have basked in—"the whole thing went pretty much exactly the way Father predicted. I was surprised, to tell you the truth. I thought . . ."
He let the disrespectful notion trail off. Even—a rarity, this, to be treasured!—had a guilty look on his face.
Demansk barked a laugh. "I was guessing, Trae, not predicting. An educated and informed guess, true enough. But the whole thing was still a gamble."
Demansk rose, went to a side table, and poured himself a goblet of wine. This would be the first cup of wine he'd allowed himself since the occupation began, weeks ago. But the news of how Trae had handled the mutiny was cause enough for celebration. Demansk was struggling not to let his pride show too openly.
My son! Damn me who will, but this too was my doing. I always knew Trae had the brains—the gods know he's good-humored—but I was never sure he had the steel.
When he turned back, however, his expression was simply one of mild satisfaction. The august patriarch. Approving of his offspring, of course, but still finding it necessary to correct minor errors.
"Albrecht went berserk, didn't he, when he got the news I'd taken the archipelago? I knew he would, the stinking pig. So he ordered an all-out assault across that causeway he's been building for the past year. The kind of frontal attack that produces casualties worse than anything."
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Forent wincing. The ex-sergeant knew exactly what Demansk was talking about.
Demansk resumed his seat. "Let me explain a little secret of siegecraft to you, Trae. The thing that usually breaks the defenders' lines, at the end, is when the men on the fortifications start panicking.
He let the disrespectful notion trail off. Even—a rarity, this, to be treasured!—had a guilty look on his face.
Demansk barked a laugh. "I was guessing, Trae, not predicting. An educated and informed guess, true enough. But the whole thing was still a gamble."
Demansk rose, went to a side table, and poured himself a goblet of wine. This would be the first cup of wine he'd allowed himself since the occupation began, weeks ago. But the news of how Trae had handled the mutiny was cause enough for celebration. Demansk was struggling not to let his pride show too openly.
My son! Damn me who will, but this too was my doing. I always knew Trae had the brains—the gods know he's good-humored—but I was never sure he had the steel.
When he turned back, however, his expression was simply one of mild satisfaction. The august patriarch. Approving of his offspring, of course, but still finding it necessary to correct minor errors.
"Albrecht went berserk, didn't he, when he got the news I'd taken the archipelago? I knew he would, the stinking pig. So he ordered an all-out assault across that causeway he's been building for the past year. The kind of frontal attack that produces casualties worse than anything."
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Forent wincing. The ex-sergeant knew exactly what Demansk was talking about.
Demansk resumed his seat. "Let me explain a little secret of siegecraft to you, Trae. The thing that usually breaks the defenders' lines, at the end, is when the men on the fortifications start panicking.