Soldiers Live

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## 112

### Taglios:
Under Siege

Ghopal Singh looked terrible. He had been close enough to the fire to have had his beard singed. He had blisters on both face and hands. His turban was gone. The rest of him was rags and smoke smell.

“You’ll never pass inspection,” Mogaba told him.

Singh’s sense of humor was moribund. “We’ve got it controlled inside. It’ll burn itself out. Out there in the city . . . Pray for unseasonable rain.”

“Good luck doesn’t always work out, does it?”

Grudgingly, Singh said, “No way we could know what would happen if a fireball hit one of those flying things.”

“No. Of course not. Here comes Aridatha. Like a crow. There’ll be more bad news.” Mogaba glanced eastward. Not even close to dawn yet. Why was this night stretching out so long? “You’ve got a spot of ash on your right trouser leg, Aridatha.”

The commander of the City Battalions actually paused to deal with the matter before he realized that the Great General was teasing him. More or less. Aridatha said, “They’re trying to take advantage of the confusion. I’m getting reports about ghosts and terrors at work around the South Gate and the river forts.”

“They’re really coming?” Ghopal Singh could not believe the enemy would assault Taglios with so few soldiers. He had expected them to just sit tight in hopes they could forge alliances with disaffected elements inside the wall. “Where?”

“The river,” Mogaba predicted. “They’ve had time to scout. That’s where we’re the weakest.”

“Maybe they just want us to think . . . ”

“They can’t get a strong force into place for a while yet. When they attack from the air we’ll know they’re on their way and where they think they can get through.”

Minutes later word came that enemy commandos were atop the wall half a mile west of the South Gate, ferried there by flying carpet. They were being reinforced rapidly. Neither the City Battalions nor the Greys had much strength in that area. The bulk of the Second Territorial was on the waterfront. The garrison of the barbican was responding to the threat as best it could.

Mogaba looked to the east. Once the light came the enemy would lose the advantage of his unseen allies. Then the city’s defenders could exploit their big advantage in numbers.

Ten minutes later news came that swimmers armed with small fireball projectors had cut the chains and broken the booms at the upstream end of the city. Firebombs were falling amongst the artillery engines.

“You were right,” Ghopal said, “It’ll be the river.”

“Possibly. Where are their wizards?” Mogaba wanted to know. He understood that the post riders need not be sorcerers. “If we don’t see wizards we have to remain skeptical about their commitment to any particular attack. All I see now are diversions.”

“Shall we go out there?” Aridatha asked.

“Out where? Would you care to bet that other attacks won’t break out sometime soon? This is the best place for us to be. We’re central.” It had occurred to him that he was being watched. That the Captain’s plans might hinge on his own behavior. Whatever he did might direct enemy efforts where he was not. It was what he would have done, given their resources. “We’ll stay central. Let’s get a tighter cordon around the parts of the Palace where the girl might be. That’ll let us free up some more of these men.”

Hundreds had been freed up already, because the gawkers had begun to melt away when fires elsewhere proved too fierce to contain. As soon as there was a specific defense to mount Mogaba would send reinforcements.

News came of fierce aerial attacks on the South Gate complex itself. Massive volleys of fireballs were riddling the stonework with thousands of holes. The sheer profligate expenditure of fireballs awed everyone.

“That’s the point, you know,” Mogaba said. “This Captain is more willing to fight than her predecessors were but when she does she rachets the level of violence as high as she can. She wants to stun her enemies so they’ll be too numb to react while she overwhelms them.” A glance around told Mogaba that the Captain’s technique was enjoying some success right here, right now. And neither General Singh was eager for a lecture on the subject of combat psychology.

So Mogaba just noted, “And we’ll be at a disadvantage until we know which probe will become the real attack.”

And that, he suspected, had not yet been determined on the other side, either. She could just be trying to find out where she could get the best return for her investment. They never liked wasting their men, the Company Captains.

“At this point we’ll let the district commanders respond to their own crises. We’ll reinforce them only to stop a disaster. What I need from you two is regular gauges of the mood of the mob. So far they don’t seem to care but we wouldn’t want any unwelcome surprises.”

Ghopal offered, “I’d say the masses favor us. It wasn’t us who started all those fires.”

Mogaba glanced eastward. There was a little color over there but he felt no elation. Ghopal had reminded him of the oppressive amount of work ahead once he suppressed the enemy’s attacks. Fires would leave tens of thousands homeless and destitute in a city where a third of the population already enjoyed that distinction.

Maybe he should just walk away and leave all the problems to Sleepy.

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