Chapter 114: Intervention

Chapter 114: Intervention

For powerful men, the dilemma of leadership presents itself thus: without a strong hand, events proceed in undesirable directions; with too strong a hand, delegation becomes impossible. The usual resolution is to pick ones battles - to take personal charge of the most crucial tasks while letting subordinates handle less important matters.

This is a false solution to the problem, however. By creating a distinction of importance, a leader tells his men that there are scenarios which they are not qualified to address. Protective subordination is, in itself, a limiting action. It is often done with the best of intentions, so that men may grow at a measured pace with limited exposure to risk.

However, men do not grow as they must when they know a higher authority is sheltering them from ultimate consequence. A leaders role is not to think for his men, nor act for them, nor take blows in their stead. Attachment tells us that we must protect a man from harm - but in doing so, you have killed the best version of him already.

- Saleh Taskin, On Reclamation, 687

The shells came again not long after dark, ripping the darkness apart with their radiant thunder. Michaels loss of sleep had been grating on him. Usually he hated the period of lonely solitude enforced upon him each night, to remind him that he wasnt who he used to be. Today, though, he was alert, awake, and grateful for it. Some of the others were already showing signs of stress; most hadnt had Sobriquets foresight to sleep mid-day.

Rested or not, everyone was awake now. The concussions fell around them, concentrating in a few areas that Michael had deemed safe. In typical Safid style, nobody had bothered to coordinate with him about the redirected shellbursts, or even to confirm that he was responsible for their uncommon good fortune. They simply noted the areas where shells fell and avoided them, shifting sandbags for better cover.

Men had come too, though only a few of them. The worst-off of the Ardan troops came in small squads, the ones already-wounded or reeling from disease. None of them made it far before being shot, but there was a measured, probing quality to their deployment that told Michael that none of them were meant to. The robust defenses in this line were being assessed and cataloged, prodded to see how they would react.

Sera, he murmured. How much of the line can you veil? Not to hide it, but to confuse anyone trying to watch their responses.

You say anyone as if youre not talking about one person in particular, she muttered. Against Sibyl it would be - challenging to do anything meaningful on such a large scale.

Michael nodded. I suppose it doesnt matter much. She can learn all she wants about the Safid, but theyre hardly going to be dislodged by a few well-placed artillery shots and half-dead men. If she wants to advance, this fortification demands a commitment of resources. Amira alone could hold the line against everything weve seen thus far.

If she were here. Sobriquet scowled, looking out at the lines. I certainly havent seen her around. Does she mean to test you by leaving you alone against the advance?

Michael shrugged, his eyes coming up at the sound of shells. Directing the occasional round aside was nearly automatic at this point, as practiced as bending a path through a forest. For all we know, shes the reason were not being seriously pressed. She could have spent all morning running through the opposing camp, kicking soldiers south across the mountains.

That does sound like her. I never thought of myself as a woman with military sensibilities, but the idea of a commander being absent from the battlefield while their men fight seems wrong. She shook her head. Safid.

Safid, Michael agreed. I assume shell show up when the Ardans decide to move in earnest.

Michael grunted his assent. Outside, the shelling had stopped once more, but the crack of rifle fire continued unabated. He sent his sight upward and found a larger group of Ardans clustered behind a nearby ridge, firing from the protected position. The Safid moved to respond, shifting troops left and right in the forward trenches to get a better angle on their attackers. Lucigentes tapped their heat sinks, and a swathe of the battleground burst into vibrant light.

A second group opened fire from another spot further down, then a third. Michael frowned, peering closer. Sofias gaze was harder to spot if it was not focused directly on him, but he thought he sensed the faintest hint of it - trained squarely on the Safid trenches. The artillery resumed a moment later, forcing him to pull his attention away.

Youre making a face, Sobriquet noted.

Michael nodded, watching the shells come in. Its the same pattern, but larger, he muttered. Probing, testing. Shes seen the Safid react to attacks, and now shes applying them precisely, at specific spots. He paused; another volley demanded a sliver of his attention. The volume of incoming fire shifted, and the Safid moved to respond-

Shit, shes herding them, Michael realized. Shes seen how the Safid work, how they respond to threats, and shes shifting them where she wants them. He turned to Sobriquet, pulling his sight back. Can you-

He broke off; the artillery had intensified once more. The shells came closer together, in larger groups. Their trajectories varied; some had been fired on high arcs, others on lower paths. All arrived at the same time. Michael had to tear his focus from the battle to ensure he guided them all where they were meant to go, a task that was becoming increasingly complex with each passing moment-

Shes giving them good firing positions so they cluster together, which makes them vulnerable to artillery; shes using the artillery to keep you busy, Sobriquet said, sounding unimpressed. Which seems to be working. One moment.

Her eyes closed; Michael saw a flurry of motion near one of the Ardan positions. The twenty or so men that had been attacking from there fell silent. A moment later the same happened behind the large ridge.

There, she said, sounding satisfied. Lets see how our hateful little dilettante likes that. Now she cant - oops.

Oops? Michael asked. Outside, the noise of rifle fire intensified. He looked outside once more to see the field to their south suddenly swarming with men.

Now she cant pick us apart, Sobriquet said ruefully. I neglected to think about what her next choice would be if I ruined her ever-so-masterful strategy. She closed her eyes, grimacing. Theres a lot of men out there. A lot. Shes moved back to throwing bodies at us until something breaks.

The rhythmic crack of a machine gun started from one of the pillboxes, bullets scything across the advancing force. They were heavy, unwieldy contraptions compared to the Mendiko equivalent, but they did their job all the same. Men fell in droves, and the few stragglers that leaked through were addressed by scalptors.

Lars was at work among them, fighting from a nearby pillbox. His face was grim and drawn, dark bags under his eyes from lack of sleep. It lent him a fearsome aspect, with no trace of his foppish charm left amid the quick, purposeful twitches of his fingers. His eyes flitted between doomed men as they entered the light, working quickly.

But those men streamed forward still. Some paused behind the fresh corpse bulwarks to fire at the trenches. Safid soldiers fell. One of the machine guns jammed, its barrel glowing bright red; a Safid officer popped up beside it to pass his hand over the weapon. Steel groaned, the glow faded, and a narrow lance of light shot out from the officers hand to cut through the front ranks of the Ardans. Corpses sizzled and burned. A small fire caught among the bloodied uniforms, spreading quickly to those that had fallen near.

The Ardans advanced through the smoke, staring ahead with the wide, panicked eyes Michael knew all too well. Some of these men were fresher recruits, not the old fodder that had been dragged around by obruors since the end of the Daressan campaign. They still peered out from within their fleshy prisons, uncomprehending, their feet moving forward by rote, tearful eyes sighting down their rifles.

These men did not deserve to die. Some of them might yet be saved. But any intricate winnowing of the survivors would take time, and their numbers were swelling in the darkness and corpse-smoke. The cost for delay would be in Safid lives. Michael felt a moment approaching in the confusing weave of paths. It was a moment for choice, to decide who lived and died.

That decision was rapidly falling to the whim of chance as the two sides chewed at each other in the darkness. Michael only contemplated standing aside for a moment; watching bullets tear through a group of young men in the nearby pillbox spurred him to action.

He stood up. Im going out, he said.

Sobriquet nodded. Ill keep my eyes open.

No more words were necessary. Michael strode outside, smelling the sharp tang of gunsmoke in winter air. Shots echoed from the buildings around him, sharp and clear; everything was vibrant to his eyes. Details hung written in flame and blood and muzzle flash.

He took a breath of the acrid air and looked at the world with different eyes, seeing past the fracas to the golden glow of possibility. There was a weave and flow to the fighting, and he let it pass through him quietly for the space of a few breaths.

Then he grasped it lightly with his will and began to speak.

Ardan soldiers, he murmured. The lattice jumped at his invocation, shining brightly where the soldiers pushed forward. You shall fight no more. None of you may pass by where I stand.

Michael watched the light flood outward from him, tracing along the filigree of the world until every wirework soldier shone against the darkness. Forms of men, more men than he had ever faced before - and he could not pretend that they were all beyond hope. He tried not to view them as a faceless mass; each was a person, or fragments of what used to be a person. Those people would end with him.

Do not hide behind euphemism, Jeorgs voice chided in his mind. Speak honestly. If you cant bear to say what youve done-

He grit his teeth, correcting himself, deciding with firm, deliberate intent. Not from necessity, nor from panic, nor any of the hundred other rationalizations that had let him flinch away from the truth in past battles. He would impose his will on the world, and so these men would die.

At the acknowledgment of what he sought to do, the scale of the task pressed in on him from all sides. It was a crushing pressure, adamant and scornful against one mans whim. Except - he was not one man alone. Low souls flared within him, wreathed in a flame that burnt away impossibilities. Clair, Charles, Voss, Leire-

Could you do it? Leires voice came next, haughty and disdainful. Even Jeorg shied away from Stanzas true potential in war. With your soul pressed against their dying flesh, listening to their hearts falter-

Michael did not push back against the words. He was about to inflict fresh horror on a night that had already seen more than its share. The enormity of so many deaths shuddered through him, a terrible force that he could not deny - so he did not. He relaxed, and let that fell purpose resonate through him until there was only the pure note of his will, ringing out to encompass every Ardan soldier in the line.

He raised his head and spoke.

A mortal prison binds you to this war.

It shall burn away at my command.

Seems that way. Sobriquet got up from her seat. Theyre still far off, but they started moving with the latest round of shelling. And if I can sense them this far away-

Ensouled, Michael muttered, looking disconsolately down at his plate. Well, shit.

The sky had lost its inky blackness, shading into the rosy glow of dawn. Michael watched light flood over the highlands, adding color and contour to the terrain. No sign of the Ardans had appeared, though Sobriquet swore that they were close.

All sorts, she said. And from what Im seeing, more than a few fortimentes. Itll be hard to lean on tricks of the soul to drive these ones off.

Zabala made a disgusted noise. Idiotic doctrine, he scoffed. Fortimentes make good troops of anyone; they should have been in the lines from the first assault.

Youre not thinking like an Ardan. Sobriquet gave him a reproachful look. Presume that the lives of your common soldiery are worth less than cow shit to you - in Lucs case, hes actively trying to kill them off.

Hes trying to kill the Safid too; youd think hed spend his resources more wisely. Zabala shook his head. Its offensive.

Its a war, there tends to be some offense, she remarked, turning back to the empty field in front of them. Now that things have risen beyond the abilities of their fodder, or perhaps theyre finally running low on those - well see what their real tactics look like. Everything up until now was simply a horrid little girl tormenting an anthill, and throwing a tantrum when the ants dared to resist.

Michael squinted. You dropped your veil when you said that.

Because I intended the statement to be heard. Sobriquet made a rude gesture towards nothing in particular. Obviously. Its one of the only bright spots of having an all-knowing adversary.

The veil went back up, and Michael chuckled. How much longer do you think before they make contact?

Sobriquet shook her head. Hard to say, theyre beginning to hide themselves as they draw closer. Not long now. Depends on how many men they want to mass up before they attack.

A span of tense silence passed as the sky continued to brighten. The Safid soldiers were much less sanguine about the coming fight than Michaels men, their eyes fixed on the line - but when they looked elsewhere, Michael found that more than a few looked his way.

He kept his eyes forward and tried not to stare back overmuch. A few times he thought he saw distortion from a Fades veil, but the morning light and adrenaline had joined forces to play tricks on his eyes.

As the first touches of real sunlight began to play over the mountains, Sobriquet sat upright. Theyre here, she said. Three groups, mostly east of us. She closed her eyes, and Michael saw small distortions flicker in the air near the Safid trenches, her voice echoing out from a dozen pockets of air to point men towards where the danger lay. Soldiers genuflected to the disembodied voice, then turned to face the places she had indicated - right as the air burst with noise and color.

Thin beams of light slashed across the Safid lines; Michaels heart raced when he saw the first one, but he realized quickly that they stemmed from mundane lucigentes rather than Luc himself. The Safid took cover and fired back, but their bullets were mostly ineffective against the cadre of fortimentes spread across the line, and the potentes charging out ahead.

Darkness blossomed here and there, followed by quick bursts of flame that raced out over the low grasses. Less showy, but far more deadly, were the whisper-quiet blades that sprang out between the columns of charging potentes. In the few spots where the Ardan line was clearly visible, Michael saw a plenitude of black uniforms - Swordsmen.

The Safid line of fire faltered, surprised and dismayed against the fury the Ardans had arrayed against them. Machine guns began their work, but encountered fortimentes, or slow, shining slabs of metal being artificed forward to form redoubts. There were souls on the Safid side too, mostly scalptors, but the smaller Ardan force had them outnumbered in that respect by far.

Zer arraio, Zabala spat, stretching his soul to encompass their group. I thought I was prepared for anything, but I hadnt expected competence. A few bullets whirred by overhead; a blast from a lucigens scorched across the pillbox beside them. This may actually be a problem.

One well have to contend with, Michael said, moving to walk forward. Lets go.

Why? Amira asked.

Zabala cursed and jolted aside, surprised; she had walked up whisper-quiet behind them. Judging by Sobriquets equally-startled reaction, she had also done so very quickly. Michael managed to make his startlement slightly more dignified, pivoting smoothly to face the slight, smiling woman behind them.

Amira, he said, inclining his head. I thought thats what we were here for? To fight the Ardans?

She blinked once, slowly, her smile growing. We are tested, she said. And must contend with those tests.

Right. Michael pursed his lips. And doesnt that mean fighting the Ardans?

Amira nodded, walking slowly amid their group; Zabala shied away as if watching some venomous snake; Richter only managed to stare, dumbfounded. Certainly it means that the Ardans should be fought, she said. But this is not a test for you, nor I. Intervening as you did last night deprives the men of their test, for no benefit to us.

So you were here, after all, Michael said, his voice carrying a bit more accusation than he had intended.

Of course. Amira spun lazily and began to walk back the other direction, weaving her steps. I was waiting for my own test, though it did not come. At least I wasnt alone in my deprivation. She smiled toothily at Michael. You saw to that.

I saw to the lives of your men, Michael retorted. So that they werent deprived of those while they waited for their damned test.

And few did die, to your credit, but perhaps more were meant to. Those that survived would have been better prepared to face today. Amira gestured to the front, which had only intensified in its fury while they spoke; fires raged in the space between, and the cries of men echoed from the trenches. The fear was palpable in the air, a sharp distraction hovering just out of Michaels sight.

He glowered at her, finding that her manner was a poor match for his current mood. None of those men were meant to die, Michael said. That any did, on either side, only serves Lucs aims. Depriving him of his tools and blunting their attack into Saf is all we should be focused on. We dont have time for your games.

Amiras smile never faded from her face, but her eyes settled on Michaels with uncommon focus. Games? she said, enunciating the word with slow, precise care. Im charged with the care of my people. That means guiding them down their path, whatever form it may take.

Michael forced himself to meet her eyes. And I am charged with preventing a madman from tearing apart the world to assuage his fear, he said. That means working to subvert his goals, whatever form they may take.

The two held eye contact for a long, lingering moment, in which Michaels heart pounded; he felt Sobriquet slink away to his side, and the other men took their cue to gain distance from Amira. For her part, she took one step closer to Michael - and then another.

That was real conviction, she murmured, her smile fading into something more coy. Is that the Caller that I hear?

Its the man whos going to go out there regardless, Michael retorted. Against Luc, I will be who I must be. He glared at her for a moment more, then turned and stalked away towards the fighting.

He had scarcely made it a handful of steps before Amira clapped her hands together behind him, the report of their impact as loud as any shellburst. The noise echoed sharply from the concrete around them, rebounding in staggered chorus from the ridges and hills.

Where it passed, Michael felt an iron solidity stretch out. The air stilled. The tormented stalks of grass remaining on the field stopped swaying, the wisps of smoke drifting across the field freezing into slow curls that hung motionless.

Through the tableau, Amira walked slowly forward.

I am the Shield. I am She who Stands, she said. Each step she took shivered the soil; her words struck the air like a drumhead. My soul is like yours, in that respect. Caller, do you see your path in this battle?

The question hung in the air between them. Her eyes bored into him, all trace of playfulness gone; her bearing was electric with deadly intent.

Michael nodded slowly. Yes, he said.

I hear your words. She gave a feral grin, and Michael felt the pulse of her soul lash out, grasping the nearest lines of men in adamant. Bullets skipped away from flesh; Ardan potentes left no mark with their blows.

A surge of eager emotion came from the Safid trenches as they realized what was happening. Men stood and began to fire openly at the Ardans, abandoning their cover and pushing forward.

Michael looked back at Amira, impressed, but her eyes were fixed on the battle, wide, excited. This is right, she breathed. Oh, this is right. This is holy. I must - must- She shivered delightedly and dashed forward, spraying rock and soil in her wake; the wind rushed fitfully with the force of her sudden departure.

Zabala walked up behind Michael, watching her small, blurred form streak towards the Ardan lines. I had no idea you were such a persuasive speaker, he said.

Michael licked his lips; his mouth felt suddenly dry. Neither did I.