“At that point, a Nithling sentry hidden in the grass sounded an alarm. I must confess we were surprised by the presence of a sentry and by the swift response, as a hidden force immediately emerged from the banks of the river. We were pursued back to the Cleargate and only just managed to get back in through the sally port without suffering casualties.
“End of report, sir!”
Nage stared at him for a moment as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Finally, he blinked several times and spoke.
“This is very disturbing! And it obviously changes things. We cannot open all four gates with such a host of Nithlings waiting to attack!”
“Are you intending to disobey direct orders from Sir Thursday?” asked Pravuil lazily. He tapped the palm of his left hand with his swagger stick, small purple sparks crawling out of the stick and spilling over his fingers. “You should know that I will have to relieve you of your command if that is the case.”
“No… no,” said Nage. He looked at his watch. “We still have time. I will call General Lepter.”
The colonel retreated to his desk and opened a drawer. There were half a dozen small lead figures inside, model soldiers, each painted in different uniforms of the Army of the Architect. Nage selected a figure wearing the long-plumed helmet and gilded cuirass of a legate of the Legion, a rank equal to general in the other commands of the Glorious Army of the Architect.
Nage put this model soldier into a small ivory stand that looked like a dry inkwell. As the figure connected with the stand, its edges blurred for a second before it became a tiny duplicate of the real, living, breathing legate. This little soldier looked up at Nage and spoke, her voice sharp and penetrating, as if she were in the room and life- sized, not four inches tall.
“What is it, Nage?” Nage clashed his cuirass with his bracer before speaking.
“I have received a change to my Ephemeris from GHQ, delivered by a Major Pravuil. It calls for all four gates to be opened for twelve hours. But we have sighted an organised force of disciplined Nithlings waiting in the transient region, numbering at least 200,000.”
“And your question is?”
“I wish to be entirely sure that the change to my Ephemeris is authentic and not some exceptional Nithling trick.”
“Major Pravuil is known to me,” said Lepter. “He is one of a number of couriers delivering changes to all officer Ephemerides. Sir Thursday wishes to test the Army as it has not been tested for millennia.”
“In that case, I request urgent reinforcements,” said Nage. “I am not confident I can hold the fort with the current understrength garrison if the Nithling force attempts an assault.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Nage,” said Lepter. “Those Nithlings might look organised, but as soon as they’re through the tunnel they’ll go wild. A dozen tiles with abundant wildlife were moved last night opposite the Goldgate. The Nithlings will go hunting as they always do, and the tiles will move them away at nightfall and separate their forces. Tectonic strategy, Nage! I’ll talk to you later.”
The little legate froze and was a lead figure again. Nage plucked it out of the stand and threw it back in the drawer.
“The matter seems straightforward, Colonel,” said Pravuil. “Hadn’t you best issue your orders for all four gates to open?”
Nage ignored him. Going to a slender walnut- veneer cabinet that stood against the wall, he opened its glass door and slid out a shelf that had a telephone perched on it. Picking up the earpiece, he spoke into the receiver.
“Get me Thursday’s Noon. Urgent military business.”
There was a crackling whisper from the phone.
“Colonel Nage at the Boundary Fort.”
There were more crackling whispers then a booming voice filled the whole room.
“Marshal Noon here! Nage, is it? What do you want?”
Nage quickly repeated what he’d said to General Lepter. Before he could finish, Noon’s strident voice cut him off.
“You have your orders, Nage! Follow them and don’t go outside your chain of command again! Put Pravuil on the line.”
Nage stepped back, letting the earpiece of the phone hang down. Pravuil slid past him and picked it up. This time, Noon’s voice did not fill the room. He spoke quietly to Pravuil for a minute. Pravuil whispered back, then there was a very loud click as the major hung up the phone.
“I am to return to the Citadel at once,” said Pravuil. “You are ready to fulfil your orders, Colonel?”
“I am,” confirmed Nage. He took out his watch and looked at it again. “The Nithlings will not take long to get through the tunnel, Major. You may not get clear.”
“I have two mounts waiting,” said Pravuil. He tapped the Ephemeris in its canvas pouch at his side. “And there is a tile six miles away that will take me halfway to the Citadel at dusk.”
“Go then,” said Nage, not attempting to hide his disdain for an officer leaving imminent battle. He waited until Pravuil had left his office then snapped a series of commands at Lieutenant Corbie and the orderly who stepped in from outside.
“Corbie! Assemble your men and leave the fort immediately. You are to harass and skirmish with the enemy as they leave the Goldgate and attempt to lure them out on to those wildlife-heavy tiles, away from the fort. Do you have communication figures for anyone outside the fort?”
“I only have my immediate superior, Captain Ferouk. He’s at the White Keep, not GHQ.”
Nage rummaged in the drawer of his desk and handed him two lead soldiers, one in a bright scarlet uniform, the other in a subdued blue. The scarlet-clad figure had a tall hat adorned with feathers; the blue-uniformed one wore a flat leather cap.
“Friends of mine. Colonel Repton of the Regiment and Major Scaratt of the Artillery. Both are at GHQ and may be able to help you if everything goes as badly as I suspect it may. Now get going!”
Corbie saluted, spun on his heel and marched away. The orderly stepped forward as the Borderer left. He had a long trumpet by his side, a bronze instrument at least four feet long.
“Sound the general alert,” said Nage. “And officer assembly.”
The orderly raised the trumpet to his lips, pointing it at the wall. His cheeks puffed up and he blew, but no sound came from the trumpet’s bell. It wasn’t until a second later that its peal reached in from outside, echoing here as it echoed in all parts of the fort, no matter how distant.
The trumpeter blew two different calls twice. When the last peals faded, he lowered his instrument and stood at attention.
“How long have we served together, Hopell?” asked Nage.
“Eight thousand four hundred and twenty-six years, sir,” said Hopell. “That’s time in the Legion. Not counting recruit school.”
“How many of our recruit class still live?”
“All but six, I think. Ropresh came good from that Nothing wound in the end, so he doesn’t count. Light duties only of course, with his leg melted off—”
“Do you think we will fight as well knowing that there is a much greater chance than usual that we will get killed?”
“What do you mean, sir?” asked Hopell. “We are legionaries of the Glorious Army of the House. We are prepared to die if we must.”
“Are we?” Nage didn’t sound so sure. “We’re prepared to get hurt certainly, but not many of us get killed – and we always win. I fear