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That night, on the topmost battlements of Orma
“Who is sovereign here? Who commands? Shahr Johor, you may be my khedive, but you are not irreplaceable. I have indulged your whims once before, and forgiven you for the failure which resulted. You will now indulge me!”
“But Highness,” Shahr Johor protested, “to change a battle-plan when the army is only days away from contact with the enemy is—is foolhardy.”
“What did you say?”
Hopelessly, Shahr Johor pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your pardon, my Sultan. I am a little tyred.”
“Yes, you are. Get yourself some sleep ere the fight begins, or you will be of no use to anyone.” Aurungzeb’s voice lost its harsh edge. “I am not a complete child in military matters, Shahr Johor, and what I am suggesting is not a complete rewriting of the plan, merely a minor revision.”
Shahr Johor nodded, too weary to protest further.
“Batak failed to have this Toru
“I don’t understand your sudden desire to change the plan, Highness,” Shahr Johor said stubbornly.
“There has been a lot of coming and going between here and Toru
Shahr Johor snapped upright. “Are you sure?”
Aurungzeb flapped one massive hand. “I am not sure, but it is as well to be suspicious. That mad monk escaped from here with the co
“Very well, my Sultan. I bow to your superior wisdom. The flank march we pla
“You relieve my mind, Shahr Johor. This may well be the deciding battle of the war. Nothing about its conduct must be left to chance. Mehr Jirah has half the army convinced that the western Saint is also our Prophet, and the Minhraib, curse them, are simple enough to believe that it means an end to war with the Ramusians. It may be that this is the last great levy Ostrabar will ever be able to mobilise.”
“I won’t fail you, Highness,” Shahr Johor said fervently. “The Unbelievers will be struck as though by a thunderbolt. In a few days, not more, you will sit in Toru
TWENTY
T HERE had been no time for councils of war, debates on strategy or any of the last-minute wrangles so beloved of high commands since man had first started wageing organised war. Before the fires which raged down on the waterfront of Toru
Andruw commanded the Cathedrallers now, with Ebro as his second-in-command. Formio led the Fimbrians, as always, and Ranafast the dyke veterans. The main body of the Toru
It was not the best-equipped force that Toru
Without that information, Corfe privately believed that there would have been little or no hope for his men, and in his mind he blest Aurungzeb’s nameless Ramusian Queen.
N O cheers to see them off, but the walls were thickly crowded with Toru
The army tramped eighteen miles that first day, and when the lead elements started to lay out their bivouacs the rearguard was still a league behind them. As was his wont, Corfe found himself a nearby knoll and sat his horse there, watching them trudge into camp. He was not seeing them, though. He was thinking of an ex-slave who had once sworn allegiance to him with the chains of the galleys still on his wrists. A savage from the Cimbrics who had become his friend.
Andruw and Formio joined him, the Fimbrian actually mounted on a quiet mare. The trio exchanged sombre salutes and then watched as the first campfires were lit below, until there was a constellation of them rivalling the brilliance of the first stars.
The darkness deepened. The trio sat their horses without sharing a word, but glad of one another’s company. Then Andruw twisted in his saddle and peered north. “Corfe, Formio. Look there.”
On the horizon, a ruddy glow like that of a burning town. Except that there were no towns for many leagues in that direction.
“It’s their campfires,” Corfe realised. “Like the lights of a city. That’s the enemy, gentlemen.”
They studied the phenomenon. It was, in its way, as awe-inspiring as the Northern Lights which could be seen in winter from the foothills of the Thurians.