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“Patientia ísi straitéis magne i’tuda”
(“Patience is the best strategy of all.”)
—Ora Fal’kinennen 95:29
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The Ain Magne sat astride his stallion as he surveyed the fight from a river bluff south of the garrison and tightened a buckle on his chest plate. His armor was indistinguishable from every other Ken’nar, save for the fact he wore no livery, no surcoat. He was Trine for all of Kinderra, therefore no single provincial symbol would he prefer over another. After a gesture with his hand, an aide immediately handed him a gauntlet. He had young Aspected who had yet to choose an amulet bear for him the skeletal black plates of metal and dark chain mail of the Ken’nar, but he dressed himself. More than one Ken warlord died at the hands of an armor-bearer.
... First North artillery ... One more sortie ... Defenders ... At the ready ...
He allowed the myriad of sensations washed through him, over him, every Aspect thrumming, every nerve alight with the heady maelstrom of war. When he was young, his first experience with battle had overwhelmed him as pain, fear, fury, bloodlust, past impressions, future tellings, and the raw need to release power from him all vied for his attention. He had long since learned to let such sensations run their course for a moment rather than fighting to beat them back. After decades of war, the onslaught of emotions no longer subdued him. Only when the shock of mayhem and death at the open of a battle had receded did he clear his mind and take control of himself and the fray. He did not savor the experience, far from it, but he let the abrupt endness of death serve as a constant reminder of how much was at stake. How much there was to lose. To gain.
... Cease fire ... Archers pull back ... Defender Commander Staine, you have the field ...
... Ai, Lord ... his northern captain returned. ... What of the Varn-Erdalans? ... Our battle seers had divined a large unit in the Dar-Anars heading towards our location ...
The Ain Magne smiled. Let his second take the credit he was due. He turned his head to face the thousands of Ken’nar behind him and the young, thin man at their head. “Seer Second?’
His lieutenant nodded, his pale green amulet shining in the darkness. ... The Varn-Erdalan forces are no longer an issue for you, Commander ... the young seer replied.
... Excellent! ... We will have the Garnath Bridge for you shortly, my Trine ...
From his vantage point, he could view the entirety of the battle. His northern phalanx had done its job, sending barrage after barrage of ignited naphtha-coated arrows into the installation. The heavy rain, of course, would have dowsed conventional fire. His second scoffed at the use of the Seeing Aspect to predict the weather. The young man would learn it was one of that particular Aspect’s greatest uses.
Brilliant white fire consumed garrison tents, sending the Fal’kin scrambling for their horses. Greasy, acrid smoke, the odor perceptible even at his distance, mixed with fog and slowly spread a pall over what was left of the garrison. The Fal’kin battle seers had certainly predicted the presence of his southern contingent, but his troops had yet to enter the theater of battle. An immediate threat always took precedence over a less urgent one. So the Seer Prime Kellis Pinal gave the only order she could: form a line to prevent his northern units from coming any closer. Desde was a smart woman, though. More than likely, she, too, knew the fallacy of her order before she even gave it. And so, he had her right where he wanted her.
His second trotted his horse closer. He removed the steel wolflike skull of a helmet and shook the sweat from his light brown hair. “The troops grow restless, my lord. Give me the order.”
It was a fair observation, but sending in the southern phalanx at this very moment would accomplish nothing but waste precious defenders—on both sides.
The boy was smarter than this and should be above letting bloodlust get the better of him. “The time is not yet right. Use your Aspect. Tell me what you see.”
The seer stared at him a moment, not bothering to hide the frustration leaking from his mind. “I have, my lord. As always. If we move in now, we can wipe out the Kin-Deren bitch—”
“—Show some respect. She is a prime.”
The young seer bowed his head, acknowledging the reprimand but his face reddened with anger, not contrition. “We can wipe out Kellis Pinal’s north unit before her defenders have fully organized. We need to be bold and swift.”
“And we will be. When I am ready.”
His second leaned forward in his saddle and bounced his black armored forearm against the pommel of his saddle, an anxious gesture that had never disappeared despite training. “Staine won’t be able to take the bridge without more troops. He’s outnumbered two to one.”
“Ai. He is. But not for long.” He shifted in his saddle and sought his field commander’s mind. ... Shore up your eastern flank and herd the Fal’kin down the ridge ...
His commander was far too engaged in fighting to call a mind-worded reply but instead sent an affirmative intent. The man was a seasoned defender, a veteran of many battles. He had been right to put Staine in a position of leadership. He was not insulted but grateful the man had not wasted time and effort on a more formal reply.
The Trine curled his armor-encased fingers around the dark crystal of his amulet and let the connection build between his Aspects and the gem. His northern phalanx was momentarily pushed back by the Fal’kin defending the Garnath Bridge. Soon, the Pinals would make another move, again the only one they could, again leading them closer to their downfall. His shoulders tensed with a surge of the Defending Aspect within him.
Beside him, his second inhaled sharply, pale light spilling from the amulet he held. “She’s going to make a mistake. She will destroy herself with that order.”
“Eventually. But it’s not Desde’s mistake, she will only accede to it. It will be her husband who will make the mistake.”
The time had nearly come.
“I have an order for you. Make certain the girl remains alive. Make certain your men and women know this. If any of your troops try to harm her, kill that person. Personally.”
Again, the seer faced him, but this time he withheld comment.
It was a sacrifice he was loathed to make, but Mirana Pinal alone was worth more than every single Ken’nar on the face of the continent.
The Ain Magne set his grynwen-skull helmet over his head and adjusted the faceplate.
... Seer Second ... Move the southern phalanx into position ...
