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Ravelin
Part 8
General Cyril Hawkwin shook his head in amazement. He had read Duncan’s report several times, but now, to hear it again in person, he was still amazed.
“A village?”
Duncan shrugged.
“A grimal village?”
“Maybe not a village in our sense of it, but for them, yes.”
Hawkwin gave his younger friend a sideways glance. “What does that mean, exactly?”
Duncan shrugged again. “I’m not sure, but they now know that we know they’re there.”
“And you’re sure they’ve left for good?”
Duncan shook his head. “Not at all. There was no indication of surrender. It was more like resignation. I don’t think they were expecting us to find them that way. They’ll test us, Cyril, and we always need to be ready. I have no doubt of their ability to cut off Ravelin again if they detect even the slightest weakness. But now, at least, they know that we can set traps, too.”
The general sighed. “I suppose that’ll have to do. I’ll inform the premier that he’ll have to strengthen the garrison from now on.”
“And you’ll need scouts,” added Duncan, “good ones. Scouts who know how to sweep the road for traps. We can’t be sure that we found all of them.”
Hawkwin nodded and took another deep breath. He and Duncan were standing on top of a narrow bridge that spanned the distance between Ravelin’s twin watch towers. From here, one could see the road carve a line north through the rolling forest to the pier at the River Saar, which was now clogged with Duncan’s nine galleasses along with Hawkwin’s transports. Turning around, one looked south into the pass through the Alpas Mountains. It was a grand sight, with looming peaks that remained capped in snow even in the summertime. Duncan had never seen this before and he felt sorry to leave it.
Nearly two weeks had passed since the battle in the forest. Hawkwin had just arrived at Ravelin in force, and Duncan was preparing to return to Valandov with half of his battalion. The other half would remain here under Captain Blaine’s authority until the Federate garrison built up to full strength.
“Don’t be too quick to unpack your bags when you get back,” warned Hawkwin.
“I left my pack in the grimal village,” smirked Duncan.
“Funny,” replied Hawkwin dryly.
“No, really.”
“So you’re telling me you haven’t changed your clothes in two weeks? Jarren will be delighted.”
Duncan cleared his throat. “Yes, well, the spring that supplies the fortress is good for washing...”
“Never mind. Just don’t unpack.”
“Yes, I know.”
Hawkwin looked at him sideways.
“You’re not the only one I report to,” defended Duncan. “My reassignment to Torinn won’t be official for at least three weeks. Someone must have played up our ‘victory’ here. You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?”
Hawkwin turned to him. “No, actually. And you shouldn’t play down your ‘victory’. The accolade is well-deserved. Torinn is far more difficult a post than Valandov. Governor Bernand is very exacting. The Grand-General needs a marshal there who can strategize in the political and military arenas, and with your success here, that makes you the best candidate.”
Duncan groaned. He hated politics. “It wasn’t a real victory,” he muttered. “The enemy’s still out there. They’ll come back. They always do.”
Hawkwin clapped him on the back. “Well, a few weeks from now that won’t be your problem, will it?”
Duncan conceded this. “So who’s problem will it be? Any ideas about who’ll be the next marshal of Valandov Province? Maybe someone they’ll let keep the post for more than a few months?”
Hawkwin ignored the quip. “Your soon-to-be-former first officer is a possible candidate, or so I hear. You think she’s ready?”
Duncan considered this. Blaine had deftly taken command of half a battalion, and done so with success. “She might be. She’s come a long way in the last six months.”
“Sounds like someone else I know,” mumbled Hawkwin.
Duncan glanced at him, but the usual twinkle was gone from the general’s steely eyes. Instead, Duncan saw pride. He turned away, staring out at a mountain scape he was unlikely to see again after he left Ravelin. Torinn was more of a desk job than he had right now. To be sure, there would be a lot of military action, but Torinn was more central, more economically active, and more influential within the Federated States. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, he mused. More desk work meant fewer missions, and fewer missions meant more flexibility for other things.
Jarren...
Duncan looked again at the grizzled warrior standing next to him, a man who had known the marshal since his adoption by Leodore Milius, the recently reelected premier of the Federate. Cyril Hawkwin stood there next to Duncan, his hulking frame leaning in a crenel, admiring the same breathtaking view, and scratching a full beard that had long ago turned grey.
Maybe Cyril’s right, thought Duncan. Maybe it’s time for a change.
Stay tuned for the next chapter…
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