"Then there is nothing more we can do against those fatherless Knights?" Warlord Sargos glared around Kalvan's tent as if ready to challenge any king or captain present to personal combat.
Maybe he was. Kalvan began to think that breaking a barrel of wine hadn't been the best idea. Sargos had grown increasingly belligerent instead of mellow.
"Not nothing," Harmakros talked with the air of a man trying for the twentieth time to persuade a stubborn child to go to bed. "We can't knock down the walls of Tarr-Ceros or besiege it for long enough to do any good. What else is there?"
Sargos emptied the last of a jug into his cup and looked into the ruddy depths. He seemed to find wisdom or at least a better-guarded tongue there.
"Nothing that will end the Knights for all time, I suppose. But is there anything else worth doing?"
"Yes," King Nestros said. He hadn't yet been officially proclaimed Great King, that would have to wait until his return to Rathon City, but he wore a gold-circled crown set with turquoise picked up from the Knights' baggage and hastily set into place by an armorer. "Anything that will keep them quiet for a year or two will be almost as good. United, with no enemies at our backs, we're their match. We proved it: now we know it, they know it, and neither of us is going to forget it soon. Let us do something to make them remember it as long as possible."
Several faces around the tent wore, "Yes, but what?" expressions. It was time for the god-sent Great King Kalvan to take a hand. The rest had wrangled themselves into being ready to listen.
"Now, a lot of what we can do depends on how long we can keep the boats and barges in range of Tarr-Ceros," Kalvan said.
"Oh, demons fly away with those boats and barges!" Sargos growled. "If they won't let us destroy the Knights, what good are they?"
"If we have most of a moon, before the Knights' fleet returns from Xiphlon, we can destroy the Knights' lands," Kalvan snapped. "Alkides, do you think we have that much time?"
"With guns mounted in the right places, I suspect we can keep off anything short of all the galleys at once," the artillery office answered. "That's using mostly the Trygathi heavy pieces, that wouldn't be much good in the field anyway."
Sargos looked ready to curse the boats and barges again, but Kalvan fixed him with a sharp look. "Warlord Sargos, those watercraft are like herds or chosen warriors to the Princes of Kyblos and Ulthor. Would one of your chiefs thank you if you lost all his horses or a thousand of his best warriors including two or three of his sons?"
Sargos appeared to ponder the question and came up with an answer that at least kept him quiet. Kalvan signaled to Harmakros, who handed him a map of the area around Tarr-Ceros. It was a rough map, but it was a historical document-the first map here-and-now ever drawn on paper. There was also a second copy, on the more usual, not to say durable, deerskin.
"The Knights have left a belt of forest around Tarr-Ceros, between them and the lands that raise their food and horses. They've always relied on the forest to let their light-armed troops delay an enemy while the heavies move out.
"Now suppose we throw two forces around Tarr-Ceros. One is infantry, with light artillery support. They'll hold the forest belt, keeping the Knights in instead of enemies out. I'll wager half the Treasure of Balph it'll take even Soton a while to figure out what to do about that."
"Yes, yes," Sargos exclaimed. Eagerness crackled in his voice. "Our archers are without peer. Given time to hide themselves, they can hold the forest-"
"Boast about your archers when they've proved themselves!" Nestor snapped. "We of the Trygath are no children with the bow, as you yourself know-" Kalvan allowed them to go round about like that for a few minutes. By then, they'd mostly sobered up and were growing hoarse, at least, Nestros was; Sargos could bellow until the cows came home!
"Hold!" Kalvan shouted. "There will be enough Knights to go around, I am sure. To the archer who takes the most, I will personally give ten Hosti-gos gold Crowns and a weapon of his choice. General Alkides, can you move your four-pounders in that kind of wooded country?"
"With a little help from Galzar and a lot of help from men who aren't afraid to drag a gun." The two allied rulers couldn't promise their help fast enough.
Kalvan was starting his explanation of what the second force would do, when shouts of "Way, way, for a royal messenger!" and galloping hooves broke in on the meeting. Kalvan decided that royal dignity would be better served by going on with the briefing, even if the council hall were a wooded glen.
"The second force will be cavalry. It isn't intended to stand and fight. It's going to burn out every farm and village, run off every head of livestock, terrorize every peasant it can reach. If the Knights come out of Tarr-Ceros, they will have to fight their way through their own forest belt. If they stay in their fort, they will have to watch their peasants, crops, and herds ruined.
"The Knights get some of their supplies from downriver, but not all. It will be a lean winter and a lean year for the Knights. Soton will gladly march the Knights out in their breechclouts with clubs if all else fails, but they won't be nearly so formidable."
The picture made the others in the tent smile; everyone remembered the mountain of discarded armor and supplies. Someone was passing around the last cask of wine when the royal messenger poked his head into the tent. "Message for Great King Kalvan's eyes only."
Kalvan noticed that the man was pale under the spatters of mud, but thought it was only fatigue, as Kalvan broke the seal and unfolded the parchments. It was only when he'd read both the letters twice that Kalvan noticed everyone in the tent had backed as far away from him as they could. Harmakros was the first to find his voice, and even he sounded as if the wrong word could make his friend and Great King belch flame.
"It is not ill news of the Queen or the Princess, I hope."
"The Princess, no. It's from Uncle Wolf Tharses," Kalvan said through clenched teeth. "As for Her Majesty-she has brought the campaign against Prince Araxes of Phaxos to a successful conclusion." Conscious that curious eyes were still devouring him, Kalvan pushed the letter into his belt pouch, gulped half his cup of wine at once, and then spread the map out again.
"Now, General Alkides. What is your notion of the best crossing place?"