The Chaos Balance

XC

“No more beer?” asked the thin-faced captain.

“No, ser,” offered Serjeant Funssa from the gloomy back of the narrow room. Despite the open windows, and the faint twilight breeze, he wiped his forehead before continuing, “But the supply wagons should be here afore long.”

“They should have been here an eight-day ago,” snapped Miatorphi, looking glumly at his mug full of almost-brackish water.

“They won’t be here,” said Piataphi in a low voice, low enough not to carry outside the staff room. “The lancers operate on schedule, even in places like Syadtar.”

“What happened?” asked Funssa, his eyes searching through the gloom, going from one shadowed officer’s face to the next.

“Exactly? I don’t know.” The majer coughed. “Angel-damned dust. The barbarians got them-the smart one, probably.”

This time Azarphi and Miatorphi exchanged looks. Funssa pulled at his short ginger beard.

“There have to be two barbarian groups out there,” the majer explained slowly, picking his words as though he had drunk far too much beer. “Nothing else makes sense. There were two camps. They don’t even act the same. One is the same old barbarian tactics-hit and run, but some semblance of honor. The other one avoids any skirmish except where he can destroy our force totally, or pick off a lot of our lancers with almost no losses. He’s the one who dumped the fireballs on the corrals. Did you notice that he went for the fodder, too? What barbarian thinks about fodder, for darkness’s sake?”

“A barbarian is a barbarian,” offered Miatorphi.

“Your shafts were closer than you thought, Azarphi,” continued Piataphi, as though Miatorphi had not spoken. “A barbarian would not think of fodder, but an angel might. And an angel would think of supply wagons.”

“What do we do now?” asked Azarphi. “We can’t exactly beg for more lancers and a bunch of foot.”

“No. We can make His Mightiness force them on us.”

The other three looked dubious.

“Trade and gold-that is all those in Cyad value. Pah…they talk of honor, but we have no fleet because it would have cost many golds to rebuild it. Even His Mightiness builds but one fireship, when we need many. The steamwagons fail because it takes too many golds to replace them, and with only barbarians around, why need we such devices?” Piataphi looked owlishly through the twilight. “So…we are going to send all the copper we have mined back to Syadtar. And we are going to do everything that we can to ensure that the barbarians know this.”

Funssa swallowed. “Ser…the men?”

“I am most certain that you will pick the men most suited for such a mission, Funssa, as well as a messenger and a scout that could ride like skyfire if anything untoward happened.” Piataphi looked soberly around the staff room. “His Mightiness would wish to know if anything happened to his precious copper, and so would the white mages.”

“I do not understand,” protested Funssa.

“Am I supposed to sacrifice good lancers and foot to protect mere copper?” asked Piataphi. “And with the losses we have had, because our forces are not adequate to fight two barbarian lands-or is it three with the dark angels? — I cannot spare more lancers and still hold the copper mines that His Mightiness has entrusted to our care. So…” The majer shrugged and stood. “We do what we can.”

“Ser.” Funssa swallowed once more.

“Good,” replied Piataphi ambiguously. “Good evening, captains.” He turned and walked out the half-open door, each step taken with exaggerated care.

Funssa looked at Azarphi and Miatorphi. “Sers?”

“You heard the majer,” said Miatorphi.

With a deep breath, the serjeant departed.

“He must have been hoarding the beer for himself,” Azarphi muttered.

“Wouldn’t you? Do you know what his life is worth right now? Or ours?”

“Why is he doing this?” asked the thin-faced captain.

“To get all the merchants roused up, I suppose, and His Mightiness to send more lancers, before we get whittled down to nothing and killed.”

“We’ve still got more horsemen than they do, lots more.”

“For how long?” asked Miatorphi. “We’re getting picked off. They aren’t. Besides, they don’t seem to care if they die, just so long as they die honorably. I do.”

Azarphi shook his head in the dark.