Wartorn: Resurrection Read Free Page A

had adjusted to the incredible fact. He had a soldier's grim constancy and could adapt himself to
anything.
He was alive again now and planned to exploit the opportunity for as long as possible.
    What was most troubling to him right now was this mage. Matokin had brought him back to life. Matokin, in a sense, owned his life. Dardas was unaccustomed to any status other than that of supreme and uncontested leader.
    He had had little use for mages in his prior life, in fact had only minimal dealings with them. They were few and far between, throwbacks to an age before the Northern and Southern Continents had collapsed into disarray.
    In Dardas's day magicians mostly conducted themselves as healers. He had never really understood them, nor cared enough to educate himself as to the mechanics and limitations of their skills. Such creatures were often shunned. But that, he acknowledged, had been a long time ago, and even quite some physical distance away. This was the Isthmus, which lay between the two great continents. Once, it had been nothing but a trade route. Times, evidently, had changed.
    In contrast to that of his old military career, the force he was commanding now seemed to be crawling with mages, like parasites on a feral dog. In addition to healers, there were also communication mages and transportation mages. These were daunting, he had to admit. Being able to move troops and supplies instantaneously over great distances was, frankly, the ultimate weapon of this Felk army.
    And now they had at last used that weapon, in their latest conquest. U'delph had, almost literally, never seen them coming ... or even if that city's scouts had seen their approach, they could do nothing against an army that was so suddenly and overwhelmingly upon them.
    It was a war of magic. But it was still
war,
Dardas told himself. And war was his craft.
    Inquiries as to where all these magicians had come from were swept aside with vague references to the Academy, a school in the northern city of Felk that Matokin had founded to train those with magic potential for positions in his force.
    What was even worse was that Dardas now had to adapt to having a magician as an immediate superior. Matokin was not only a rising major power figure in these lands of the Isthmus, but one who literally held Dardas's continued life in his hands. Dardas's resurrection, he'd been told, would have to be periodically maintained by rejuvenation spells. Clearly this was a situation he would have to deal with eventually.
    "Lord Weisel?"
    Dardas was suddenly aware that his aide was trying to get his attention. Had been trying, in fact, for some time now. It was one of the annoying sidelights, he'd learned, of living in a host body. Getting used to being hailed by an-other name.
    He fixed the aide with a flinty glare.
    "I'll say this to you once," he said. "We are in the field, not in court. You will address me by my rank, not my title."
    "Yes, Lord ... General."
    "Now, what is it?"
    "I was just wondering, sir, if you would be dining alone or with your officers tonight?"
    Dardas suppressed his annoyance at having his reverie interrupted for such a trivial matter. The junior officer was barely in his twenties and standing duty as aide for the first time tonight, so he couldn't be expected to be familiar with the general's routines or proper protocol.
    "I'll dine alone tonight," he said. "In my pavilion, I think."
    "I'll see to it at once, sir," the aide responded and hurried away, obviously eager to get out from under his commander's scrutiny.
    In spite of himself, Dardas was amused by the youth's discomfort. Among others, he had implemented the policy that officers from various units were to rotate through the position of his personal aide. Partly this was being done so he could familiarize himself with the officers under his command. More important, however, was that it allowed him to dismiss those favored officers who would normally have held the post permanently. They