“They’re moving, my lord. And the farmers say that Fall is reinforcing the border.”
“Market gossip?”
“Some, my lord. And some say … what happened to Count Andressat’s son … it’s made Fall angry.”
Let the old man be angry; he had no teeth to bite. But the Cold Count might, if he had enough troops. Surely he did not. Five hundred at the start of Siniava’s War and fewer later. Even if he’d been training Fall’s lax militia … but if the northerners got involved here, in eastern Aarenis … he’d counted on them coming in from Valdaire only. Kostandanyans … yes, there’d been some going in and out of Slavers’ Bay in his pirate days, and from there … not so far across the Copper Hills to the North Trade Road.
He’d intended to take Fallo eventually, but maybe he should do that first, to have security at his back when he pressed west to Valdaire. The Guild League cities were already frightened, already distrusting one another’s commitment to the League. Very little interference would keep them stirred up. One campaign season should be enough to conquer Fallo; it would be over by Midwinter Feast.
His advisor was silent but aware—he had learned to tell. Silence usually meant agreement.
“You will speak to no one of your message,” he said, putting power into it.
The man’s face paled. “No, my lord, to no one.”
“You will not go back to Fallo; you might be recognized. You will stay here, with other duties, for the time being.” The man bowed, even paler now. “Other duties” had, for some, meant a cell in the dungeon and long interrogations. “You are excused,” Visli said. The name draped his shoulders with power; he could feel it.
Now for the planning. The maps, arranged for show, held his attention as he considered how many troops, what kind, how long to gather them, move them … He looked up as sun lay a bright hand on the maps. So long? But he had his plan. He sent for the captains resident in Cortes Immer.
“A change in plans,” he said when they stood before him.
“My lord.”
“Fall is our new target. I would not have that fool at my back as we move west.” He looked with particular intensity at the captain who had dared suggest, the year before, controlling Fallo first. The man showed no expression, no flicker of eyelid, no traitorous wish to claim that idea for himself. “We have word of an attempt by northerners to infiltrate from Slavers’ Bay and suspect an attempt to take over the Immervale while we are far to the west. Instead, we will take Fallo and gain control of Slavers’ Bay. I will send word to my sea force today.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I have decided what troops we need. Each of you, with a suitable escort, will ride west and north to bring back those units, except for you, Captain Gedarnt.” This time the man’s eyelids did flicker in surprise.
Send Gedarnt north.
That had not been his idea. Why that?
I have a reason he should not hear. Do it.
He gave the orders as smoothly as if he’d thought them over for days. “You will take your troops to the Northern Trade Road, ready to attack Fall’s forces in the rear, should they retreat, and to interdict any reinforcements that might come by that way. You will note all trails that might lead over the mountains and note signs of usage. Though it is unlikely, we know small groups have used at least two such in the past. You will have all my forces now at Rotengre, including the raiders harrying Sorellin’s fields.” That should reach near four hundred.
Gedarnt bowed low. “Yes, my lord. As my lord commands.”
He looked at each face intently, allowing his advisor to see with those eyes, so much more penetrating than his own. “One campaign season,” he said. “One will see it done. Come to the maps and see how it will be done.”
They came, and he showed them—step by step, march by march. “The forces opposing us are the Fallo militia, whose qualities we know—they may have had more training with Ganarrion there, but Ganarrion was never known as a strict disciplinarian. Count Vladi was, but he is older now, and his force somewhat reduced. So a cavalry company who have seen no combat for these several years while their commander played courtly games, a polearms company of good quality, but again out of practice, and the militia. An unknown number of Kostandanyan troops brought in by sea … possibly good soldiers but possibly those thought least useful at home. We cannot know that yet.”
“My lord—” That was Captain Tikart. “Will not the Guild League sense a weakness and attack?”
“No. They will have rumors enough of why we delay even as they try to adjust their trade routes to avoid Lûn and Cortes Cilwan. They will be glad of a respite but not trust it. And next year … next campaign season or before … we will be on the move west again.” He cast a look at Captain Gedarnt. “Had we moved against Fall first, it would have given them warning of our initial attack on them and they might well have combined against us—but now they’re paralyzed by fear, and the corruption of their currency has made them distrust one another. Now we can attack Fall without worrying that they will attack us.”