Soldiers Live

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## 117

### Taglios:
Night and the City

The Great General took charge of the riverfront defenses personally. He found morale abysmal when he arrived, accompanied by reserves from the Second Territorial. The long succession of military disasters had the soldiers suspecting that defeat was inevitable and that they were being wasted in a hopeless cause.

The Great General himself led his own lifeguard in a counterattack of such fury and finesse that the enemy soon lost everything that it had taken them all day to capture.

The invaders got no support from above. The Great General interpreted that to mean that they were in desperate straits at the South Gate.

There was not a lot of communication between forces. Nobody knew what anybody else was doing, really. The best anyone could do was cling to the plans and hope the enemy did not get too much enjoyment from his advantages.

Mogaba’s opponents tried reinforcing themselves with recent recruits. That did them little good. Those men entered the fighting in groups too small to make any difference.

The last attackers fled in the barges they had used to make their initial landings, drifting downriver because they did not have enough men healthy enough to row against the current. All the barges were overburdened, one so much so that it shipped water at the slightest rocking. It did not remain afloat long.

Mogaba treated himself to a long breather. He turned his mind off completely, closed his eyes, let the cold winter air chill him.

When he was calm and breathing normally again he allowed himself to return to the moment.

He could get the best of this thing yet. If he could get these men to the South Gate and get in a hard blow he might damage the enemy enough to earn his own people a fair chance of making it through the night. If he succeeded, victory would be his. They would not be able to survive everything he would throw at them tomorrow.

He opened his eyes.

The white crow stared at him from a perch on a broken cartwheel scarcely a foot from his face.

The crow started talking.

That bird was a much better messenger and spy than the crows he had known in earlier days.

The Great General listened for a long time. And wondered if the mind behind the bird was aware of his disloyalty.

He would not bring it up first.

The Great General dragged himself upright, ignoring the complaints of aching muscles. “Sergeant Mugwarth. Spread the word. All officers. Round up every man who can walk. We’re moving up to relieve the South Gate.”

The enemy’s aerial advantage betrayed the trap before it could close. Mogaba left the soldiers to their work and hastened toward the Palace. He arrived as dusk began to deepen shadows. The view from that eminence included half a dozen fires still burning. Smoke and trickles of fire still attended the fallen parts of the Palace, too.

Awaiting him was the news that the enemy had reduced most of the defenses at the downriver end of the city. Their forces there had been augmented by the survivors from upriver. These outsiders were stubborn fighters.

“Send reinforcements?” Ghopal asked.

Mogaba thought a moment. Those foreigners ought to be near their limits. “Yes, actually. These are all your men here, around the Palace, aren’t they?”

“I thought that would be best. Makes them all men I can trust.”

“Let Aridatha’s soldiers take their place. Send yours to the waterfront. And gather up any of your brothers and cousins who’re still alive, I want them here.”

“What? . . . ”

“Do it. Quickly. Quickly. And round up all those captured fireball throwers.”

“I think we used most of them up.”

“That means they’re some of them left. I want them all.”

Darkness came. And soon after it did messages reached the Great General informing him that his enemies, inside both their footholds, were hunkering down for the night rather than pressing forward when their shadowy allies could come out to play.

The Great General refused to let the night intimidate him. By his example he inspired those around him. And it did seem that the enemy’s spooks meant to do little more than yell “Boo!”

The Great General reorganized the city’s defenses, shifting almost all responsibility into Aridatha Singh’s hands. Then he led Ghopal Singh and the man’s kinsmen, armed with fireball throwers, toward the waterfront conflict.

Ghopal asked, “What’re we doing?”

“This is a false peace,” Mogaba replied. “They lost their Captain this afternoon. The trap in the gate worked to perfection. They lost most of their command staff, too.” He did not explain how he knew that. “They’ll need to work out who’s in charge and what they’re going to do now. They might even decide to go away.” He shivered, told himself it was the winter air.

But he knew that Croaker had survived the day. He knew the Company would not be going away. He knew the succession there had been assured and the new Captain would attempt to complete the work of the old.

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