act. In nervous impatience, he gazed out the window beyond the general’s head. The Lansway and the Shield were visible from here, and he could even see the encampment of the Imperial Fourth Army, spread across the waist of the isthmus in its neat grid.
The lull in the fighting made perfect sense now. It had been more than an observance of mourning for the Matriarch’s son; they had been waiting for the invasion force to arrive, the hammer to their anvil, with Bar-Khos caught in between. Bahn wondered how long it would be before they renewed their assaults on the walls with everything they had.
At the thought of the fighting to come, his gaze turned to the easel and canvas next to the window, and the vision of peace the painting had captured. It was rendered in the minimal farlander style so favoured by General Creed. Rather than portraying the view outside, it was instead a scene from memory; gentle slopes covered in vines, rising towards distant mountains.
Bahn was reminded of a different bereavement, a different loss; the woman whose spirit, in painting these scenes time and time again, the general hoped most of all to recapture. General Creed had been married for thirty-one years when Bahn had first joined his staff as a junior aide. Bahn had met the general’s wife Rose only once at a staff function here in the Ministry; a small bundle of a woman, dignified in carriage and softly spoken. She had talked, briefly, of their vineyard on the southern slopes of the lower Alapolas, and of her wish for her husband to come home and visit her more often there. She had seemed lonely, and out of place in the lesser function hall of the Ministry. Bahn had stayed by her side until he’d managed to gain from her a shy smile, then introduced her to his own wife to take his place. The women had connected like two old friends.
Bahn looked away from the painting and saw the general’s sharp blue eyes locked on his own. They flickered towards a chair, and Bahn worked his way around it and sat.
‘Gollanse!’ bellowed the general.
The doors, still open behind Bahn, admitted the general’s ancient concierge.
‘Call a staff meeting, will you? I want everyone here within the hour.’
‘Yes, lord,’ replied the old man curtly.
To Bahn: ‘Has the council been informed yet?’
‘A runner’s been sent.’
‘And the League?’
‘Not as yet.’
The general nodded to Gollanse. ‘Dispatch a fast skud to Minos. Carrier birds too. Advise them that recent imperial fleet actions have been a diversion. The real thrust is here, on Khos. We’ll need all the Volunteers they can send us.’
‘Yes, lord. Is that all?’
‘Aye, and be quick about it now, no dallying for biscuits and chee.’
The old man raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as he shuffled from the room.
General Creed tilted his head back, calculating. ‘Pearl Bay. That’s a good hundred and forty laqs from Bar-Khos, with difficult terrain for the first thirty until they come down onto the Reach. They’ll need to take Tume, they can’t leave it at their backs. But they’ll push hard. Thirteen, fourteen days, maybe, before we start seeing their advance forces here. That’s hardly long enough for League reinforcements to arrive in time.’
Thirteen days. I could have Marlee and the children far away from Khos by then.
‘We can also expect a renewed campaign against the walls. They’ll press us from every quarter now, hoping to break us in between.’
‘General . . .’ said Bahn, searching for the right words. ‘What can we do?’
Creed unfolded himself from his chair. He placed his palms on the desk and rose to tower over Bahn, his eyes dancing. ‘Do? We must mobilize every man that we can, as quickly as we can do it. Any man who can still march and fight.’
‘You want to meet the Mannians in the field?’
‘What – you’d have us close the gates I suppose, and hunker down behind the walls to await their arrival?’
Yes, that was surely what Bahn would have done. The lesser walls of the city would at least provide them with some advantage against the approaching imperial army. But it was a short-sighted strategy, and Bahn dismissed it even as he thought it. He was merely considering the protection of his family, not any larger picture. This is why I would make such a poor leader, he mused.
The general seemed to read his thoughts. ‘The lesser walls are hardly the Shield, Bahn. They won’t stand long against