Disciple of War Disciple of War (Art of the Adept #4) - Michael G. Manning Page 0,167

work anyway, but he preferred to have a clear mental picture of the area he was affecting.

The sky had brightened, though the sun was still beneath the horizon. The early scouts had reported no movement yet, so his plan was probably still viable. Will constructed an elemental travel-disk and lifted himself as high as he could manage to get a better view.

The spell wasn’t meant for flying, so he could only lift himself around ten yards above the ground, but that was enough to give him the view he needed. The Darrowans appeared to be forming up already, though they hadn’t moved yet.

“We’ll see what they do when they realize that our reserves are already behind them,” said Will softly. Sifting through the memories of his days in the army, he found the sounds he wanted: men on the move, their voices rough and ready as they cajoled one another, horns in the distance, the stomping of thousands of feet, and the creak of leather and metal harnesses. He gathered those sounds within his mind and then he sent them out to ride the currents. The enemy is behind you, thought Will, as he brought the ambient turyn under his control.

The sounds were clear enough that they carried all the way back to the Terabinian camp, and Will saw the men looking at one another with questions in their eyes, wondering what was happening. He watched the Darrowans, and though nothing happened at first, after a minute they began sounding horns. The forward line broke apart as units were ordered to take different positions.

Will smiled. He felt sure that would cost them an hour or two, and possibly much more. The enemy commander would doubtless be sending new scouts out in every direction. The Darrowans would need to confirm that the Terabinians were still where they were supposed to be, and that an unforeseen force hadn’t snuck up behind them.

He kept up the phantom army sounds for half an hour before resting. He’d felt some strain, but even though the wild magic had involved relatively vast amounts of environmental turyn, Will was only modestly fatigued. Given fifteen or twenty minutes to recuperate, and he thought he would be close to his optimum strength again. Again, it wasn’t a direct drain on his personal turyn. That was the limiting factor for sorcerers, their elementals, and most other magic users. For him it was mainly the exercise of his will, and the fatigue it produced was purely mental, the same sort of fatigue one might feel after studying for hours.

It was no less real, though. He knew that from his two previous experiences when he’d injured his will by overdoing things. His will was a lot stronger these days, however, and he didn’t feel as though he’d pushed himself very much yet.

The morning passed with agonizing slowness. While the soldiers pretended to be readying for war, they mainly rested in place. Every hour Will took a break to check on the progress and location of his friends, and whenever the enemy looked to be preparing again to advance on them, he would start another round of phantom sounds to disturb them once more.

He was certain it had to be absolutely nerve-wracking for the enemy commander. As soon as they’d gotten an all-clear back from their scouts, Will would begin a new set of entirely too realistic noises to convince them they were being flanked.

As the morning stretched out, word passed along the line, as the officers explained to the men exactly what was happening. They could hear the sounds too, and obviously it wasn’t in anyone’s best interest if Will’s deceptive noises rattled the Terabinian soldiers as well.

The explanation had an unexpected effect, though. First and Third Divisions had been on the run for two days and their morale had suffered badly, but now they could audibly hear what Will was doing to the enemy. Their imaginations were captured as they thought about the nervousness and uncertainty that must be afflicting those who had harried them. During Will’s third round of deception, the Terabinian soldiers responded with a guttural war chant. It wasn’t a formal song or chant with words, merely a primal ‘hu-hu-hu,’ followed by a stomping of feet.

Inspired, Will copied them and soon his illusory army was engaged in a call and response with the real, living and breathing Terabinians that stood beside him. The poor Darrowans caught in the middle of it were probably sweating buckets by then. Their