It would have done better, had it been in Link’s power, to have interrogated a Persian survivor of the battle of Mindouos. The man named Baresmanas.
But, perhaps not. Link would not have asked the right questions. And Baresmanas would certainly not have volunteered the information, not even under the knife.
But he could have. He could have. He could have warned the Malwa superbeing that mercy can have its own sharp point. Keener than any lance or blade; and even deadlier to the foe.
Chapter 37
“Finally,” hissed Belisarius.
The general was practically dancing with impatience, waiting for his horse to be brought up to the artillery tower where he had made his headquarters for the past week.
He was already in full armor. He had begun donning the gear the moment he heard the first katyusha volleys. As he had predicted, the Malwa were attempting to cross the Nehar Malka on a pontoon bridge. He was convinced that the maneuver was a feint, but, like all well-executed diversions, it carried real substance behind it. Thousands of Malwa troops were involved in the crossing, supported by most of their rocket troughs. By now, an hour into the battle, the scene to the east was a flashing cacophony. Katyusha rockets crossed trails with Malwa missiles. The Syrian soldiers on the rockpile added their own volleys of fire-arrows, aimed at the boats on the canal. The Nehar Malka was lit up by those flaming ships.
In the darkness ahead, he could make out the looming shape of his horse. Maurice, he realized, was the man holding it.
“How long ago?” were his first words.
He could barely make out Maurice’s shrug.
“Who’s to know? The Persians are being damned quiet. Much quieter than I would have expected, from a lot of headstrong dehgans. But Abbu’s scouts report that they’ve already moved out at least half of their forces. Due west, into the desert.”
Sourly: “Just as you predicted.”
Belisarius nodded. “We’ve some time, then. Is Abbu—”
Maurice snorted. “Be serious! Of course he’s in pos-ition. The old Arab goat’s even twitchier than you are.”
As Anastasius heaved him into the saddle, Belisarius grunted. “I am not twitchy. Simply eager to close with the foe.”
” ‘Close with the foe,’ ” mimicked Maurice, clambering onto his own mount. “My, aren’t we flowery tonight?”
Securely in his saddle, Belisarius grinned. It was obvious that the prospect of action—finally!—had completely restored his spirits.
“Let’s to it, Maurice. I do believe the time has come to reacquaint the Malwa with the First Law of Battle.”
He tugged on the reins, turning his horse.
“The enemy has arrived. And I intend to fuck them up completely.”
“What?” he demanded.
Maurice took a breath. “You heard me. Abbu’s courier reports that they’re sending the Kushans across first. On foot, all of them. They even dismounted the Kushan cavalry. They’ve got their Ye-tai battalions massed on the bank, mounted, but they aren’t crossing yet. Behind them, Abbu thinks they’re forming up kshatriya and Malwa regulars, but he’s not sure. He can’t get close enough.”
Belisarius turned and stared into the darkness, raising himself up in the stirrups in order to peer over the wall. He was on the road at the eastern end of the dam, just behind the front fortifications. For a moment, he plucked at his telescope, but left off the motion almost as soon as it started. He already knew that the device was no help. It was a moonless night, and the Malwa crossing the almost-empty riverbed were a mile south of the dam. He could see nothing, not even with his Aide-enhanced vision.
“Kushans first, and without horses,” he murmured. “That makes no sense at all.”
He scratched his chin. “Unless—”
“Unless what?” hissed Maurice.
Scratched his chin. “Unless that thing is even smarter than I thought.”
Maurice shook his head. “Stop being so damn clever! Maybe they want to make sure they don’t make any noise crossing the Euphrates. Kushans on foot will be as silent as any army could be.”
Belisarius nodded, slowly.
“That’s possible. It’s even possible that they made arrangements with Ormazd to have horses left for them. Still—”
A little noise drew their attention. An Arab courier was trotting toward them from the western end of the dam.