Karris had no idea what he was talking about, but she could see tight-lipped nods among the Colors at the table. If they’d been talking just a few minutes ago even more privately than this, it must be something very secret. He’d said ‘hangers-on,’ plural. That meant that he wasn’t just talking about Karris coming into the room. The Spectrum must have been meeting without slaves in attendance, even without the Blackguard. What was so secret that the Blackguard wasn’t allowed to attend?
From the White’s expression, Karris could see that the woman didn’t like such secrets referred to even this obliquely.
“In the meantime, we’re at war.”
Klytos Blue shifted in his seat, like he wanted to speak out, but daren’t, not against Andross Guile.
But Andross Guile flared with anger. “You’d deny it, Klytos? Still? How many of our ships must they sink? How many of our people must they kill? We face nothing less than the old gods, and those heretics who would bring them back. We will have a little respite this winter—but it is a respite that will help our enemies more. Few ships can traverse the Cerulean Sea in winter’s storms, and our enemies are on foot. We will have only those few Ruthgari soldiers and the remnants of the Atashian forces, under that idiot General Azmith.”
“That’s my cousin!” Delara Orange said. Her face was slack, flushed, eyes bloodshot.
“Then you’ve one idiot in your family. Or is it two?” Andross shot back.
She huffed and fell silent. It was an acquiescence, though, and Karris thought that if Delara admitted her cousin was stupid so easily, then Andross might actually be understating the case.
“You need to get word to him,” Andross said, “that he is to fight delaying actions only. Under no circumstance is he to risk a large-scale conflict.”
“Have we not sent these orders already?” the White asked.
“We have.” Andross didn’t elaborate, and for Karris, he didn’t need to. She had seen how men intent on glory could get others killed. And Andross didn’t like giving an order when he had not the means to enforce its obedience.
“Delaying actions?” the White asked. “How much ground are we to give?”
Andross sighed. “We will need to marshal our forces for the spring. Realistically, we won’t be able to stop them from advancing into Blood Forest.”
“There are border towns. Ox Ford, Stony Field, Tanner’s Turn, Mangrove Point. Are you proposing we just let them die?” the Orange asked quietly, horrified.
“How do you propose we save them?” Andross asked. “Do you know of good options? Please. Elucidate.”
“I—I just can’t believe…”
“We tell the people to get out, burn it all, starve the Color Prince’s army as it invades. Satrap Willow Bough won’t like it, but if they won’t … we have to look at the possibility that we’ll lose Blood Forest.”
“You want them to burn jungles? In the wet season?” the Orange asked.
“I want them to win this war in one decisive conflict with no losses on our side. I want none innocent to suffer. You’re asking what I want? Don’t be fools. We need to win. So we need the Blood Foresters to poison wells. We need them to slaughter animals. We need them to torch their fields and cut down swaths of jungle and force every last one of their red drafters to break the halo if necessary to put it to flame. We need them to win so that nine months from now we aren’t talking about what villages we’ll have to abandon in Ruthgar.”
He let that sit, and no one said anything.
“In the interim, we’ve lost the bulk of our fleet. We could begin to build and borrow a new one, but I propose that we don’t even need to do that. We only need these new sea chariots that the Blackguards have developed—”
“That Gavin invented,” Karris said.
“Yes, of course. The Blackguards merely perfected them. Whatsoever you please, dear.”
She sat back, stung. How did the bastard do that? Make her look so small?
Andross continued, “With the sea chariots, we can control the seas, without the cost of an entire fleet. We know this Color Prince has been working with Ilytian pirates, and this way we can keep him from being resupplied by sea.”
This Color Prince. My brother.
“We can save specific tactical discussions for later,” the White interjected.
“Fair,” the Red said. “But this we can agree on: our last battle was a disaster. We can’t direct a war from afar. We’re going to need a promachos.”
Delara Orange laughed aloud. “And you did such a good job directing our last battle we should choose you, huh?”