Evil for Evil (2 page)

He paused, looking for reactions, but they knew him well enough not to give anything away. He took a little breath and continued.

“I’ve decided,” he said, “to evacuate Civitas Vadanis. For what they’re worth, you may as well hear my reasons. First, the
war isn’t going well. The latest reports I’ve seen — Varro, you may have better figures than me on this — put the Mezentine
army at not far off thirty thousand men, not counting engineers, sappers and the baggage train. Now, we can match them for
numbers, but we’d be kidding ourselves if we said we stood any sort of a chance in a pitched battle. So far we’ve avoided
anything more than a few skirmishes; basically, we’ve been able to annoy them with cavalry raids and routine harassment, and
that’s all. It’s fair to say we’ve got the better of them in cavalry and archers, but when it comes to the quality of heavy
infantry needed to win a pitched battle, we’re not in the same league; and that’s not taking any account of their field artillery,
which we all know is their greatest asset.”

He paused to glance down at Orsea, and saw that he was looking down at his feet, too ashamed to lift his head. As well he
might be. Someone else who had trouble thinking straight. He wondered: before they were married, had Orsea ever written her
a letter? He doubted it.

“That rules out a decisive battle in the open field,” Valens went on. “By the same token, I don’t like the idea of staying
here and trying to sit out either an assault or a siege. We still don’t really know what happened at Civitas Eremiae” — here
he looked quickly across at Vaatzes, but as usual there was nothing to see in his face — “and I know some of you reckon it
must have been treachery rather than any stroke of tactical or engineering genius on the Mezentines’ part. The fact remains
that the Mezentines won that round, and Eremiae was supposed to be the best-defended city in the world. We haven’t got anything
like the position or the defenses that Orsea’s people had, so the only way we could hope to win would be through overwhelming
superiority in artillery. At Eremiae, Vaatzes here had to work miracles just to give Orsea parity. I imagine I’m right in
assuming you couldn’t do the same for us.”

Vaatzes considered for a moment before answering.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “With respect, there’s nothing here for me to work with. There were just about enough smiths
and armorers and carpenters at Eremiae to give me a pool of competent skilled workers to draw on; all I had to do was train
them, improvise the plant and machinery and teach them how to build the existing designs. You simply don’t have enough skilled
men here; you don’t have the materials or the tools. You’ve got plenty of money to buy them with, of course, but there’s not
enough time. Also, it’s a safe bet that the Mezentines have been busy improving all their artillery designs since the siege
of Eremiae. I’m a clever man, but I can’t hope to match the joint expertise of the Mezentine ordnance factory. Anything I
could build for you would already be obsolete before the first bolt was loosed.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said,
“but I don’t think I can be much help to you.”

Valens nodded. He knew all that already. “In that case,” he said, “if we can’t chase them away before they get here, and we
can’t hold them off when they come here, I believe our only option is to leave here and go somewhere else. In which case,
the only question we’re left with is, where do we go?”

He paused and looked round, but he knew that nobody was going to say anything; which was what he wanted, of course.

“As I see it,” he went on, “the Mezentines are maintaining a large and very expensive mercenary army in hostile territory.
Thanks to the efforts of Orsea’s people, their lines of supply are painfully long and brittle, and living off the land isn’t
a realistic option. They need to finish this war quickly, before their own political situation gets out of hand. We know we
can’t fight them and win. Seems to me, then, that our best chance lies in not fighting; and the best way of doing that, I
think, would be to keep moving. They can have the city and do what they like with it. We evacuate to the mountains, where
we know the terrain and where their artillery train can’t go. We dodge about, making them follow us until they get careless
and give us a chance to bottle them up in a pass or a river valley. Meanwhile, our cavalry stays on the plains and makes life
difficult for their supply wagons.Possibly we could also make trouble for the army of occupation in Eremia, just to give them
something else to think about. It comes down to this. We can’t beat the Mezentines; neither can Orsea’s people or anybody
else. The only people who can beat the Mezentines are the Mezentines themselves, by losing the will to carry on with this
war. For them, it’s a balance sheet. The point will come where the certain losses will outweigh the potential gains, and the
political opposition will have gained enough strength to overthrow the current government. Our only hope is to hang on till
that point is reached. I think evacuating, avoiding them, making life difficult and costing them money is the best and safest
way of going about it. Furthermore, I don’t think we have an alternative strategy worth serious consideration. If I’m wrong
and I’ve missed something obvious, though, I’d love to hear about it.Anybody?”

He sat down and waited. He had a pretty shrewd idea who’d be first. Sure enough, Orsea got to his feet. As usual, he looked
nervous, as though he wasn’t quite sure whether he was allowed to speak, or whether he needed to ask for permission.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, “I agree with Valens. I think I can honestly say I know the Mezentines better than any of
you. I ought to, after all. It was my stupidity that got us all into this situation in the first place, and as a direct result
of what I did, I’ve had to watch them invade my country, burn my city and massacre my people. If it wasn’t for Valens here,
I’d be dead. Now, because Valens rescued us, you’re facing the same danger. It’s my fault that you’ve got to make this decision,
and all I can say is, I’m sorry. That’s no help, obviously.” He hesitated, and Valens looked away. It pained him to see a
grown man making a fool of himself,particularly someone who was his responsibility. “The point is,” Orsea went on, “we mustn’t
let what happened at Civitas Eremiae happen again here. It’s bad enough having to live with the destruction of my own people.
If it happened to you as well —”

“Orsea,” Valens said quietly, “it’s all right. Sit down.”

Orsea hesitated, then did as he was told. The room was suddenly, completely quiet. I’d better do something, Valens thought.
He looked round the room and picked a face at random.

“Carausius,” he said, “how soon do you think we could be ready?”

Was Carausius smirking slightly? Probably not. He stood up. “It depends on what we want to take with us, obviously,” he replied.
“Assuming you only want the bare minimum — food, clothes, essential military supplies — we could be on the road inside a week.”

Valens smiled. “I don’t think the situation’s as desperate as all that,” he replied. “Let’s say a fortnight.”

Carausius nodded. “In that case,” he said, “the real limitation on what we can take is transport. I had a quick inventory
made of all the available carts, wagons and horses, I’ll see to it you get a copy before the end of today. In a nutshell,
a fortnight’s plenty of time to load up all our available transport capacity. Tell me when you want to leave, and what the
priorities are.”

Valens nodded. “Another thing,” he said, and he fixed his eyes on the back wall, just above head height. “We’re agreed that
one of the best ways of stopping the Mezentines is by being as expensive to kill as we possibly can. We aren’t going to get
very far with that strategy if we let them get their hands on the silver mines.” He felt it as he spoke; a faint shiver, as
though he’d brushed an open cut with his fingertips. “I’m prepared to bet that the war faction in the Guild assembly is selling
this war to the skeptics on the basis that getting control of the mines will not only pay for slaughtering us, it’ll go a
long way toward wiping out the losses incurred in conquering and occupying Eremia. As long as the mines are there and capable
of being worked, they’ve got an incentive. Take that away …” He shrugged. “We need to give the opposition in the Assembly
as much help as we can. So really, we haven’t got any choice in the matter. We’ve got to put the mines out of action, and
we’ve got to do it in such a way that, if they finish the job on us, it won’t be worth their while financially to stick around
and get them up and running again.”

He paused, to give them time to be suitably horrified and angry. To their credit, they hid it well. What he needed now, of
course, was someone to stand up and disagree with him. He waited, but nobody obliged. He had them too well trained.

“Let’s think about it for a moment,” he went on. “It’s a question of the degree of sabotage, and the fundamental difference
between them and us. They’re businessmen. They can only afford to do a thing if it makes money. If the cost of repairing the
damage to the mines is too high, they won’t bother. We don’t have to live by those rules. The silver’s all we’ve got. And
if we wreck the mines, the silver will still be there, until such time as we can rebuild and start mining again. If it takes
us ten years and all our available manpower, so what? We can afford the time and effort, because our time and our work come
cheap. They can’t. But if we leave the mines there for them to take — and let’s face it, we couldn’t defend them against an
assault or a siege, any more than we could defend the city — it’s giving them a reason to keep going, even if we do manage
to hurt them. It’s harsh, I know, but …” He paused again, shook his head and sat down.

This time he got what he’d been hoping for. Licinius, senior partner of the Blue Crown mine, and the nephew of the first man
Valens had ever had put to death. He was frowning as he stood up, as though he was in two minds about raising a matter of
marginal interest.

“I take your point,” he said. “And in principle, I agree. What I’m a bit concerned about is the practicalities. With respect;
it’s all very well to say we should sabotage the mines to the point where the Mezentines can’t get them running again. The
fact is, though, I don’t think it’d be physically possible — not in the time available, with the men and resources we could
spare. We build our mines to last, after all.”

Valens relaxed a little. He couldn’t have asked for a better objection. “You’re the expert, Licinius,” he said, “so obviously
I’m happy to listen to what you’ve got to say. But I think you may be worrying unduly. I’ve read up on this a bit, and I’ve
talked to some engineers who know far more about this stuff than I do.” He noticed Vaatzes out of the corner of his eye, completely
expressionless, like a stone goblin. “As I understand it, what you do is fill the ventilation chambers at the ends of the
primary access tunnels — am I getting the technical terms right? I’m sure you know what I mean — you fill them with nice dry
logs soaked in lamp oil, set a fuse, light it and run. The fire draws its own draft down the ventilation shafts, so you get
a really good heat very quickly; more than enough, at any rate, to burn out all the props in the gallery and cave in not just
the chamber but the tunnels as well. Once that lot’s come down, it’d be quicker to start all over again with new shafts rather
than trying to dig out the mess in the old ones. Which, of course, is what we’ll have to do, when the war’s over and the Mezentines
have all gone home. But we’ve already been into that. As far as what you were saying goes,Licinius, I don’t see that there’s
an insuperable problem.”

All Licinius could do was nod politely to concede the point. Valens nodded back, to show that all was forgiven. He’d been
bluffing, of course. All he knew about the subject was what he’d read in a standard textbook on siege techniques, and the
method he’d described was how they undermined the walls of cities, not the roofs of silver mines. Licinius had just confirmed
that the method would work equally well in the mines, which was good of him, even if he didn’t know he’d done it. Valens made
a mental note to look into the matter in proper detail, when he had the time.

“Right,” he said, “I think we’re all agreed, then. I’m going to have to ask all of you to help out with the planning; I’ll
let you know what I need from you over the next couple of days. Orsea, if you could spare me a moment.”

That was the cue for the rest of them to leave. He could feel their relief, and also their resignation. But it was his job
to make decisions; and if he didn’t, who would?

Orsea stood up. The rest of them left without looking at him, as though he was some kind of monstrosity. Years ago, hadn’t
people believed that if you looked a leper in the eyes, you could catch the disease that way? Maybe they still had the same
belief about humiliation.

“I’m sorry,” Orsea said. “That didn’t come out the way I meant it to.”

Valens shrugged, and perched on the edge of the table. “It’s all right,” he said, “you didn’t do anybody else any harm.”

He could feel the jab go home. It had only been slight, but Orsea felt the least touch these days. Understandably. He had
a lot to feel vulnerable about. “I wanted to explain,” Valens said, in as gentle a voice as he could manage, “why I don’t
want you to come to the council meetings anymore.”

Orsea turned his head and looked at him. The expression on his face was familiar: the deer at bay, with nowhere left to run
to. The difference was, Valens hunted deer because he wanted them; the meat, the hide, the trophy. Hunting was about reducing
a wild thing into possession. He’d never wanted Orsea for anything at all.

“Because I make a fool of myself,” Orsea said. “Understood.”

“No.” Valens sighed. “I was thinking of you, actually. And Veatriz.” He paused. He hadn’t meant to come so close to the truth.
“Look, it’s obvious. It’s tearing you apart, even hearing news about the war. There’s no need for you to put yourself through
that. I’ll see to it you’re kept in the loop, and anything you’ve got to say, about policy, you can say to me direct.” He
stood up and walked across, until he was within arm’s length. “If you want to keep coming to the meetings, then fine. I just
thought you’d prefer not to.”