“I see.” Salthar sat back once more and stroked his flowing mustache with a thoughtful air. “No one in the world has more respect or a greater admiration for Sir Clyftyn’s courage and tactical skill, Your Eminence,” he said then. “He’s demonstrated both of those far too conclusively to ever doubt them. However, I think it might be well to point out that the distance from Kraisyr to the Bryxtyn High Road is just over ninety miles as the wyvern flies. At the time Sir Fahstyr—and Father Pairaik—ordered the evacuation of the two fortresses, the Army of the Seridahn’s effective strength had fallen to approximately thirty-eight thousand men. That would have given him about four men per yard of frontage if he’d attempted to hold a line that long.”
“Sir Clyftyn wasn’t suggesting holding that entire distance in a single fortified line, Your Grace.” Kharmych’s sharp tone was that of a man who couldn’t keep himself from responding, despite the bishop executor’s glare.
“I’m sure he wasn’t, Father,” Salthar replied. “But that’s still the density Sir Fahstyr would have had to cover the distance. I’m afraid this is something he and I had discussed earlier, well before the heretics crossed out of the South March. If you’d like, I can share the correspondence with you and the Bishop Executor. To summarize, however, the sense of our conversation was that to generate sufficient density to hold an extended line like that would require him to adopt a ‘nodal’ deployment. He couldn’t have enough men in any one spot to resist a heretic attack without splitting his army into numerous smaller forces and stringing them out like beads in a necklace. But he simply can’t afford to parcel his men out into isolated fortified positions, like that, unable to offer one another mutual support. He was outnumbered by the heretics by very close to three-to-one. If he’d dug in in the necessary nodal positions, Hanth would have found it absurdly simple to drive forces between them to isolate them from one another and then bring overpowering strength to bear on each of them in turn. The entire Army of the Seridahn would almost certainly have been destroyed within five-days.”
Something flickered in Kharmych’s eyes, and Fern kept his expression very carefully neutral as he saw it.
“There might well have been risks involved in such an attempt, Your Grace, but he could still have compelled the heretics to deploy against him,” Lainyr pointed out before Kharmych could speak. Salthar cocked his head politely, and the bishop executor shrugged. “He’s done that several times since his retreat from Thesmar. Indeed, that’s how his strategy was explained to Mother Church from the beginning. The entire idea was to compel the heretics to bring up the ‘overpowering strength’ necessary to crush his fortified positions because they would expend precious time doing that before he slipped away and required them to do it all over again. Was that not the way you understood it, Your Grace?”
His tone was a bit more pointed, although still considerably less sharp than Kharmych’s had been.
“Yes, Your Eminence, that’s exactly the way I understood his proposed strategy from the beginning. And as we pointed out to Captain General Allayn, without more manpower—and the weapons for them—that was the only strategy available to us. But for it to work, he needs to find positions that are relatively compact and where he can establish something like firm flanks. And, I should point out that the dryer ground and the flatter terrain west of the border strongly favor the heretics’ greater mobility. That puts them in a far better position to flank any line he establishes—or to break through between nodes and crush them in isolation—than they were over the winter while he had them pinned against the canal in the bad ground east of the border. And that, I’m afraid, securing his flanks means finding terrain that significantly restricts their mobility. Unfortunately, he couldn’t have done that on the line you’re saying—if I understand you correctly, at least—Sir Clyftyn advocated.”
Lainyr nodded, although his expression was that of a man who didn’t much care for where the conversation was going. And, of a man who hadn’t expected the Duke of Salthar to be the one taking it there.
Fern kept his own expression merely politely attentive, but it was difficult. What he really wanted to do was to beam at Salthar in approval. The other duke would never see seventy again, and he’d have been utterly out of his depth trying to actually manage a battle using the new model weapons Charis had introduced to the world. But the first councilor had always known he was a long way from stupid. He might not be anything like adequately versed in the new style of warfare’s tactics, but he understood strategy just fine. On the other hand, he’d always been one of the Jihad’s strongest supporters. He might have been willing, upon occasion, to question some of Mother Church’s tactical decisions, but he’d been firmly devoted to achieving her victory at any cost. He’d been one of the voices in King Rahnyld’s Council upon whose support Lainyr and Kharmych had always been able to depend. The possibility that this time might be different obviously didn’t make the bishop executor very happy.
Of course, he hasn’t known Shain as long as I have, Fern thought dryly. Yes, he’s a loyal son of Mother Church, but the problem with a man of faith is that he’s a man of faith. If you push him beyond the limits of his beliefs, his own understanding of God’s will, bad things can happen … especially when you crank in a dash of desperation. And he is feeling the desperation. For that matter, you know damned well that desperation’s playing a part in your thinking, now don’t you? What was it Cayleb’s supposed to have said? Something like ‘When a man knows he’s going to be hanged in a five-day, it concentrates his thoughts wonderfully’ or something like that, wasn’t it? The first councilor snorted silently in harsh amusement. Man may be a heretic—for some definitions of the word, anyway—but he does have a way with words!
Lainyr wasn’t the only person at the table who looked unhappy with Salthar’s analysis.
“But sooner or later, somewhere, he has to actually stop the heretics, Your Grace!”
Kharmych’s tone was hotter than an upper-priest should use to the duke who commanded Mother Church’s only army currently in contact with the enemy, Fern thought. This time, however, Lainyr showed no inclination to call his attack dog to heel.
“After all,” the intendant continued, “every mile they advance leaves still more of the faithful children of Mother Church in heretical clutches!” The corners of the intendant’s eyes strayed towards Thorast. “They’re already over a hundred miles deep into the Kingdom, a third of the way across Thorast. And when General Rychtyr abandoned—I mean, declined to defend—Shandyr, he handed Hanth the largest city in eastern Thorast! If he wasn’t prepared to stand in defense of that city, where will he stand?!”
This time he looked straight at Thorast, clearly inviting his contribution to the argument, and the duke shifted in his chair.
“Believe me, Father,” he said gravely, his expression troubled, “I understand what you’re saying, and the thought of my people in the grip of heresy, however temporarily, weighs heavily upon me.”
Kharmych’s eyes gleamed, and he couldn’t quite keep an edge of triumph out of the glance he shot Fern and Salthar. But Thorast wasn’t quite done yet.
“Despite that,” he continued in that same grave tone, “as a military man, I find myself in unhappy agreement with Duke Salthar. General Rychtyr’s done brilliantly in slowing the heretics as much as he has, particularly after the … rash fashion in which the Army of Justice was hazarded—and lost—in the Shiloh Campaign.” He shook his head. “With all the other heavy charges upon the Kingdom—especially those of the Navy, with which I’m particularly familiar—it hasn’t yet been possible for us to reconstitute the strength we lost in Siddarmark. We have well over five and a half thousand miles of coastline, Your Eminence, whereas our entire land border frontier runs less than a thousand miles north-to-south, and after the Western Squadron’s destruction, the heretic navy’s in a position to threaten every single mile of that coast.” He shrugged ever so slightly. “It’s our responsibility—my responsibility, as a servant of the Crown and a member of the Royal Council—to protect all of His Majesty’s subjects, not just my own duchy. Beset by threats from so many directions, we have no choice but to spar for time while we rebuild the strength to take the battle to the heretics. Until we’ve done that, the best we can hope to do is to continue General Rychtyr’s delaying tactics. In time—when our own forces are stronger, or when the results of Mother Church’s other armies have forced the heretics to rethink their posture here in the south—not only will we stand and fight, we’ll retake the offensive and drive the Jihad through to final victory. Until then, however, I believe General Rychtyr’s strategy is the best available to us. And I also think the Army of the Seridahn as a whole has a great deal of confidence in him. If we were to relieve him at this time, the damage to the army’s morale might be severe.”