By Heresies Distressed (32 page)

“Probably.” Haimyn looked down at the map himself. “I wish we had better information on the contours,” he continued, running his finger across the map sheet. “It
looks
like the ground's probably higher on the far side of this river.” He grimaced. “I suppose that makes sense, since we're marching towards the mountains. If I were in command on the other side, and if I were looking for a defensive position, that would appeal to me.”

“Agreed. But if you were in command on the other side and if you figured you had a sizable numerical advantage, would you be looking for a
defensive
position at all?”

“Assuming all I had were smoothbores against rifles, damn straight I would,” Haimyn said.

“But according to all of our intelligence estimates,” Clareyk's eyes rose to meet Haimyn's for a moment, and he twitched the dispatch he still held very slightly, “this Gahrvai doesn't know anything about our rifles.”

“True.” Haimyn rubbed his chin. “If it should happen those estimates are actually accurate, then you're probably right. Gahrvai
ought
to be thinking about jumping on us and smashing us up.”

“Exactly. And in addition to that, I'm sure he'd prefer to keep us from getting a foothold on the far side of the river, especially if you're right—and I think you probably are—about the rising ground over there.”

“You think he'll come across the river? Fight with it in his rear?”

“I do.” Clareyk nodded sharply. “We don't know enough about bridges, or whether there might be practical fords, to really be able to estimate how serious an obstacle it may be. And I'll almost guarantee you he has a lot better information on where
we
are, and in what strength, than we have about him. It's for damned sure he's got a lot more cavalry swanning around out there to
tell
him about us, at any rate, and I'm going to assume he's smart enough to know what to do with it.”

“Suits me,” Haimyn agreed.

“Well, in that case, he's probably got a pretty fair notion of how many men we've got. If I were him, I'd be thinking in terms of putting enough of my men on
this
side of the river to eat a force our size for breakfast. I don't think I'd put any more of my total manpower over here than I figured I'd need for the job, though. That way, if it turned out I was wrong and I had to retreat, I wouldn't be stacked ten deep trying to get across the bridges. And I'd have the bulk of my troops available on the far side of the river to hold the high ground and cover the advanced force if it
did
have to retreat.”

“Makes sense,” Haimyn said after considering it briefly.

“Well, assuming this little exercise in mind-reading has any merit, I think it's also safe to assume he wouldn't want to give us the gift of any better defensible terrain than he has to when he attacks us. If I were him, and if I was feeling really clever, I'd figure on fighting somewhere in here.” Clareyk's finger traced a rough oval around the town and the monastery. “He'll want open ground so he can close with us as quickly as possible, especially if he's thinking about plowing us into the ground with pikes or cavalry. And he'll want us as far forward out of these miserable woods as he can get us, so that when we break, we'll be jammed up against the trees trying to funnel down the road.”

Haimyn nodded again, and Clareyk smiled thinly.

“The one good thing about this miserable patch of trees and briars is that if there's only one road through it, at least it's not easy to get lost.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning we can continue marching after dark without losing entire companies down side roads. There
aren't
any side ‘roads.' The most there are is paths and foot trails no one is going to confuse with the main right-of-way.”

“We've got another two or three hours of daylight, too,” Haimyn observed.

“Yes, we do.” Clareyk looked over his shoulder at a grizzled-looking man in the uniform of a sergeant major. “Mahk?”

“Yes, Sir?” Brigade Sergeant Major Mahkynty Dragonmaster replied.

“Find me a runner. Then figure out exactly where Colonel Zhanstyn is so we know where to send him.”

Zhoel Zhanstyn was the commander of the ⅓rd Battalion—First Battalion of the Third Brigade. He was also a cool and levelheaded man, which qualities had made him Clareyk's choice to lead the advance.

“Aye, Sir!” Dragonmaster's broad shoulders straightened as he came to an abbreviated position of attention. Then he turned away from the two brigadiers with a purposeful air.

“I'm going to send Zhanstyn on ahead,” Clareyk continued, turning back to Haimyn. “If he pushes, he should be able to get to more open ground near the town before sunset, and if we're reading Gahrvai's intentions the right way, he's going to be patient. He won't jump Zhanstyn the instant the First clears the woods, because he'll want more of us in his trap. He might have some pickets out to skirmish with us, convince us to stop for the night, or at least advance more slowly, but he might not even do that. More likely, he'll settle for posting a few scouts well in advance of his own positions just to warn him if we keep coming. Then he'll wait for us to stick our heads firmly into the noose before he yanks it tight.”

“Very devious of him,” Haimyn said dryly.

“I'd rather assume he's more devious than he is than make the mistake of assuming he's
less
devious than he turns out to be.”

“Oh, I'm not complaining,” Haimyn assured him.

“Good. What I want Zhanstyn to do is to move as quickly as he can to the edge of the more open ground we think is up there. But then I want him to advance just a little way more and start settling in for the night. Once it's
dark
, though, he'll put his men back into motion and—”

 

“So they're taking it a little easy, are they?” Koryn Gahrvai murmured to himself.

The sun had set an hour and a half before, and insects buzzed and zinged around the lanterns illuminating his veranda command post. His thigh muscles ached just a bit from the time he, Windshare, and Doyal had spent in the saddle, but the personal reconnaissance had been worth it. He had the terrain around Haryl's Priory and the town of Haryl's Crossing firmly in his mind now. He'd found himself wondering exactly who the “Haryl” who'd strewn his name around this locale so generously had been, but that idle curiosity had taken fourth or fifth place on his “Things to Wonder About” list.

Now he sat in a comfortable, cushioned wicker chair gnawing on a fried chicken breast and trying not to get greasy fingerprints on his map while he worked his way through the latest dispatches from Windshare's mounted pickets.

Alyk's done himself proud
, Gahrvai reflected.
He may not be the very brightest star in the heavens, but Langhorne knows he works
hard
with the wit God gave him
.

He reached the final message, read it as carefully as he had the first, then handed his plate to one of his staffers and frowned thoughtfully.

I'd be happier if they'd moved further forward
, he admitted to himself.
If the cavalry reports are accurate, that's no more than a third, maybe even a quarter, of their total strength. And given the crappy nature of the terrain they've been advancing through, we could be underestimating their strength significantly
.

His frown deepened as he acknowledged that possibility. On the other hand, if the Charisians were present in greater numbers, then they were going to be even more jammed up than he'd hoped for on the section of highway through the tangled wilderness in front of his chosen battlefield.

Should I move further forward?

He closed his eyes, considering the ground he'd ridden over. It was tempting, in many ways. In fact, if his objective had been simply to
stop
the Charisians, that was exactly what he would have done. But he didn't want to stop them; he wanted to
smash
them, and for that he needed them out in the open where he could get at them.

Besides, like I told Charlz earlier, if I try moving units around in the dark, they're only going to get lost. Or, worse, someone's going to blunder into the enemy and tell them we're here. Of course, unless they're imbeciles, they must realize we're out here
somewhere.
That doesn't make it a good idea to
confirm
our positions for them, though
.

He pondered his mental map for several more seconds, then opened his eyes once more and beckoned to his clerk.

“Yes, Sir?”

“Message for Earl Windshare.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The clerk readied his notepad, and Gahrvai tipped back in his chair.

“My Lord Earl,” he began. “From your scouts' latest reports, the enemy seems to be planning to hold his present position until morning, before resuming his advance. I anticipate that he will continue towards Haryl's Crossing tomorrow, with the intention of securing the bridge there. He may also intend to direct a smaller column on the Priory in order to secure the wooden bridge, assuming he knows—or learns—of its existence.

“In either case, I believe we may assume he will continue advancing along the highway at or shortly after dawn. From his present position, he will be required to advance approximately six miles before he encounters our forward positions. If our estimate of his total troop strength is accurate, that advance should take long enough for his entire strength to clear the undergrowth behind him and emerge into the more open ground between the woods and the town.

“If that should prove to be the case, it is my intention to cut off and destroy his entire force. To that end, you are directed to prepare a force of cavalry adequate to advance into his rear and cut the highway behind him after he clears the woods. However, I do not desire for you to engage his infantry unless he attempts to force his way past you in order to escape my own forces.

“Given the importance of keeping him in ignorance of our own positions, intentions, and strength, I do not wish you to move until after daylight. You are to keep the highway under observation, if at all possible, and to advance into his rear only after he has fully emerged from the woods, unless otherwise directed by myself. To this end, I wish for such force as you deem adequate to the purposes of this instruction to be prepared for movement one hour before dawn, but to remain in position until the conditions stipulated in the above paragraphs have been met.”

He paused, considering whether or not to add anything else, then shrugged mentally.

“Read that back,” he directed, and listened carefully as the clerk complied. Then he nodded. “Very good. Write up a fair copy for my signature. I want it delivered within the hour, if at all possible. And I want a receipt from the Earl's staff to confirm its delivery.”

“We seen a few cavalry kind of driftin' around out there, Sir,” the sergeant told Colonel Zhoel Zhanstyn. He spoke softly, as if he were afraid the enemy might overhear him, which made his Lochair dialect even more difficult for Zhanstyn's Tellesberg-born ears. The precaution was probably unnecessary, too, but that wasn't something Zhanstyn was going to criticize, under the circumstances.

“Do you think they know you saw them?” he asked.

“Hard t' say, Sir, t' be honest,” the sergeant admitted. “We kept t' cover much as we could, just like you said. And I didn't pick no city boys, begging your pardon. We weren't making much noise, and a man on a horse's easier t' see nor a man on foot, but it could be they saw us. And if they were smart and put somebody out on foot in front of them so's we'd see the mounted ones and not notice t' others, I couldn't swear we'd've spotted ‘em at it, and that's a fact, Colonel.”

“Understood, Sergeant.” Zhanstyn nodded. However rustic the noncom might have sounded, there was nothing at all wrong with his brain, and Zhanstyn made a mental note to commend him in his own report. The explosively expanding Charisian Marines desperately needed competent officers, and the sergeant might just make one of them. On the other hand, they needed experienced, capable, and
smart
sergeants just as badly, as any officer worth his salt was well aware. And the “scout-sniper” units Brigadier Clareyk had organized needed them worse than most.