War Games
In the ninth floor war room of the Pagoda of Infinite Strategy, two Exalts watched the Five Mountains Table with hawkish intensity. Tiny blades of grass blew in an Essence-driven breeze, a golden hearthstone hung in the air as if it was the sun and Dragons of miniature men crashed into each in imitative clash of arms. One of the Exalts, Cathak Nekuto, turned to his fellow and said, "It has always been our way to lead men into battle. Why do we watch our forces from here? Should we not at least stand in the field and see them at their maneuvers first hand?"
The other Exalt, Storm of Amber, smiled. "I think Nameless Ravine showed our forces enough of the Solars on the field of war, these past few weeks."
"You poke fun, but you thought the special training was a good idea."
"And I think so still." Storm of Amber shook his head. "But the men have to learn to hold their own. A time will come when my brothers and I will leave them behind, to take our fight to the Mask himself. If they cannot stand together against the dead remaining when that time comes, what then?"
Nekuto smiled a grim smile. "And are the dead more fearsome than is the Dawn?"
"It's different. No matter the power of his anima, they know in their hearts that he won't harm them."
The Dragon Blood raised an eyebrow, but said nothing just then. For long minutes, he but watched the movements of men across the table. Finally, when the golden hearthstone had moved visibly through the air, when the tiny figures moved slower than before, he spoke. "I think you have another reason for running them through these formations."
"I do." Storm walked away from the table, to the wide southwest-facing window. He rested his arm against the heliograph mounted there and cast his eyes to the horizon. Though neither man could see so far, Nekuto knew his lord had his eyes set for Thorns. "I drill the men for the benefit of the Mask's spies."
"So that they will return to their master and report on your tactics, only for you to surprise him with a different book when we face him in the field." Nekuto came to stand next to the Zenith.
"Close. You know that war is a living art. The formations I press the men through today bear little relation to the maneuvers we will use in the field. What the Mask's spies seek to learn for their master is the spirit of our armies' commander, to more easily respond to that spirit's strategic leaps."
"And yet I do not think you would give away the secrets of your spirit so easily."
Storm turned to his loyal retainer and smiled. "The men run through formations that Ma-Ha-Suchi created in the first age. I learned them when I read The Wolf Howls First In Summer. If the Mask learns anyone's spirit, it will be his."
"Ma-Ha-Suchi..." Nekuto scratched his bristly chin as he watched the sun edge nearer the western horizon. "Have you thought more on what Alabaster Sunset said about fighting him directly?"
"Hers is advice from a feral heart. Together, my brothers and I might bring the Lunar down, if he would accept a challenge from a whole circle as fair, but that would leave his horde. When the leader falls, the barbarian thirst for blood remains. They would be too easily roused to war again, and they would come straight for us."
"Led by a younger Lunar, one not born in the First Age. I'm sure you could defeat such as that."
Storm nodded. "Doubtless I could. But the aim of war is an end to fighting; the goal of a soldier to lay down his sword. I would prefer to end this within years rather than be at this battle centuries from now."
Below the two, faint lantern lights sprung up on the near side of the Pagoda's battlements, casting the lake of glass in the image of fire. "And the choice of the terrain?"
"Because I do not move does not mean I am idle. I already know how and where Ma-Ha-Suchi will come at us. When the time comes, you will be there waiting, in my vanguard."
Nekuto clasped his commander's shoulder and smiled. "I knew better than to doubt. I'll go round up the troops and dress them down for the night."
As Nekuto hurried down the stairs, Storm of Amber turned away from the window and back to the Table. Ma-Ha-Suchi's tactics? No, Storm and the Lunar were not alike enough for the Mask to fall prey to that ruse. The Zenith had let a spirit much closer to his own devise the formations the men marched through this week; a spirit whose presence the Mask would feel on the battlefield, allowing Storm's living tactics to take the Deathlord by surprise.
The hearthstone-sun fell to the edge of the Table as the true sun set at last, and the Sweet Voice of Brass and Glory caught it up in her hand as she materialized out of her sanctum. She gave Storm a twisted smile and, wordlessly, the two went down to join their fellows for dinner.
