It was a few days before the sentries cried alarm again, as if the catapult incident had demoralized the light Vle a bit. But they apparently made up for that, because the message the sentries sent was that a large part of their force was charging toward the dark Vle camp. It didn’t take long for Taréz’s forces to ready themselves, but they paused on the crest of the hill to await the prince’s instructions.
“Engage them as usual,” he ordered, “but do not pass the lowest point of the vale! Now GO!”
With a yell, the troops hefted their swords and shields and ran out to meet the approaching force. Taréz watched from the crest, and could see that the light Vle force was not as enthusiastic as their approach had made them appear. Between the lights’ drawing strategy and the darks’ invisible fence, the battle line soon drew out into a long line along the bottom of the gully. Taréz would have laughed at how ludicrous the sight was, if some of his troops weren’t dying.
It became a contest of wills- who would drop the battle first? Slowly, light Vle who were backing away from the line stopped coming back to try again. That left a bigger job for those who stayed, and the desertion of the battle line accelerated.
In less than four hours, the battle was over.
Something different arrived the very next day: Good news! Lord Hilonia reported that Gardric’s plan had been brilliant. The new Varabian force was split and brought to the northern front by night so the enemy, a force of Pulinians and Kamileans, wouldn’t know of their arrival. Apparently, Hilonia’s forces were still outnumbered (there were 9,000 of the enemy), but the element of surprise and Gardric’s ingenious tactics won the day.
Taréz the military student wanted desperately to learn what those ‘ingenious tactics’ were.
Over the course of that week, the light Vle made three more attacks just like the last one, with exactly the same short lived effect. Taréz didn’t even bother to change the orders he’d given the first time around, though he did watch just in case something new came up.
Nothing did.
The futility of it all sagged on him; he could only wonder how sagged the light Vle were feeling as he slouched in the cut-wood general’s chair.
Meanwhile, more reports came in from the other fronts about how victorious Gardric was. Every one expressed some wonder at a miraculous win. What was the Chief’s secret?
Finally, a message in Gardric’s own script arrived.
“Your Highness,
I commend you on your victory against the catapult. A little heavy on material resources, but very effective. Given the light Vle’ pattern, however, and our victories, I see no reason to keep you out on the battlefield. This message transfers you to duty at the castle, and promotes Lieutenant Commander Birg to General. Please express my congratulations to him. I’m sure you found him to be an excellent second. I will be sending a replacement for his post.
Again, congratulations! I hope to see you in one month’s time.”
So, Gardric expected to win the war in just one month. The odds just didn’t support it, however.
Next, Taréz turned his attention to the new orders. It was the King who had placed him here, an order which superseded the Chief’s. Here, now, was essentially a countermand to the royal order. Thus, the prince had every right to refuse and report the Chief’s presumption.
Or, maybe duty at the castle would actually be more interesting than this little farce.
“Birg, new orders.”
“Yes, Sire? From the chief, Sire?”
“Indeed. I am to resume my duty at the castle. He also has promoted you to general.”
Birg appeared astonished. “That is an honor, Sire.”
“It is. It means you will be in charge of this battlefield. Gardic will be sending a second-in-command for you.”
“When do you plan to leave, then, Sire?”
“Well, I see no reason to dawdle long. And I might as well do it in style this time, just to show them what they missed.”
“You would tease them, Sire?”
“Yes, I would. Have preparations made for my departure in the morning- Wait, I apologize, I’m no longer your superior.”
“But you remain my liege lord. It will be done as you ask.”
“Thank you.”
Morning broke slowly, but the ombihornist was on time with his reveille. Ever the military Vle, Taréz was immediately out of bed. But unlike all others in camp, he had a trip to prepare for. He put on all the royal finery he’d brought, came out of the tent, and got right on his horse. He wanted to be noticed, but not shot.
Birg was there, waiting. “Any last orders, Sire?”
“Yes. Keep me informed of any changes here. I’d like to know what other tactics those wily light Vle try. We could learn something.”
“Of course, Sire.”
As he kicked his horse into motion, Birg whistled. Two lines of troops then formed along his path away from camp. An honor guard! Not perfect, so he knew it was spontaneous, a joke, almost, but still a gesture of respect. He waved the royal wave, and kicked the horse to a gallop.
It was just half a day to the small forest town where the carriage was left. “To the camp, driver,” the prince ordered.
“Yes, Sire.”
