing inwardly at her own tone. “I’m glad you’re here, but the command is mine.”

Jeril’s jaw tightened. “I have orders to remove-”

“The thing about orders,” Pyrre said, stepping forward, arms crossed over her chest, “is that they absolve a woman from the responsibility of thinking her own thoughts.” She glanced over at the scouts, then frowned. “Or a man, for that matter.” She raised her eyebrows. “Have you fought against the Urghul, Jeril?”

The scout hesitated, then shook his head.

Pyrre shrugged. “Gwenna has. She infiltrated their camp, met with their commander, gauged their strength, then fought her way free.”

Gwenna concentrated on keeping her mouth shut. The assassin’s claims were barely true, but they seemed to be having an effect.

“Do you know the people of Andt-Kyl?” Pyrre continued, gesturing to the folk building the barricade behind them.

Another shake of the head.

“Gwenna does. She’s been working with them for days now. They trust her. Which leads me to my third question: Do you love Annur?”

Jeril nodded tersely.

“Then why don’t you do what’s best for Annur? When your general gave you your orders, he didn’t know that the Kettral were already here. If he had, your orders would have been different. Use that brain that Bedisa gave you. Hm?”