"Seemingly not. Message number twelve said it turned north when it left. The storm had driven nine aground that we know of, and it's probable that others foundered. Those that anchored in the river had taken considerable damage. Our assumption is, they returned to Balralligh harbor, probably to the shipyards on the river, for repairs."

What interested Macurdy more than anything else was the description of voitik sorceries at Balralligh and Colroi. Most were not directly effective on ylver, though some sorcerous lightnings had been. Tossi Pellersson added that to the dwarves, the monsters were little more than wisps. " 'Tis rock that's real," he said. "Rock's what we see best."

Naerrasil summarized the situation as he saw it. "Our primary problem," he said, "is our strong dependence on our human infantry. But given the size of the voitik army, along with our lack of allies, we have no choice. And as long as we stand alone, no chance. What we need-" he paused to look grimly at Gavriel "-what we need is an all-out effort by every trained ylf in the two empires. In the face of voitik sorceries, human troops are useless to us." He looked at Tossi Pellersson. "And even then the odds look bleak. But if the dwarves joined us, and if they're as good as they claim to be, our prospects would be much improved."

Tossi's eyes were hard. "It does ye no good to tell me about it. I'm a trade representative, not a king. I'll take word to the Diamond Flues, but it will be weeks before I arrive there. And on my way, I'll send a messenger to Finn Greatsword, in Silver Mountain. His people are far more involved with the Eastern Empire, and far more numerous to boot. But if ye know anything at all about him, ye can guess what he'll say."

Macurdy then told of his audience with the King in Silver Mountain. The dwarf king's attitude of "wait and trade" brought a bitter twist to Naerrasil's aristocratic face. Then Macurdy summarized briefly his own experience with the Voitusotar, on Farside and in Hithmearc. Including the sorcery he'd witnessed, that had caused the Bavarian Gate to open daily instead of monthly.

"The thing is," he said, "it took a circle of them to do it, a team working together under the right conditions, directed by a leader. Major sorceries aren't something done on the spur of the moment. They take time and preparation."

He paused, wondering if he was right, if that was true. It had better be. He continued.

"Suppose you had small units of human troops well trained and daring. Operating behind enemy lines, moving in the woods or at night, striking where the enemy didn't expect them. What could sorcerers do about them? By the time they knew where the raiders were, they wouldn't be there anymore. It would be up to the voitar's human troops to deal with them. And what've they done so far? Mop up, after the defense had been panicked and broken by sorcery. That and kill, rape, torture and burn."

Lord Naerrasil had been shaking his head while Macurdy spoke. "Behind enemy lines, you say." His voice was bitter, tinged with scorn. "When we left, he was lined up along the Merrawin River, rich farmlands with few woods. His engineers were making pontoons and bridge sections. When he's ready and it suits him, he will send his monsters across, and follow them with all the troops he cares to. If he hasn't already. We'll try to stop them with what ylvin units we have. And be overrun."

Sneering, he finished: "And you tell me we need human raiding parties fighting in the woods!"

Everyone's attention was on Macurdy now. All but Naerrasus; his was befogged by emotion. When he'd delivered his closing jab, it had seemed to Cyncaidh that Macurdy would explode, with a sound that would buckle Naerrasil's knees.

Cyncaidh misjudged. The Lion did not roar. He looked Naerrasil over thoughtfully, then surprised everyone by bowing slightly. When he spoke it was quietly, softly, making them reach to hear him.

"Your lordship," he said, "what wars have you fought in?"

Naerrasil sensed what Macurdy was implying, and flushed. "This is my first," he said. "But I have an excellent military education and training."

"Your first." Macurdy's voice remained soft. "We might hope a man could live his life without any at all, but that's not how things are. Not now." Macurdy's eyes didn't let the ylf go. "In your position, you damn well need to be good, very good. And you need to be willing to learn, not spout off a bunch of… half-understood generalities." Macurdy had stumbled on the edge of saying bullshit. "A military education and training aren't worth much, if they don't lead to good military judgement."

Naerrasil's fair face was deep red now.

"I suggested a strategy," Macurdy went on. "Not an entire plan of war, but a strategy for part of it. You rejected it without examining it. As if you'd rather have your empire destroyed than consider possibilities. Rather leave your people to the mercy of an enemy that doesn't have any, than deviate from what they spooned into you at military school."

He paused, glancing at Cyncaidh to see how he was taking all this. Cyncaidh's face was frozen, and Macurdy turned to Naerrasil again. "I have no more suggestions for you. I'd be wasting my time. But I trust that others of your people are willing to exercise will and intelligence. If they ask, I'll tell them what they need to know to get started."

Still speaking quietly, he turned to Naerrasil's entourage. "I have yet to see country in Yuulith that doesn't have wooded areas. And winter is coming, with its long nights. Armies travel mostly on roads. Their supplies are hauled on roads, and voitik supply columns will get longer as they move farther west. Daring men, ylver or human, can attack them there. And the raiders don't need to win victories. They only need to strike quickly, kill men and horses, loot if there's time, then disappear into the forest or the night.

"With raiders rampant, the voitar will have to send strong cavalry escorts with their supply trains, cavalry that won't be at the front, fighting you."

He turned back to Naerrasil. "The men who fight such wars aren't like you. They don't have comfortable quarters, orderlies to shine their boots, and cooks to prepare meals on order. They are often hungry, often cold, often exhausted. They sleep on the ground. In the rain. They forget what it is to be clean, to be comfortable. They see comrades die. They may end up lying in the mud or snow, staring at their own entrails." He paused. "But they will punish the invader. They may even break him. Because the invader is no hero. He's a rapist and a butcher, who doesn't have much taste for anything that puts his life in danger."

Macurdy looked around at the assemblage. A single pair of hands clapped, slowly but loudly: Tossi Pellersson's. "If anyone wants to talk with me about this," Macurdy finished, "I'll be lying in the sun, on the lawn outside the main entrance." He turned to Vulkan. "Shall we go, good friend?"

Vulkan got to his hooves. ‹I believe it is time. You have said what was necessary.›

They left then. Macurdy's mood was beginning to sag from the rough brutality of his own words. The message had been needed, he told himself, but he wished he'd spoken less cruelly.

He'd begun to wonder if anyone was going to take him up on his offer, when Cyncaidh appeared, and sat down beside him on the lawn. "Lord Gaerimor," Cyncaidh said, "is busily rubbing oil on Lord Naerrasil's wounded pride. While discussing possible modifications of standard military philosophy. I believe he'll make more progress than one might expect.

"Meanwhile, Gavriel and I discussed our own situation. My emperor's strengths do not include matters military, and he tends to accept my advice on them. He is, of course, imperializing and mobilizing the twenty-eight ducal armies, most of them numbering two companies. They and the Throne Army will move at least to the border, and if the Council approves, to wherever the front is.