Robert Asprin - Wartorn Obliteration

There was of course only one answer.

I will... General Weisel.

His detour to the city of Felk had had the effect of stranding this vast army here in the field. Weisel had ordered that they remain at this position, while he had himself Far Moved to the north.

Now it was time to get this war moving again.

The senior staff was visibly relieved to see him. Weisel assembled them in the tent.

"We shall move on the city of Trael," he announced.

The officers grew excited and agitated. At present, the army was only two days or so from Trael, if they were to march there.

"Will you be ordering the use of the portals?" one of his officers asked.

The senior mages were present at this meeting as well. The regular officers eyed them askance. The tension and prejudice between the two groups was a problem throughout the ranks, one that needed correcting.

"Yes," Weisel said, "we will use the portals."

Some among the regular officers looked uneasy at the thought.

"But not to Far Move the entire army," Weisel smiled.

Dardas, observing the proceedings through Weisel's eyes, watched the reactions. Weisel had learned something, evidently, about showmanship and panache.

"I want an elite unit assembled," Weisel said. "Special troops who can work stealthily and efficiently. The rest of our forces will surround Trael. Meanwhile, I want one of our scouting squads in the field, one outfitted with a Far Speak and Far Movement mage, to infiltrate the city. Mage Limmel, you'll pass on the order. When I give the signal we'll transport through the elite unit inside the city limits. They will locate the city's ruling council and take them hostage. We'll take this city without wasting a drop of blood on either side."

They gaped at him. Weisel was still smiling.

Well, whatever else, they're impressed, Weisel said silently.

As I promised, Dardas said.

The plan was actually a compromise between the two men. Dardas had meant for Trael to be another example, like U'delph had been when they had razed it to the ground and slaughtered nearly every inhabitant. Weisel, however, favored a less violent approach, though he had still wanted to demonstrate his tactical flair and military abilities.

"If I may say so, General," another of the officers said after a long shocked silence, "that is a brilliant plan, sir."

For a moment, Dardas thought the group was going to break into applause. Weisel beamed.

See how well it works when we cooperate?

I do. I most certainly do, said Dardas.

It was nightfall. They would move in the morning. Weisel's aide reported, rather contritely, that the assassin with the crossbow had still not been located, despite every effort. Weisel dismissed him and lay down to sleep, exhausted by the events of the past few days.

Weisel slept. Dardas did not.

His consciousness was effectively held prisoner inside this body now. It wouldn't do. Weisel had been correct earlier when he'd pointed out that they couldn't directly spy on each other's thoughts. That was good. Dardas certainly didn't want Weisel knowing about his intention to prolong this war, to create a perpetual state of warfare, in fact.

To maintain that, one naturally had to have an enemy. As yet, the sorry peoples of this Isthmus had offered only the most pathetic resistance to the Felk. The massacre at U'delph had had real purpose. It wasn't just random bloodshed. Dardas meant to provoke resistance.

Now he was hampered in his plans not only by Matokin, but also by Weisel.

Dardas concentrated. He remembered how it had felt to control this body. He tried now to imagine himself once more in command. Memory mingled with his desire. He exerted himself, while Weisel's consciousness continued to sleep.

Suddenly, the little finger on Weisel's left hand wiggled. It was a small movement, barely noticeable. But Dardas was certain he was the one who had initiated it.

Victories could be large or small, he knew from his long career as a war commander. But almost any victory was sweet.

"You there!"

The sudden cold had nothing to do with Callah's autumn weather, a harsher season apparently than it was in U'delph, to the south. Instead, this was a shock-chill of fear.

Bryck had the collar of his coat raked up, shoulders hunched. He had just been starting to feel assured about this little excursion outdoors. The early morning sun, where it found its way through the clouds, felt good. The air was certainly sweeter than that in the rooms he was sharing with the entire complement of the Broken Circle.

He had skulked along unobtrusively, gaining confidence with every unmolested step. He had traveled one street, then two, away from the relative safety of those rooms.

The voice had called from behind. It had a hard authoritative ring to it. Bryck didn't doubt that when he turned, he would find a Felk soldier there, one who had just recognized him as the murderer of one of the garrison.

The members of the Circle didn't know about this jaunt of his. He had slipped out while most of the others were still sleeping. Today was going to be a busy day for the group, and he had advised everyone to rest up properly.

He was at the edge of the street, which was just stirring with activity. He looked furtively and hurriedly for escape routes. He was near an alleyway's mouth. Casually he sidled toward it.

" You. Hold. Hold, I said—"

But it wasn't a proper alley, just a niche between buildings where debris had accumulated. The three walls enclosing it were too high to scale.

The Broken Circle had a small arsenal of mostly improvised weaponry—hammers, cooking cutlery, and the like. Bryck was unarmed. Still keeping his manner nonchalant, he finally turned, as if just becoming aware of the hail.

He expected a uniform, armor, a sword. Instead, a man, Bryck's senior by a tenwinter in a once-fancy merchant's coat, was stalking toward him. His face was tightly drawn, and his eyes moved a little wildly in their sockets.

"Don't you hear?" the man demanded.

Bryck barely lifted his face from the circle of his coat collar. "What do you want?" he asked, voice pitched softly. He didn't recognize the man.

"I want to know what's become of your promises ."

It occurred to Bryck then that this might merely be someone mad, mistaking him for some bygone acquaintance who had wronged him and unable to realize he had the wrong individual, even now, when they were this close to each other.

"I made you no promises." Bryck turned. He would simply and quietly go back the way he'd come.

But the man seized his shoulders and spun him back. He had some strength to him. "Now you make your lies worse! Haven't you a shred of honesty?" His coat appeared to be loosening at every seam, and it was generously stained.

There were just enough people in the street by now for this commotion to be drawing attention. It was the last thing Bryck needed. He wrenched his shoulders out of the man's grasp.

"You are mistaking me," he said, enunciating it clearly, concisely, hoping against all reason that this would penetrate.

The man's eyes went a bit wilder. "In the tavern..."

Despite himself, Bryck asked, "What tavern?"

"Those beautiful, beautiful words. In the tavern. The songs. Then... then your words. About rebellion. About people rising against the Felk in Windal. Godsdamnit. Godsdamnit. Why did you tell such lies?"

The man had heard him some night, when Bryck had been going from tavern to tavern throughout Callah, posing as a troubadour and spreading the gossip about an uprising that hadn't occurred (at least to his knowledge) and a rebel underground here in Callah that didn't exist (or hadn't at the time).