The Towers of the Sunset - L. E. Modesitt [196]
“But can we afford a war?” asks Lydya, her face pale.
“No,” Hyel says bluntly.
Megaera nods.
“That’s not the question.” Shierra glances from Hyel to Megaera. “Do we have any choice?”
“No.”
“No.”
All six look again at the heavy scroll before Shierra.
Outside, the rain begins to fall . . . again.
CXXXVI
“NOW THAT EVERYONE has finally agreed, what strategy would you suggest, cynical one?” Hartor fingers the amulet he wears, looking toward the clear, blue-green fall sky outside the white tower. “Keeping in mind that you will be taking personal charge of it.”
Gyretis frowns. “Personal charge?”
“The strategy first,” snaps Hartor.
The thin wizard swallows before he speaks. “Make one fleet obvious. Call it the vengeance fleet. Put our best vessels there. Then scatter the others into smaller groups—squadrons, whatever they’re called—and have a White with each to conceal them.”
Hartor fingers the amulet. “So we dispatch the vengeance fleet—we’ll have to think of a better name than that—but more slowly, so that Creslin and his lady are focusing on it.”
“Exactly.”
“But how do you get anyone to attack Creslin personally?” ponders the High Wizard.
“Who says they have to?” Gyretis smiles. “If he has no troops left, does it matter?”
“It might work. I never liked the idea of going head to head with him.” Hartor nods. “If our troops are with the vengeance fleet—let’s call it the liberation fleet—and if he does manage to find and destroy the others . . .”
This time Gyretis nods. “We’ll still be able to help our allies recover.”
“I like that . . . helping them recover.” Hartor glances toward the tower window. “This part of the strategy stays here, in this room. We’ll let it be known that we’re taking the risks by spearheading the obvious and great liberation fleet.” A broad smile crosses his lips. “And you, of course, will show our faith in the success of this plan by accompanying one of the smaller fleets of our devoted allies.”
“Is that really necessary?” Gyretis swallows again.
“It is your plan, and I do believe that you should be there to ensure its success. Or do you wish to reconsider your strategy?”
“Only the advisability of my being away from Fairhaven.” Gyretis’s eyes flicker toward the window, then back to the cold smile of the High Wizard.
“Under the circumstances, it might be best if you were with the fleets.”
“Best for you?”
Fires dance at Hartor’s fingertips. “You lack the proper respect, dear Gyretis. We’ll discuss that respect after you return . . . or would you rather deal with it now?”
Gyretis stands. “I’d better see about transportation.” He includes his head. “By your leave?”
Hartor nods.
The thin wizard stops in the half-open door. “I take it that Ryedel will be advising you?”
“Of course. He does have, at least, the proper respect.”
CXXXVII
CRESUN LOOKS FROM the terrace southward, noting the heat waves on the horizon and pondering their origin, for while the morning promises that the day will be warm, the raw heat of summer has long since passed. Could it be the great White fleet that has so recently left Lydiar?
“What is it?” asks Megaera.
“There’s something out there.” He casts his thoughts to the south . . . and swallows as he recognizes the ships behind their visual shield. He tries to be careful, tries not to let his thoughts touch the shield before he withdraws.
“Ships. They’re armed. See if you can find any more of them farther south. Don’t let them sense you.” His mouth tight, he casts himself to the winds.
Another small fleet lies less than twenty kays north of Land’s End, and a third, behind the same kind of shield, beats upwind yet a dozen kays farther south along the eastern shore.
“There are nine ships, including a three-masted one, coming in toward the western beaches, the ones that link up with the valley,” Megaera observes.
“They’re not quite close enough—”
“It won’t be long—”
They both hasten toward their rooms, and their blades.
How long it takes for them to dress and arm, Creslin does not know, but the nearest ships have scarcely moved from