Sarr Klian tried not to swear out loud.
It wasn't easy.
"So, Master Skirvon," he said instead, "as I understand it, then, my instructions from Two Thousand mul Gurthak are to defer to your judgment where any contact with these people is concerned?"
"I suppose you could put it that way," the senior of the two civilians who'd arrived at Klian's fort that morning replied. "Obviously, Five Hundred, no one is going to try to take away or undermine your military authority," he hastened to add, which softened Klian's frustration quite a bit. "But, as you yourself so cogently suggested in your dispatches to Two Thousand mul Gurthak, it's clearly essential that we get a civilian diplomatic presence established here as quickly as possible." He smiled. "Men in civilian suits and carrying briefcases are much less threatening than men in military uniforms carrying arbalests," he pointed out.
"I couldn't agree more," Klian said. It was, after all, as Skirvon said, exactly what he himself had asked for. But mul Gurthak's orders seemed to imply that Skirvon did have authority, even in purely military matters. Klian didn't like that a bit. Besides, there was something about this Skirvon and his sidekick that . . . bothered the five hundred. He couldn't quite put a finger on what it was, and he couldn't help wondering if a part of it wasn't that he resented having any of his own authority supplanted by a "mere civilian." He hoped it wasn't, but he couldn't be certain.
And I truly don't think that's what it is, either, he thought grimly. In fact, he looked back down at the message crystal from mul Gurthak, I'm pretty damned sure it's at least as much the tone of mul Gurthak's orders and dispatches as anything about these two.
"Well, gentlemen," he said aloud after a moment, looking back up at them, "how soon do you want me to arrange transport forward? And how big a military escort are you going to require?"
"I don't see any reason to be in a blazing hurry at this point," Skirvon replied. Klian's eyebrows rose, and the civilian shrugged. "Master Dastiri and I are still studying this language primer Magister Kelbryan was able to put together. Fortunately, we both have good ears for foreign languages—frankly, his is better than mine—but both of us could still use a few more days of study before we get dropped into the deep end. And since there's no present contact between our forces and theirs, it would probably make more sense for us to do just that rather than rush forward with incomplete preparation and risk some overly hasty contact that could have additional unfortunate consequences."
Klian nodded. His instincts all shouted to get the two sides talking to one another as quickly as possible, yet Skirvon had made at least two very telling points.
"As for military escorts," Skirvon continued thoughtfully, "I don't know that one's going to be required at all, at least initially. It seems to me that, so far, both sides have been reacting militarily to immediate, perceived threats. I don't think either side's gotten much beyond that so far, and it occurs to me that making the next move from our side by sending in two unarmed, civilian diplomats without any military presence at all, might help us pour a little water on the flames."
Klian frowned. What the man had said made sense, but the professional officer in the five hundred wasn't at all happy with the thought of sending out an official embassy without any military protection at all.
"You don't think that leaving everyone behind—not taking even a token honor guard—might be misconstrued as a sign of weakness?" he asked.
"Not everyone is automatically impressed by the presence of soldiers armed to the teeth," Dastiri, the junior diplomat, said, speaking up for the first time. "And not everyone will automatically interpret their absence as a sign of weakness. Under the circumstances, I think it would be best all round for us to proceed as cautiously as possible. In fact," his tone was cool, "part of the reason the situation is as bad as it is at the moment is that we've had military people on both sides who were too close to things, too unwilling to give ground, to back off and deescalate the situation."
Klian bristled. He couldn't help it. It was possible Dastiri hadn't intended to sound insulting—or at least dismissive—in his analysis of the Army's actions to date. Unfortunately, it didn't sound that way.
"Contrary to what you may assume, Master Dastiri," the five hundred said in an equally cool tone, making no particular effort to hide the dislike in his eyes, "not every military man wants to charge into every situation, sword in one hand and arbalest in the other. As I indicated in my report to Two Thousand mul Gurthak—which you and Master Skirvon have obviously had an opportunity to read—I concur with Hundred Olderhan's view that we would have been far wiser to simply pull back to Fort Rycharn in the first place. I allowed myself at the time to be convinced by Hundred Thalmayr, which I deeply regret, given what happened to Charlie Company when these Sharonians attacked. Or counterattacked, or whatever. I'm in favor of anything that allows us to—how did you put it? 'Back off and deescalate the situation.' My only concern is how best to go about doing that."
Dastiri flushed and his almond eyes hardened, but Skirvon laid a hand on his subordinate's shoulder and smiled at Klian.
"I apologize if it sounded as if either of us intended to denigrate the Army or your legitimate concerns, Five Hundred. That certainly wasn't our intent. All the same, I think my colleague here has a point. Two Thousand mul Gurthak is mobilizing all available forces to support us if and as required. We'll have quite a lot of firepower available, very shortly, if we need it. In the meantime, however, I'd very much prefer to keep this a completely civilian contact from our side, initially at least. After all," he smiled again, more broadly, but there was a faint, unmistakable tang of iron in his voice, "this is what we do. I'd never try to tell you how to conduct a military operation, because I wouldn't have the least idea where to begin. But with all due respect, I believe Master Dastiri and I are probably rather more experienced at diplomacy than you are."
"No doubt," Klian conceded, yet deep down inside, he wasn't fully convinced. After all, the Union of Arcana hadn't really needed diplomats for the last two hundred years. With the emergence of the Union, traditional international diplomacy had been replaced by what were effectively bureaucratic administrators. Or perhaps "facilitators" would have been a better choice of word: arbitrators, with full authority to issue binding decisions and full access (officially, at least) to all information on both sides of any issue which had to be settled. There wasn't a single living "diplomat" in the entire Union who'd ever had to sit down across a bargaining table from a completely separate and sovereign entity, far less one about which the "diplomat" in question knew absolutely nothing.
That's what bothers me, he realized. These two keep talking about diplomacy and diplomatic judgments, but they don't really seem to understand that they're dealing with something completely outside their experience. They really do think they understand what's going on, and I suppose it's possible they do. But what if they don't?
"Very well," he said, standing behind his desk to signal an end to the meeting, "please let me know if there's anything I can do for you during your stay. And whenever you're ready to move forward to the swamp portal, I'll be happy to arrange transportation."
"Thank you, Five Hundred," Skirvon said.
He and Dastiri departed, and Klian sat back down, toying with the message crystal from mul Gurthak and considering the two thousand's dispatches and their implications.
He couldn't say he was particularly surprised by them, except, perhaps, for how quickly the two thousand was moving. He could hardly disapprove of that, of course, although he didn't much look forward to finding himself superseded by someone else.
Come now, Sarr, he told himself. Mul Gurthak specifically says you'll remain in command of Fort Rycharn whatever happens. Surely you didn't expect anything else?
No, of course he hadn't. On the other hand, he hadn't exactly expected to find himself superseded by Commander of Two Thousand Mayrkos Harshu, either.
Of all the officers it could have been, why did it have to be Harshu? Klian demanded of his office's silent walls.
There was nothing at all wrong with Two Thousand Harshu's military credentials, but the man had a reputation within the Union Army. Worse, he knew he did. In fact, he'd deliberately cultivated it.
Harshu was a throwback, one of those who bemoaned the fact that he'd been born into such "boring" times. He embraced what he believed was the true Andaran tradition, although Klian had always suspected that men like Thankhar Olderhan were truer keepers of that tradition. Harshu's version of it was heavily laden with the trappings of military glory, which there'd been precious little of in the two centuries since the Union was formed, and he seemed remarkably oblivious to just how much that "military glory" had cost in lives, as well as money. It might not be precisely fair to call him a hothead, but Klian was unable to come up with a better term, and that worried him.
Of course, he's always been a top performer in every maneuver, too, the five hundred forced himself to concede. However full of himself he may be, he didn't earn that reputation by sitting around being stupid. And if he's the next most senior officer in the area, mul Gurthak doesn't have much of a choice about putting him in command, unless he wants to come forward and take the field command himself. Which, now that I think about it, presents an interesting question of its own, doesn't it? Why isn't mul Gurthak moving himself closer to the point of contact, since he's ultimately responsible for whatever happens out here?
Klian frowned. There could, of course, be all sorts of reasons for mul Gurthak to choose to remain in Erthos. For one thing, his lines of communication were substantially better, and he might well feel that he needed to keep himself available to browbeat anyone who wanted to drag his feet when the two thousand ordered him to send all of his available fighting strength forward. But judging from mul Gurthak's message crystal, he was going to be sending at least the equivalent of a full air-mobile brigade—possibly even a division—to Fort Rycharn. With cavalry support, no less.
A brigade was a commander of five thousand's billet, and a division was properly commanded by a commander of ten thousand—neither of which, unfortunately, Arcana had available at the moment. And this was the first time in the Union of Arcana's entire history that its army had confronted the possibility of open combat with another power. So why was the officer with the ultimate responsibility for what happened—not to mention the opportunity to command the most important troop deployment in the Union's history—staying behind and sending someone junior to him forward to assume operational command?
Klian tipped his chair back, arms crossed, and thought about it. And the more he thought, the less he liked it.
You're just being paranoid because he's Mythalan, he scolded himself. After all, he didn't say he intended to stay behind in Erthos forever, did he? Harshu's in command of the immediate deployment; there's no reason mul Gurthak can't come forward and relieve him as soon as he's convinced he's got everything running smoothly in the rear areas.
In fact, that actually made more sense than rushing forward would have made. As long as mul Gurthak stayed in Erthos, where he had his own command staff well broken in (not to mention far better hummer and dragon lines of communication than he could possibly expect from Fort Rycharn), he was well placed to see to it that the troop movements went as smoothly as possible. And that was at least as important as—if potentially much less glamorous than—actually commanding in the face of the enemy.
Maybe it's because he is Mythalan, Klian thought, then shook his head with a wry snort. You're worried about Harshu because he's a throwback to what he thinks were the good old days of Andaran militancy. And you're worried about mul Gurthak because he isn't acting like a throwback to the good old days of Andaran militancy! Not very consistent of you, Sarr.
He grimaced and let his chair come back upright. Whatever might or might not be going through mul Gurthak's head, Klian's immediate responsibilities were unpleasantly clear.
The voyage between Fort Rycharn and Fort Wyvern was completely unacceptable from a logistical viewpoint. There were only two true "transports" in Mahrithan waters, and only one of them was configured to carry dragons. Even that ship could transport only two dragons at a time, for that matter, and that wasn't even a fraction of the sealift required to move or supply the troop strength mul Gurthak was talking about.
There was a way around that, of course, but it came with its own price. No dragon, not even one of the long-range heavylift transports, could make the flight from Fort Wyvern to Fort Rycharn in one hop. But any dragon—even one of the shorter-ranged battle dragons—could make the hop from Fort Wyvern to the long isthmus connecting the continents of Andara and Hilmar. From there, they could proceed southward overland, which would permit them to make it clear to Fort Rycharn in a four-day flight rather than a five-day voyage.
They'd have to delay their flight at least once to permit the dragons to hunt, but this universe's Hilmar teemed with game animals which had never heard of dragons and could be expected to be relatively unwary—for a time, at least. And by flying the transports forward instead of sending them by ship, mul Gurthak could send in as many of them simultaneously as he could lay hands on . . . and take advantage of the beasts' airlift capacity, as well. Whereas a medium-weight transport like Windclaw could carry perhaps half a platoon of infantry and its personal weapons, the heavy transports could lift much bigger loads, even before the Quartermaster Corps' spell engineers got into the act.
With the proper levitation spells added to the equation, a pair of heavylift transports could easily tow a freight pod capable of transporting an entire company of infantry, its support personnel and weapons, and enough rations for several days of operations. Cavalry units devoured transport volume at a much higher rate than infantry outfits, of course, but with the cargo pods and levitation spells, even heavy cavalry could be airlifted to within striking range of the enemy. The spells were difficult—more because of the power levels involved than because of their technological complexity—and they didn't last long. The same accumulator that could power a surface ship for a week would support levitation spells of that level for less than twenty-four hours, although freight pods were routinely fitted with multiple accumulators to give them more endurance.
Even with the pods, though, transporting the numbers of men mul Gurthak's message crystal suggested were en route was going to be a massive undertaking. And it was going to tie up an incredible number of transport dragons. In fact, the availability of transports was probably going to prove at least as big a limiting factor as the availability of manpower, when all was said and done. Which probably explained why mul Gurthak was busy gutting the air transport network for at least half a dozen universes rearward from Erthos—thus neatly illustrating one of the many unpleasant costs involved in getting significant numbers of troops forward deployed in a hurry.
It explained Klian's rapidly approaching problems, as well, because there was no provision in mul Gurthak's orders for all of those transport dragons to turn around and fly back to Erthos. Instead, he wanted them held at Fort Rycharn, available to Two Thousand Harshu in the event that military operations became necessary, after all. That, too, made sense, Klian supposed, but Rycharn had never been intended to support that many men and—even more difficult—that many dragons for any length of time.
Fortunately, dragons were quite willing to eat fish or whale meat, and the water between Fort Rycharn and Fort Wyvern was just as rich with life as the continent. The entire Fort Wyvern fishing fleet—such as it was, and what there was of it—was already on its way forward to help feed the dragons once they arrived. And, also fortunately, it was going to take at least four waves to get all of mul Gurthak's earmarked troop strength forward.
According to the two thousand's tentative movement orders—which were undoubtedly going to suffer considerable revision as the realities of moving that many men impinged upon them—he'd have the first two Air Force strikes and the first battalion of infantry at Fort Rycharn within the next week. A strike was a standing formation which consisted of three four-dragon flights (and why, Klian wondered, not for the first time, can't those Air Force pukes use the same names for their formations everyone else uses?), which meant he was going to have to figure out how to feed twenty-four battle dragons, with their notoriously overactive metabolisms, in addition to all of the transports necessary to get the rest of Harshu's force forward. Worse, according to those same orders, mul Gurthak would have an entire three-strike Air Force talon—thirty-six battle dragons, not twenty-four—at Fort Rycharn within a month. In fact, he might have as much as twice that many.
Feeding seventy-two battle dragons and their supporting ground crews would be a gargantuan task, all by itself. Adding in the two hundred or so transports mul Gurthak was projecting (and their ground element), plus the reconnaissance and strike gryphons, plus the fodder for the unicorns and heavy cavalry mounts on the movement list, not to mention all of the men he was going to have to feed, was only going to make things incomparably worse. And the responsibility for managing all of those "minor" housekeeping details was going to land squarely on Sarr Klian's shoulders.
No wonder mul Gurthak is staying safely in Erthos! he thought with another snort. He knows damned well what kind of nightmare he's about to dump on me.
It was the first truly amusing thought the five hundred had entertained since Skirvon and Dastiri had turned up in his office.
He didn't expect to have a great many more of them over the next few weeks.