The battle of Muros was a short, ugly one. The Asturian generals had been sublimely overconfident as a result of the supposed cowardice of my army, and all they expected was a leisurely stroll from the River Camaar to the city with little if any resistance. So it was that they marched blithely into the fire I’d set to greet them. To make matters even worse for them, their soldiers weren’t accustomed to fighting on open ground. Asturia’s one large forest, and Muros stands on an unforested plain. My generals had been trained by Ontrose, so they not only knew how to fight in the woods, but also how to fight in the open. The Asturians didn’t realize that they’d been encircled until they were suddenly assaulted from all sides at once. It was not so much a battle as it was a slaughter. What few Asturians escaped fled back across the River Camaar – where the bands of Wacite patriots were waiting for them.
I took some satisfaction in the knowledge that the army that had destroyed Vo Wacune and killed my beloved Ontrose was annihilated on that frosty autumn afternoon. That was the first part of my revenge.
The second part came somewhat later.
After our victory at Muros, Wacite refugees began streaming across the border, and I was a bit hard-pressed to find places to lodge them and supplies enough to feed them. Malon served as my eyes and ears – and hands – so he was a very busy man throughout that winter. We built new villages – mostly on my own estates – and my storehouses provided food. The conditions and diet were hardly luxurious, but my new subjects got through the winter. Malon had predicted that Wacite refugees of a suitable age would be eager to join my army, and he wasn’t far off the mark on that score. I instructed Halbren to enlist them in new battalions led by former officers in the Wacite army. Those officers took on the chore of training the new recruits, and that left Halbren and my other generals free to defend the southern border.
Though I was still more or less confined to mother’s cottage by my father’s continued surveillance, Malon and I were growing more and more adept at our peculiar form of communication. When we’d set up the southern army headquarters in Muros, I actually had done a few things to our ‘enchanted room’ to make it possible for a selected few to also use it to communicate directly with me – just in case. I’m certain that father or one of the twins hiding nearby to watch me were convinced that I’d been rendered insensible by what had happened at Vo Wacune, but actually the blank look on my face was usually an indication that I was deep in conversation with Malon or one of my generals.
The Wacite patriots across the River Camaar continued to ambush and murder Asturians, of course, but far more importantly, they also passed word to us of Asturian troop movements and military buildups. I probably knew more about the location and condition of Garteon’s army than he did. My real advantage, though, was strategic. I chose not to follow up my victory in the battle of Muros by invading Asturia or the former Wacune. There was no real need for me to do that, since I was getting everything I wanted without raising a finger. The mass migration of Wacite refugees across the river was effectively depopulating northern Wacune, and without serfs to work the land, Garteon’s conquest hadn’t gained him a single thing. All he had to show for his enormous expenditure were empty forests and weed-choked, unplowed fields. My Wacite spies kept me informed about Asturian troop concentrations, so every time Garteon tried to make another river crossing, I was ready for him. It wasn’t long until Asturian soldiers – and eventually Garteon’s generals – began muttering about ‘witchcraft’ and other absurdities, and that worked to my advantage as well. After my forces had easily repulsed a few tentative attempts to cross the river, the Asturians became convinced that ‘the witch-woman of Muros’ knew their inmost thoughts, and a sudden epidemic of timidity broke out in the Asturian ranks. I’m fairly certain that Garteon’s tame Grolim knew better, but for some reason he wasn’t able to convince the Asturian army that I couldn’t turn them all into toads with a wave of my hand. The legend of ‘Polgara the Sorceress’ was too deeply ingrained in the Arendish consciousness to be dispelled by simple scoffing.
Then we had a stroke of luck. Had Garteon and his Grolim remained in Vo Astur, there’d have been no way for us to get at them, but finally Garteon absolutely had to go have a look at what his army had done to Vo Wacune. Gloating about a triumph is probably very natural, but it can be terribly dangerous sometimes. It was about a year after the battle of Muros, in the autumn of 2944, that the Duke of Asturia and his Angarak friend left Vo Astur – alone, if you can believe that – and traveled to the ruins of my beloved city.
Malon Killaneson had always religiously passed all information on to me just as soon as it fell into his hands, but this time he didn’t. He disappeared instead. I was more than a little startled – frantic would be a better word – when General Halbren’s voice broke in on my harvesting of my garden to advise me that Malon was nowhere to be found.
Horrid visions of Asturian assassins flooded my mind even as I went falcon and almost tore off my wings getting to Muros. Malon was the one indispensable man in my entire duchy.
The first thing I did upon my arrival was to order General Halbren to have his soldiers turn Muros upside down and shake it until everything fell out. All manner of interesting – and illegal – things came to light, but there was no sign of Malon.
As I mentioned before, General Halbren was a blocky professional soldier who’d been second in command of my army. His overall attitude was far more Sendarian than it was Wacite. He was solid, dependable, and almost totally unflappable. His very presence calmed me, and I was in great need of calming just then. ‘Malon’s simply not here, your Grace,’ he reported to me on the morning after his soldiers had torn Muros apart. ‘No one’s seen him since the day before yesterday. He had a meeting in that office of his with a group of Wacite patriots. After they left, he stayed in his office until almost midnight, and then he left the building. I’m certain of the time, because I questioned the man who was on guard at the main entrance personally. Malon’s lodgings are at an inn two streets over, and his rooms showed some evidence of a hasty departure.’
‘I think we can rule out an assassination then, General,’ I said. ‘Assassins rarely take the trouble to carry off the body after they’ve finished.’
‘True, your Grace.’