Faith of the Fallen (Sword of Truth 6)

“We were thinking more along the lines of an evening wedding,” Verna said. “Maybe we could have a party, with music and dancing.”

Warren gestured nonchalantly. “We were thinking something to make a pleasant break in all the training.”

“A break? How much time do you two think you will be needing away from your duties—”

“Oh, no, Zedd!” Warren had gone as purple as his robes. “We didn’t mean we would—I mean we would still be doing—we would only like—”

“We don’t want any time away, Zedd,” Verna put in, bringing Warren’s bashful babbling to an end. “We just thought it would be a nice opportunity for everyone to have a well-earned party for an evening. We won’t be leaving our posts.”

Zedd put a bony arm around Verna’s shoulders. “You two can have all the time away you want. We all understand. I’m happy for you both.”

“That’s great, Zedd,” Warren said with a sigh. “We really—”

A red-faced officer burst into the tent without so much as announcing himself. “Wizard Zorander!”

Two Sisters charged in right behind him.

“Prelate!” Sister Philippa called.

“They’re coming!” Sister Phoebe cried.

Both women were white-faced and looked to be on the verge of losing their breakfast. Sister Phoebe was trembling like a wet dog in winter. Zedd then saw that Sister Philippa’s hair was singed on one side and the shoulder of her dress was blackened. She had been one of those on far watch for the enemy gifted.

Now Zedd knew what the whistling sound he thought he’d heard was. It was very distant screams.

Rolling up from the distance came the note of the secondary waypoint alarm horns. Zedd felt the faint tingle of magic woven through them, so he knew they were genuine. Outside the tent, the muted sounds of camp life rose into a din of activity. Weapons were being yanked from where they were stacked, fires hissed as they were dowsed, swords were being strapped on, others were being drawn, horses whinnied at the sudden racket.

Warren seized Sister Philippa’s arm and started issuing orders. “Get the line coordinated. Don’t let them be seen—keep behind the third ridge. Set the trips close—we need to give the enemy confidence. Cavalry?”

The woman nodded.

“Coming in two wings,” the officer put in. “But they aren’t charging yet—they don’t want to get out too far ahead of their foot soldiers.”

“Start the first fire behind them—once they’re past the blast point—just like we’ve drilled,” Warren told Sister Philippa as she nodded heedfully to his instructions. The intention was to trap any cavalry charge between walls of violent magic. It had to be focused properly to have any hope of piercing the enemy’s shields.

“Prelate,” Sister Phoebe said, still panting, “you can’t imagine the numbers. Dear Creator, it looks like the ground is moving, like the hills are melting men toward us.”

Verna put a comforting hand to the young Sister’s shoulder. “I know, Phoebe. I know. But we all know what to do.”

Verna was already ushering the two Sisters out and calling for her other aides, as yet more officers and returning scouts leaped from horses.

A big, bearded soldier, sweat running down his face, barged into the tent gasping for his breath.

“The whole blasted force. All of ’em.”

“Cavalry with lances—enough to break their way and then some,” another man shouted into the tent from atop a lathered horse, pausing only long enough to deliver the news to Zedd before charging off.

“Archers?” Zedd asked the two soldiers still in his tent.

The officer with the beard shook his head. “Too far to tell.” He gulped air. “But I’d bet my life they’re right behind the pikemen’s shields.”

“No doubt,” Zedd said. “When they get close enough, they’ll show themselves.”

Warren grabbed the bearded officer’s sleeve and pulled him along behind as he trotted out of the tent. “Don’t worry, when they show themselves we’ll have something to put out their eyes.”

The other man ran on to his duties. In an instant, Zedd was standing alone in his tent, lit from the outside by early-morning winter sun. It was a cold dawn. It would be a bloody day.

Outside the tent, the racket exploded into the uproar of practiced pandemonium. Everyone had a job, and knew it well; these were mostly battle-tested D’Harans. Zedd had snuck close and had seen how fearsome the Imperial Order troops looked, but the D’Harans were their match in gristle. For generations, D’Harans prided themselves on being the fiercest fighters in existence. For a good part of his life, Zedd had battled D’Harans who had proven their boasts true.

Zedd could hear someone shouting, “Move, move, move.” It sounded like General Reibisch. Zedd dashed to the tent’s opening, pausing at the brink of a river of men flowing past in a great churning mass.

General Reibisch skidded to a halt just outside the tent.

“Zedd—we were right.”

Zedd nodded his disappointment to have surmised the enemy’s plans. This was one time he wished he’d been wrong.

“We’re breaking camp,” General Reibisch said. “We’ve not much time. I’ve already ordered the advance guard to shift their positions north to cover the supply wagons.”

“Is it all of them—or just a jab to test us?”

“It’s the whole bloody lot.”

“Dear spirits,” Zedd whispered. At least he had made what plans for this eventuality as could be made. He had trained the gifted to expect this so they wouldn’t be thrown off balance. It would come just as Zedd told them it would; that would aid their confidence and give them courage. The day hinged on the gifted.

General Reibisch swiped his meaty hand across his mouth and jaw as he looked to the south, toward an enemy he couldn’t yet see. The early sun made his rust-colored hair look red, and the scar that ran from his left temple to his jaw stand out like a streak of frozen white lightning.

“Our sentries pulled back along with the outer lines. No use in them standing ground, since it’s the whole Imperial Order.”

Zedd quickly nodded his agreement. “We’ll be the magic against magic for you, General.”

The man had a lusty glint in his grayish-green eye. “We’re the steel for you, Zedd. We’ll show them bastards a lot of both today.”

“Just don’t show them too much, too soon,” Zedd warned.

“I’m not about to change our plans now,” he said over the sound of the tumult.

“Good.” Zedd snatched the arm of a soldier running past. “You. I need your help. Pack up my things in there for me, would you, lad? I need to get to the Sisters.”

General Reibisch gestured the young soldier into Zedd’s tent, and the young man leaped to the task.

“The scouts said they’re all staying on this side of the Drun River, just as we hoped.”

“Good. We won’t have to worry about them flanking us, at least not from the west.” Zedd swept his gaze over the dissolving camp as the men swiftly set about their jobs. He looked back to the general’s weathered face. “Just get our men north into those valleys in time, General, so that we can’t be surrounded. The gifted will cover your tails.”

“We’ll plug up the valleys, don’t you worry.”

“The river isn’t frozen over, yet, is it?”

General Reibisch shook his head. “Maybe enough for a rat to skate on, but not the wolf that’s after him.”

“That should keep them from crossing.” Zedd squinted off to the south. “I have to go check on Adie and her Sisters. May the good spirits be with you, General. They won’t need to watch your back—we’ll do that.”

General Reibisch caught Zedd’s arm. “There’s more than we thought, Zedd. Twice the number at least. If my scouts weren’t just stuttering, there may be three times the number. Think you can slow that many down while keeping them focused on trying to sink their teeth into my backside?”

The plan was to draw the enemy north while staying just out of their reach—close enough to make them salivate but not close enough to let them get a good bite. Crossing the river at this time of year would be impractical for an army that size. With the river on one side, and mountains on the other, a force the size of the Imperial Order couldn’t so easily surround and overwhelm the “D’Haran Empire” troops, who were outnumbered ten or twenty to one.