Sesskia’s Diary, part 208

11 Seresstine, evening

Back to work. Cianan and Kerkessa both killed, Cianan by a lucky rifle shot, Kerkessa by a lightning bolt created by one of those battle mages. I don’t think it was on purpose, or rather I don’t think the mage knew what Kerkessa was, or we’d have had several more bolts to deal with.

Saemon collapsed—I wasn’t paying attention to how often he was using the mind-moving pouvra, maybe I didn’t care because he’s got the longest range of any of us and had the clever idea of targeting the mages themselves. So he was flinging one of the battle mages across the field and into the middle of the fighting, and then his eyes rolled up in his head and he just folded up on himself so fast no one even caught him. We took him back to his tent and Alessabeka’s sitting with him. She still feels guilty about Rutika, though I think she knows it’s inappropriate guilt, so whenever I can give her something to do that takes her away from the battlefield, I do.

We don’t really know how the battle’s going, though Mattiak doesn’t look grim, so I don’t think we’re losing. I hope. I’m writing this in between bites of bread and cheese, which is all we get for dinner because our “servants” are off fighting somewhere. Then I’m going back to try the fire-summoning pouvra again. There has to be a way to keep them from putting out the fires quickly. At least it keeps them from attacking our people, if not permanently.

11 Seresstine, late

Fighting’s stopped again for the night. They haven’t used the war wagons against us again, don’t know why. Had a talk with Mattiak about us changing tactics and attacking their officers. He approved. I told everyone the new plan. They are all so tired. I’ve never used so many pouvrin so often. It feels like the ground is pulling us down to meet it, the dead grass binding our feet so we can’t move. I think we need to be more careful.

Saemon’s still not totally recovered from his collapse and hasn’t been able to work any pouvrin since then. I had to reassure him that magic isn’t something that vanishes like water down a drain, but it’s true that I’m having more trouble bending my will to meet the pouvrin as the hours pass, so there might come a time when none of us can work magic. Trying not to dwell on that, as there’s nothing we can do about it.

Sesskia’s Diary, part 207

10 Seresstine, after dinner

Some kind of cease fire so the armies can collect the dead and wounded. I can’t tell how things are going and I don’t want to go to Mattiak for fear he’ll think I’m weakening toward him. No casualties among the mages. Dinner tasted like sand, not the fault of our cook.

11 Seresstine, maybe 9 a.m. morning

I wonder if I should get a watch. I’m not usually in a position to care about the exact time, but if I’m going to make several entries a day, maybe I should be accurate.

That was a really stupid thought. I don’t care what time it is. I’m crossing that out. Fighting started again about an hour ago. This war is so stupid. We’re all too tired still to fight, so I sent everyone back to bed. Then I had a loud argument with Mattiak about it that ended with him shouting at me and me shouting at him, then me storming off to my tent. I know he’s the commander, but he needs to listen to me when I tell him we’ve reached our limit.

11 Seresstine, a little later

Mattiak came to apologize. I apologized too. Then he tried to embrace me and I had to shove him away and shout again. Then I started crying. I hate this war. He had the good sense to leave without saying anything else.

Sesskia’s Diary, part 206

10 Seresstine, afternoon

We’ve been fighting for seven hours now and we’re all exhausted. The battle mages were, as I predicted, prepared for our assault. They have defensive kathanas now, shimmering pale shields that protect them from missiles, and while they can’t defend against fire, they can dismiss it before it does too much damage. The shields don’t hold up against really big missiles thrown really fast, but there are fewer of us who can do that. The only good thing about them is they make it easy for us to see our targets through the nightmare furor that is the battlefield—people milling around, clustering so we can’t even tell our men from theirs.

Everyone is trying to come up with alternative forms of attack, even the pacifists, though their plans are more for how to sneak in and disable the remaining war wagons. I’m just grateful for the following things:

  1. The Castavirans don’t have Cederic’s shield. We’d have no chance against it.
  2. The melee fighting hasn’t reached us yet, not anywhere close.
  3. The war wagons have stopped firing now that they’ll pulverize their own people as well as ours if they do.
  4. The battle mages still have no idea who or where we are.

Number 4 can’t last long. I’ve had our people move occasionally and spread out into little groups so we’re not obvious, and of course I’ve forced them to abandon Norsselen’s gesturing, but at some point someone’s going to use logic, and then we’ll be in trouble.

I’m going to nap, and maybe this will all look better later.

Sesskia’s Diary, part 205

10 Seresstine, too early (continued)

We passed one of the other war wagons, and I saw an unconscious battle mage on the ground and another one perched on the seat, painting rapidly and swearing (I think; it was too loud to hear). The war wagon was silent. I stopped and circled around to where I could see what he was doing. The brass plate was a smeared mess of clay filling the grooves, and silver paint coated it above the engraved th’an. As I watched, the mage tried again to paint the activation th’an on the flat, gleaming surface; nothing happened.

“Have you lost your mind?” Nessan growled into my ear, grabbing my wrist and towing me along after him. After a few seconds, I regained my balance, and we began moving as if we were panicked soldiers and not ruthless spies. Even though we were still in the Castaviran camp and therefore still in danger, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so relieved. I’d forgotten how difficult it is to scribe th’an without lots and lots of practice. Those mages might have the innate ability to scribe the magic that makes the war wagons work, but they still needed the pattern of the grooves to do it. Our raid wasn’t a waste of time, after all. Thank the true God. I don’t think I could have forgiven myself, otherwise.

We came out of the enemy camp on the southeast and circled around back to our camp. It was full dark at that point, and Nessan stumbled so often I eventually took his hand to lead him in the moonless, cloudy night. Neither of us said anything about it, me because I didn’t want to make him feel awkward and him, probably, because he didn’t like the route I’d chosen, not that it was a bad one—he just doesn’t like having to follow anyone.

Tobiak and Relania were at the picket line, our agreed-on meeting place, when we returned. “We only got four of our five,” Relania said. “There were more battle mages at the fifth, surrounding it, so we couldn’t get through. And I think one of them spotted us.”

“Fair enough,” Nessan said. “And it might be good they saw you, if they know you were concealed before that. Give them something to worry about.”

“Rutika and Alessabeka aren’t back, though,” Tobiak said. “Should we go after them?”

“Even if they aren’t concealed, you’d never find them in the dark,” Nessan said, “and as I told your fearless leader, you should give them credit for knowing what to do.”

“And they have farther to go, if they retreated north rather than trying to cross the entire camp to come out where we did,” I said, trying to make myself feel better. I don’t know how convincing I was.

We waited for a long time. Once or twice someone tried to start a conversation, but it never went anywhere. We were all too nervous, especially since after a while the pounding started up again, and we worked out there were three war wagons still active. If Rutika and Alessabeka hadn’t disabled two of theirs…

My stomach felt full of acid, and I realized none of us had eaten recently. I think I’d have thrown up anything I tried to eat at that point. Eventually, the pounding stopped with one last defiant blast, and then it was still and cold and black, thanks to the thick cloud cover that probably didn’t mean snow, which would have delayed the inevitable attack in the morning.

Then someone was approaching us, and I had just enough time to register it was only one person and think Why is she still concealed? when Alessabeka stumbled and caught herself on one of the picket ropes, and sobbed, “They killed her. They saw her breath, and she tried to get away but she tripped and hit her head and lost concealment, and we ran away but it was right into a couple of soldiers—I’m sorry I ran, I left her behind, I’m sorry I’m sorry—”

Relania put her arms around the weeping woman and said, “It would have been stupid for you to stay and be killed as well. Rutika would be the first to tell you that. Shh, shh.”

I was—I couldn’t even think. It had never occurred to me that Rutika might be the one to fall. She was so good at all of it, and—damn her, she relied too much on that damn pouvra and it got her killed. I’m so mad at her I can’t even s

I’m not mad. I’m grieving. What a waste. And they didn’t

I can’t believe I was about to blame a dead woman for failing to complete her job. The truth is, I’m irrationally blaming myself for not going after them the way I wanted to, the way Nessan told me not to. Irrational, because he was right, but I do this every time, think about what might have happened if I’d chosen differently.

All right. Suppose I’d gone north instead of south. We might all have been killed. I could have been drawn into a fight and been overwhelmed. Or worse, they could have captured me and dragged me to the God-Empress to be tortured to death. There’s no reason to believe a different choice might have been a better choice. So I’m not going to think like that anymore.

We made a difference. I wish we could have stopped them before they managed to fire any projectiles, because they did a lot of damage in the camp, just not as much as if they’d been allowed to attack unhindered. Mattiak finally looked at me the way he used to, as a friend and a respected colleague, and that helped. But mostly we’re all in mourning now.

It’s…I don’t know what time it is. Late. Or early. Nobody feels like sleeping, which is stupid because we’ll need to be fresh in the morning when the real battle begins. I wish I had Cederic’s th’an he used on me to help me sleep when I kept having those nightmares about everyone I love being killed by the God-Empress. We could all use it now.

Sesskia’s Diary, part 204

10 Seresstine, too early (continued)

They all nodded or murmured assent, and we headed out through the camp and past the front lines, where we concealed ourselves and separated. I’ve never felt so anxious in my life. It was like when our warrior mages faced battle for the first time, except this was worse because stealth and cunning were the only weapons these mages had, and as good as they’d become, they had almost no experience. To distract myself, I said to Nessan, “You’d better not give me away with all your tramping around. You hardly look like a Cas—an enemy soldier.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “You want to distract, or sabotage?”

“I’d better distract, because you’re stronger than me and I think smashing the plate is the best solution,” I said.

“Weakling,” he said.

“Oaf,” I said. “Here, take the tools.”

“Good idea,” he said. “You clank when you walk.”

“I’m surprised you can hear that, what with you going deaf in your old age,” I said.

We kept up the insults for about half a minute more, then went silent as we neared the camp. We came wide around its flank, me following Nessan as he made a path among the tents. He’s really very good at using shadows and those gaps between places that no one uses because they’re not on a direct route to anywhere. He’s also good at looking like he belongs when he can’t avoid being hidden. I know I couldn’t have walked through the Castaviran camp without my stolen uniform, which by the way I was wearing, just in case.

The war wagons were still being maneuvered into place when we arrived at their position, which was a slightly higher piece of land that curved through the camp from north to south. It began sloping downward about two-thirds of the way into the camp, and since the war wagons were lined up along it, that meant Nessan and I, and Tobiak and Relania probably, were in the middle of the God-Empress’s camp, and Nessan and I, going for the middle of that line, were heading even deeper into it.

We walked along the low ridge and observed. Each war wagon had a white-coated mage behind it, drawing th’an in the grooves of the shining brass plates fastened to the rear. The th’an propelled the war wagons very slowly across the matted dead grass, which made me wonder why the war wagons weren’t collennas, to move by themselves. I hadn’t noticed those plates when I’d explored the chamber of death, but I’d been rattled, so I don’t blame myself too much. Each war wagon was accompanied by a wheeled bin filled with projectiles, pushed by a soldier. It was all happening so slowly that I chafed at the delay, but there was nothing we could do about it except wait for them to get into position.

Nessan kept walking past the war wagons, and I followed him to a spot near some of the command tents and looked around. The God-Empress’s standard was about fifty feet away, which made me wonder where she was. Directing their attack? Demanding some kind of irrational service that would slow or hamper that attack? I wasn’t sure what I’d do if I saw her. No, that’s not true, I knew what I’d do, I’d just stand there and let her walk past. Mattiak’s right, killing her wouldn’t solve anything. And it’s not my duty.

Eventually the battle mages found positions they liked, but then they spent another handful of eternities making their war wagons’ barrels tilt up and down, using th’an to make a glowing amber circle they kept consulting—I think it helped them aim at their target, and knowing that made me even more anxious about what would happen if we failed here.

Nessan whispered, “Stay here. I have to move or I’ll be conspicuous,” and then he was gone, leaving me with nothing to do but watch and plan ways to distract or overcome the mages. The mage operating the war wagon nearest me took her seat, and Nessan wasn’t back. The young man with the bin full of projectiles heaved one up and slid it into the funnel at the back of the war wagon. Nessan wasn’t back.

I leaned forward on the balls of my feet. I couldn’t do this alone, I didn’t even have the tools. The fire pouvra wasn’t hot enough to melt brass, damn it, and I couldn’t think of anything else to do short of killing both of them, which would ruin the whole plan.

Then a panicked, horrified thought struck me. Only the green-eyed mages could work magic. And mages wouldn’t need the grooves to scribe the correct th’an. Our plan was useless. I looked up and down the line and, of course, saw nothing out of the ordinary. I had no way of warning our mages that they were about to risk their lives for nothing. We were just going to have to go through with it and hope we all survived.

Nessan still wasn’t back. I had to watch, helpless, as the mage dipped her brush into the tankard fused to the barrel’s side and brought it out dripping with gleaming silver. Then, to my surprise, she swept the brush through the grooves, a tangle of graceful movements, and the wintry evening was ripped open by the loudest noise I’d ever heard, louder than the thunder that follows lightning striking just feet from where you stand. I thought the sound echoed, but it was really more of the explosions, farther away, and now I was fighting to control my panic. I had nearly resolved to attack the mage and to hell with the plan when suddenly Nessan was at my ear, saying, “Do it.”

The battle mage had a brushful of silver again, and I used the mind-moving pouvra to snap the brush in half, just in case. Then I pulled myself up on the back of the war wagon, kicking the boy in the face as he was about to load his projectile, looked inside the mage’s neck and found the same veins I’d used to subdue Norsselen. The mage toppled, and I heard a muted clang as Nessan wedged the chisel into one of the grooves and struck it hard with the hammer, making it peel up into an unrecognizable mess. “Move,” he said, and I leapt down and raced after him to the next wagon southward.

The noise was incredible. It felt like being inside a giant drum that wouldn’t stop beating. I didn’t even try to tell Nessan what I’d figured out; he couldn’t have heard me, and it wouldn’t have changed anything. We repeated our technique again, and again, before anyone realized the drumbeat was lessening. I couldn’t hear anything over the noise of the war wagons, but I saw soldiers running to find out why the war wagon mages were unconscious.

The fourth wagon was unoccupied, or rather the mage was off his seat and shouting something unintelligible over the noise. He was pacing back and forth, moving enough that I had to grab him to hold him still enough that I could knock him unconscious. His eyes went wide, and he swiftly took hold of me in a way that told me he saw past the concealment. “Who are you?” he said.

This time, I managed not to say “none of your business.” I kept my head even though my heart was pounding with fear, and without a word sent him unconscious. He fell, nearly taking me with him, and it took far too long for me to extricate myself from his grip. Nessan had to pull me to my feet, shouting, “One more, then we run!”

“We need to warn the others!” I shouted back.

“They know what to do! Give them a little credit!” Nessan said, and dragged me—this was when I realized I’d dropped concealment, and I decided it didn’t matter anymore. We disabled our fifth one and kept running.

to be continued…


Sesskia’s Diary, part 203

10 Seresstine, too early

I’m so tired I can barely see to write, but I feel obligated to record everything that happened, for Rutika’s sake if nothing else. After I finished that last entry, I sat with the mages and talked tactics, and had dinner, and it was all boring and wonderful. Especially since Mattiak didn’t send for me.

But just as we were finishing our dinner, Nessan showed up and grabbed my arm and marched me away. I slid free and said, “What the hell are you doing?”

“You didn’t tell me you’d been in the enemy camp at Calassmir,” he said.

“Why would you care?” I said.

“Because we’ve found something we don’t understand,” he said, “and you might be able to explain it.”

I felt a moment’s irrational fear that I’d been discovered, then reminded myself he couldn’t be talking about my secret knowledge of the God-Empress. “What is it?” I said.

“Come with me,” he said, and walked away without either grabbing me again or waiting for me to follow. I had to jog to keep up with him.

We went to his tent—not his personal tent, the place from which he directs his spies. It’s dark and smells of mildew and the roof leaks, and it’s the most slovenly tent I’ve seen in the Balaenic Army camp, but he seems to like it. He’s got a table that’s as elderly as the tent that’s always covered with scraps of paper, some of it dirty, but what he showed me was a charcoal sketch on clean white paper. “Did you see any of these in Calassmir?” he demanded.

I nodded. It was a war wagon, if somewhat distorted and out of proportion. “I’ve heard they’re like giant rifles,” I said.

“Right. Some kind of projectile, anyway,” he said. “They shoot balls that fragment on impact and turn everything in a five-foot radius to paste. And their range is beyond even what your warrior mages can reach, which makes them safe from fire or mind-moving. The bastards have fifteen of these they’re going to turn on us just as soon as they get them into position. Looks like they weigh more than a ton, and they don’t have horses pulling them.”

“How do you know that?” I said.

Nessan crumpled the paper and tossed it at the wall, where it rebounded and fell into a dirty patch (no rugs for Nessan, he’d probably think them a sign of weakness). “That they’ll attack?” he said. “We can’t fight in the dark any more than their soldiers can, but those weapons are like a drunk man swinging a club—doesn’t have to be accurate, just has to be close. So they can mark a target spot before the sun goes down and just keep lobbing those projectiles into our camp. If they start pounding on us with those things, we either have to advance or retreat, and they’re counting on us not wanting to advance into true God knows what kind of nighttime combat. So they’re going to force us to retreat, which loses us our position, gives us no chance to rest, and puts us in a weakened position when morning comes and they can pursue us.”

“You want to know how to destroy them,” I said.

“You’re smarter than you look,” he said with the twist of his lips that passes for a wry smile with him. “Disable them, if we can’t outright destroy them. And soon.”

I didn’t even hesitate. “I got a good look at them, because I was curious,” I said, which was one hundred percent true. “You know their mages have to draw on those boards to work magic, right? Well, these things have a sort of plate with a, um, design or picture or something just like the ones they draw on their boards. I think they paint over the lines to make the magic work and fire the projectiles.” That was fifty percent guess, because those th’an might be to make it move, but they’re different enough from the ones on the collennas I’ve seen that it was a guess I felt comfortable with.

“Interesting, but not totally helpful,” Nessan said. “Didn’t you see any weaknesses we can exploit?”

“That is the weakness,” I said. “If we damage that plate, the, um, picture won’t be accurate anymore, and the thing won’t work. Smash it, gum up the lines with rocks or something, tear the whole thing off. It’s not easy, but it’s simple.”

Nessan had begun looking into the distance past my shoulder as I spoke. He was silent for a few seconds when I finished, then said, “Get the wallowers (this is what he affectionately calls our spies) and meet me at the southern picket line in ten minutes. Tell them to dress for speed, not warmth. No flapping coats, understand?”

“Since this is not my first time doing this, of course I do,” I mock-snarled at him, and he returned the expression.

The spies were excited when I told them to get ready, and we reached the picket line two minutes early, about half an hour before sunset. Nessan was there exactly at the ten minute mark. He sneered at us, which is another way he shows approval, along with insults and sarcasm, though he’s not as good at the latter as Cederic is. He was lugging a big canvas sack that clanked when he dropped it on the frozen ground in front of us. He didn’t look winded, but his breath was coming more quickly, making little puffs of white when he exhaled. That should have warned me. I was stupid not to remember there are so many ways you can be detected that have nothing to do with sight.

But reproaches aren’t going to change the past. Nessan dug into his bag and began handing things out: claw hammers, sacks of sticky mud that on inspection turned out to actually be wet clay, big metal tent spikes, and chisels. He explained what I’d told him about the th’an plates on the war wagons, then added, “We don’t know what will work best to disable them, so you’ve got options. You’ll work in pairs.

“Alessabeka and Rutika, you’re going to circle around to the north, and Tobiak and Relania, to the south. Sesskia and I will drive up the middle. One of you distracts the operators—there’s only two to a weapon, one to load, one to work the magic—and the other disables it. Get as many of them as you can, then pull out before they get their mages involved.” He sighed, and a whole cloud of white mist blew from his lips. “This is what you trained for. Make me proud.”

to be continued…


Sesskia’s Diary, part 202

9 Seresstine, noonish

We’ve found the God-Empress’s army. It’s not nearly as big as I remember it being from Calassmir. That could be because they’re bunched up along the highway and not spread out, and of course they’ve lost that division we scattered, and there might still be a division or two south of here, though the companies Mattiak sent that way have been reporting in regularly and haven’t seen any sign of enemy soldiers. Our soldiers seem confident of our chances, I hope not overconfident.

The mages are…not subdued, exactly, but they’re not as eager for battle as they were yesterday. Paddrek’s death hit us all hard. I didn’t realize he and Neomae were moving toward a relationship, not that I would have since I just don’t pick up on those things, and she’s been despondent over things she never had the chance to say. I know how she feels, a little, though at least I’ll have the chance to say them to Cederic someday.

They’re far enough away, and it’s late enough in the day, that we’re going to look for a good position and wait until morning. Though they don’t seem to be advancing either, so maybe we’ll move again tomorrow. I wish—no, I don’t really wish I understood military strategy, it’s just that I feel at sea, not knowing what’s best for us to do, or what Mattiak’s going to want from his mage spies. I haven’t seen him at all today, not that I was looking for him, but he generally finds a way to be near me, so it was a relief not to have his eyes on me all the time. I suppose there’s nothing to do now but wait.

Sesskia’s Diary, part 201

8 Seresstine, continued

A wall of fire sprang up just where the mages were, burning hot and yellow, and then there was a lot of screaming, not just from the mages—there weren’t enough of them for us to hear them over the noise of the battlefield—but from the several ranks of soldiers in front of them who turned to see where the heat came from, then stumbled in their haste to get away from it. The mages’ horses thrashed about, and burning bodies fell to the earth and out of our sight.

“Dismiss it, and let’s see what’s left,” I said, and the fire flickered out. Not a single mage was still mounted. Crazed horses bucked and ran, trampling more soldiers and making the rear of the enemy army look like a riptide had torn it apart. The effect was spreading forward as more soldiers turned to see what was going on, until it reached the place where our soldiers were fighting theirs, and even I could see the tide turning against the enemy.

More fires erupted, a little smaller this time. “Find your targets, and attack independently,” I shouted, and then rocks and even small trees were hurtling through the air toward the enemy mages. I couldn’t see much of anything except a glimpse, now and then, of a scorched white robe, but it seemed the other mages didn’t have the same problem. The fires went out. No new ones arose.

“Take a rest,” I said, and we all sat down for a minute. Still no new fires. “Time for new targets,” I said. “Remember what the General said—mages first, then the officers. Let’s see how well they do when they don’t have direction.” I felt a wicked pleasure at doing to them what they’d done to us, but didn’t have time to indulge it, because I had to follow my own orders.

That was when it got long and brutal. My instructions were to continue attacking until we were too exhausted to manifest pouvra or they started running, and neither of those things happened for a while. Paddrek was wounded somewhere in the middle there, and I had to force those soldiers back with fire because everyone else was either focused on their own attacks or waffling in a corner—no, that’s unfair, the spies weren’t trained for combat, and what could they have done that wouldn’t get them killed as well? They made sure we had plenty of water, and helped with the wounded, and took Paddrek to the surgeon’s tent, and I’m glad they were there.

Then the sound of the battle changed. I haven’t been in many battles—well, no battles, really, but I’ve been close enough that I could tell the moment when one side starts to flee. That was our signal to sit down and rest while the soldiers pursued the enemy. Not very far, I think, because we weren’t sure how far the main army had come and nobody wanted to run into them. I think I fell asleep, because it only seemed like seconds before I was being prodded to get up and return to camp.

The soldiers were making a lot of noise, shouting and cheering, with women’s voices rising above theirs. It felt like a celebration, but one I was on the outside of. Not that I wasn’t happy we’d won, I just felt worn out and empty. I think most of that was having used so many pouvrin in so relatively short a time, but it also felt a little like how I feel after I learn a new pouvra, kind of flat, as if nothing interesting will ever happen again.

But I smiled and accepted congratulations. All of us mages were heroes today, especially among those who’d seen the destruction outside Binna and those who’d been on the periphery of the enemy mages’ attacks. I didn’t tell them we’d been successful largely because they hadn’t known to expect us. Many of the enemy soldiers escaped to run back to the God-Empress and would certainly tell what they’d seen, and even if the Castaviran mages didn’t know what to expect from us, they’d definitely know to be prepared with defensive kathanas.

That makes me sound more discouraged than I am. The mages worked well together and independently, and didn’t panic when they saw they’d killed someone, and the spies had been useful, and much as I grieve over Paddrek, it’s true our casualties could have been far worse. Everyone else was just as cheerful over dinner, cheerful enough that I didn’t give them the “let’s not celebrate too soon” speech I’d been working on. Time enough for that tomorrow morning.

I just got back from talking to Mattiak, who behaved exactly as if nothing awkward had ever happened between us. He congratulated me and the mages, said something about how effective they’d been, and then said, “It’s going to be harder next time, you know.”

“I know,” I said. “When will that next time be? Soon?”

“We’ll encounter the main body of their army in a day or so,” Mattiak said. “But there may be conflict sooner than that if they have more divisions coming up from the southeast, flanking the army. We have four companies spread out in that direction with instructions to send runners back immediately if they encounter the enemy.”

“Will they attack if they do?” I said.

“Better for them to retreat and draw them out, away from the security of the other troops,” he said. “If we have to fight a battle on two fronts, which I think we won’t, we’ll want to crush one of those forces quickly and see if we can’t turn that attack back on them. If that happens, your mages are going to be key to that defeat.”

I said, “They’ll be ready. Even the spies.”

“I may have a different purpose for them this time,” he said, “depending on what news Nessan and his men bring back.”

“You could have sent us to spy on the G—the enemy’s forces,” I said.

“Time enough for that,” he said cryptically, and that seemed to be the end of the conversation. I wanted to hurry away before it became intimate, so naturally I tripped over my stool and fell. Mattiak helped me up with a smile that said he was thinking about flirting with me again, which flustered me, and I almost ran out of his tent and to my own.

I thought I was going to be able to handle him, but that was when I thought all I had to worry about was an attempt at physical intimacy, which I still don’t think he’s going to try. No, it’s those intimate glances, the meaningful smiles, everything he doesn’t say that nevertheless speaks volumes. It makes me feel so uncomfortable because he wants something from me he’s never going to get, and I wish he could understand that. I wish we’d never become friends. A professional relationship would be so much better for both of us.

Sesskia’s Diary, part 200!

8 Seresstine

I’ve just come back from the surgeon’s tent. He’d told me Paddrek wasn’t going to survive, but I hoped he was wrong. Why is there no pouvra for healing? I even tried the binding pouvra, but it did nothing. As usual. Though I suppose if that’s what it was for, the Castaviran mages would have known.

I’ve been trying to tell myself it could have been worse, that he’s the only mage who died and only three others were wounded, none of them seriously, but Paddrek wasn’t a number, he was a man, and a friend, and it was so stupid—he’d gotten out of formation, concentrating on maintaining fire, and our unit of defenders let some of the God-Empress’s soldiers through. They didn’t get any further than Paddrek, I saw to that, but that wasn’t much comfort with him screaming and clutching his stomach to keep his intestines from sliding out. I guess I should be glad he’s not in pain anymore, but I’d rather he was alive.

We struck camp early so we could reach a place Mattiak’s scouts, i.e. Nessan, had described as a good place for us to stage our attack from. There had been a lot of discussion about where to put the mages, mostly about whether it was better they stay on the ground where they didn’t look like anyone else, or be in the wagon where they could have a better view of the battlefield but also be more exposed.

In the end, we decided on the ground, mainly because of my repeated insistence that we have no shield pouvra (I still can’t work out what Cederic did, damn him for being so brilliant, he’s going to teach me that when we’re reunited) and are better off being slightly less effective at fighting if it means being better protected. So we were assigned a unit (as I mentioned above) to keep us from being overrun by the God-Empress’s army and sent to where we’d be out of our army’s way.

Then we waited. Not very long, though. We saw them approaching, of course, long before they reached us; one of the good features of our position was that it was just over a low rise, which gave Mattiak a view of the whole battlefield and put him in a position to dictate changes in strategy. Not that he does much of that. His officers are very bright and are good at understanding how they fit into the army, and altering their tactics accordingly. Not that I have any idea what those tactics are—that’s just something Mattiak told me over dinner. The memory of all those dinners is sour now.

Anyway, the mages didn’t have anything to do until we could see the army clearly. We could tell it was a lot smaller than ours, of course; I don’t know what we would have done if the entire army had come marching down the road. I was straining to see the mages, and half-listening to a conversation Rutika and Ryenn were having, and then there was a cry, and the sound of trumpets, and the front of our army surged forward and met theirs with an enormous clash of sound that rippled over our heads. Fire blossomed here and there along their line and arched from the battle mages to fly into our army, making spots of fire the soldiers shifted to avoid. I grinned because I knew they wouldn’t be able to do what we could.

“There, left of center—oh, and right, too,” Elleria said. “They’re spread out in a line like their range is limited.”

“They aren’t outside our range,” Ryenn said. “Shall we attack?” He’s one of our upper class mages and his language sounds elegant no matter what he’s saying.

“Let’s give them a surprise,” I said. “Count of three, and let’s see if we can hit all…yes, there’s ten of them.” I counted off three, and said, “NOW!”

to be continued…

Sesskia’s Diary, part 199

7 Seresstine

We struck camp and moved east this morning. The strategy, as I understand it, is to intercept that weakened division so it can’t rejoin the army; it should be easy to defeat and will give our mages practice before we face however many dozens of mages the God-Empress has in her camp. I’m just glad to be moving. Mattiak estimates we’ll encounter them sometime tomorrow morning, and after we defeat them, we’ll reevaluate our position with regard to the main army. “After we defeat them,” his exact words, which makes me wonder if he’s really that confident or just good at optimism.

He invited me to eat with him tonight and I declined, saying I was going to eat with the mages so we could talk about what they might be able to do. He just smiled, and said, “Another time,” and the look in his eyes told me he knew what I was doing, and he wasn’t offended. That made me angry, that he was so confident of winning my heart that he could humor my coldness toward him. Nothing I can do about it but endure. At least he won’t attack me—I’m certain he won’t be happy unless I come to him voluntarily.

We’re going into battle tomorrow. All the mages are nervous and excited, but none of them seem afraid, or worried about being able to perform. We’ve talked about tactics, and I’ve told them something of what the Castaviran mages can do, and how to recognize them—they’re usually mounted, to give them a better view of the battlefield, I think. And I’ve made it clear that disabling them is not enough; we can’t afford to have them coming back to attack our troops. They all say they understand, that they can kill if they have to, but it’s not the sort of thing you know until you’re at that point.

The spies are the most relaxed, probably because we’re not sure they’ll have anything to do in this battle. Nessan joined us just after dinner and said the same thing. He’s going to scout ahead tonight; I volunteered to help, but he shook his head and said, “This isn’t something I can hand off to you,” and then he was gone. I wonder what Mattiak told him.

Sleep, now, and we’ll see what the morning brings.