After a minute, he returned to the event, this time without melding, in order to retain his own viewpoint and objectivity. The recordings ended with the death of the last voitu in the office. What happened afterward was speculation, but there was little doubt the base had been captured and looted.
Ylvin trickery! Kurqosz ordered recon patrols sent toward Colroi from the Merrawin River base, each patrol accompanied by a voitu for quick reporting. I need more information, he told himself. Then I will decide on actions. Surely the ylvin tricksters wouldn't remain in Colroi. Where would they go from there? Balralligh perhaps? If they did, they were biting off more than they could chew, especially since Balralligh was warned now.
Nonetheless, a seed of anxiety had sprouted in the crown prince's belly. It seemed to him he was overlooking something. Somewhere along the line, something was seriously wrong, and he didn't know what it was.
He shook it off. Such thoughts were destructive. The ylver had counterfeited rakutur uniforms, that's all. And with them had gotten a battalion unrecognized to Colroi, where it had taken the garrison by surprise. It was a trick that could only work once.
Next was an update on the dwarven army. There had been no voitik observer; it had entered the hive mind verbally via General Trumpko, who had it from a patrol report. After crossing the Pomatik, the dwarves had started northward, on foot, in snow and hilly terrain. Their strength was estimated at eight to ten battalions, five to six thousand men.
The dwarves couldn't harm him without marching far to the north. And Trumpko's force was on its way to meet them: a long cavalry battalion-five companies-and an entire division of infantry, as ordered. Prince Chithqosz and his circle accompanied its headquarters unit. The crown prince viewed Trumpko's force through his brother's eyes, as Chithqosz paused on a low rise. A division in marching order was impressive-18,000 officers and men. Add a long battalion of cavalry-600 men on horseback-to harass and distract them… Clearly the dwarves were doomed.
Yet he didn't feel the confidence and anticipation he should have. The anxiety that had grown out of Colroi still coiled in his belly like a snake. Colroi. There was something wrong there-something he hadn't put his finger on. So he returned to the hive mind, and viewed once more the forced entry, again without melding. But this time in slow- and stop-motion.
He saw again the face of the man who'd killed the voitu base commander. A face somehow familiar, but no rakutu's. The eyes and cheekbones weren't right. The other faces could pass, which was worrisome, bit that one could not. He wished he could see their ears, but in the brief melee, none had lost their caps.
Another reconnaissance patrol had seen the dwarven army, on the Merrawin Valley Highway this time, emerging from the forest in a column of fours. Spied it from a distance and retired, seemingly undetected.
The patrol had left three men to observe from a copse. They'd watched till dusk, then ridden north to report the details. Its report had been encouraging. The earlier report-that the dwarves had no pikes-had been accurate. They'd be wonderfully susceptible to cavalry charges. And their mobility would be impaired not only by their short legs, but by the burdens they carried. Their packs alone were large enough that a human would find them burdensome, and large, recurved rectangular shields were slung on them. Some carried crossbows, some six-foot stabbing spears, and others two-handed battle axes. (They'd failed to notice that the axes were steel-handled, and tricked out with hooks.) A sheathed shortsword was fastened to each thick waist. And they wore knee-length hauberks that looked to weigh thirty pounds or more.
If their formation was broken, they'd be unable to flee.
Astonishingly they wore no coats, but none of the observers were troubled by this remarkable lack.
It was a bitter cold midmorning. Major Gert Ferelsma, hithik commander of the 4th Cavalry Battalion, sat in his saddle on one of the two highest points locally available. The dwarven legion had formed its defensive formation, a box with walls of spearmen six ranks thick. Its center was occupied by others, who presumably would provide both crossbow fire and replacements for casualties in the walls.
Their position was on a ridge. A low gentle ridge, but even so, to charge it on the long sides required riding or running uphill. With or without pikes, it wasn't something to throw cavalry at.
The dwarves waited stolidly. The major's spyglass showed their beards parted and braided, hanging to their thighs. Their torsos appeared thick, even allowing for their hauberks, and the quilted doublets they undoubtedly wore inside as padding. Their helmets seemed decorated-embossed or carved, though Ferelsma couldn't make out the details-and he wondered if precious metals might not be involved. It also seemed to him their heads were larger than the average human's. Their legs, he judged, would hardly be two feet long, and their hands hung to their knees.
Surely their minds were as different as their bodies, and he wished he knew what went on in them. He'd read the ancient description of the expedition to Vismearc, and been properly skeptical. Then the sea dragons had failed to materialize, and the man-eating birds, the bees large as sparrows…
But when Chithqosz's army entered dwarven territory, its punishment restored credence to the tale.
Through his rakutik communicator, Ferelsma recommended to Trumpko that they let the dwarves wait there unmolested. After a bit the cold would weaken them, numb their fingers and minds. When the infantry arrived, they could surround the dwarves and rain crossbow bolts on them. By the time the infantry was out of bolts, dwarven casualties would be high. Then the spearmen could close with them. There was no sensible reason to expend valuable warhorses and trained cavalry in this situation. Save them to counter ylvin raiders.
Trumpko acknowledged the recommendation without comment.
Ferelsma was not entirely happy at having a communicator. A few rakutur were born connected with the voitik hive mind, and rakutur could ride. A contingent of them had been trained as communicators for hithik cavalry units. Most were with rakutik units patrolling forest roads, but two had been assigned to the Merrawin base, one of them to him. His rakutu was tall by hithik standards-well over six feet-broad-shouldered and muscular, and trained to weapons from childhood. But more important, he was the general's voice, and Ferelsma distrusted the general's, or any voitu's, knowledge of cavalry warfare.
It was past noon when the first hithik infantry battalion appeared. It bypassed the dwarves, and took a position to the south of them. Over the next two hours, other battalions arrived and completed the closure. Ferelsma and his battalion remained on their prominence, out of crossbow range.
Trumpets called. The hithik crossbowmen cranked and loaded their weapons, and held them ready. Ferelsma watched. Again trumpets called. The crossbowmen fired, sending a curtain of heavy bolts toward the dwarven box. As quickly as they'd fired, they lowered their weapons and cranked them again, bending the steel bows. Again they loaded. Trumpets called, and they fired again.
The dwarves did not answer. They stood sheltered by their large shields, taking what came, glad for the warnings by hithik trumpeters. This continued for half an hour. They'd taken numerous casualties, but their defensive box had not shrunk.
Their shields, Ferelsma told himself, must be remarkably strong. But why hadn't they shot back? Meanwhile the infantry's supply of bolts had to be low. Supply wagons should have come up by then, but hadn't.
"Major!"
It was his communicator. Ferelsma turned to him. "Yes, Sergeant?"
"The general orders you to send a company of your people north, to learn why our supply wagons haven't arrived. I am to go with it. Quickly!"