Dark Foundations (79 page)

“I would rather hold a formal trial later.”

“Sir, if I may say so—” Zak's tone was one of annoyance—“it sets a bad precedent. I think a speedy trial and a public punishment here might prevent a repetition. Desertion can be contagious. You mustn't be too soft on them.”

“Colonel Larraine, that sounds awfully like an accusation that I am soft on discipline.”

“Well, sir, the battlefield's a tough place. Softness can have a price.”

I refuse to argue this,
not here and not now
. “Colonel, I have made my decision plain. Have Latrati and Durrance sent to Isterrane. We have other things to do.”

“Yes, sir,” came the reluctant reply.

Merral sighed and began climbing again.

Vero and Azeras were waiting at the top of the path, just in front of the white-walled houses.

Gasping from the heat and the exertion of the climb, Merral sat heavily on a large rock.

“My friend,” Vero said with a frown, “you fighting in that battle was reckless. You might have been killed.”

“A fate we all face. But, Vero, I had no choice. They could have put a hole in our lines there. What are the casualty figures?”

“So far, we have at least fifty dead and twice that injured. Some serious. That's just the regulars, of course.”

“So we have lost well over a tenth of our men.”

There was a silent, heavy nod in response.

Merral turned and, suddenly aware of sweat running down his back, gazed at the vast immobile mass of the Dominion force beneath Hereza Crags.
They have lost, at most, only a twentieth of their numbers.
The implications of those figures are inescapable. We are losing.

“But what's happening?”

Vero and Azeras exchanged anxious looks. “We aren't sure. Sarudar, can you explain your concern?”

“First of all, well fought, Commander. There was much done down there that would not have disgraced the elite units of the True Freeborn. But the fighting is not over. My analysis is this—remember, I have fought the Dominion for almost half my life. I think Lezaroth is perplexed and even alarmed. With all the force they had, the crushing of Farholme should have been straightforward. Yet it has gone badly wrong and they have had a series of setbacks. Now they find that your—
our—
swords and armor have stopped what should have been an easy victory.”

“So what will they do? Go home?”

“Bah! They will not retreat. In the past Nezhuala punished losers, and he doesn't change. There will be a change of plan. They don't like this gorge. They prefer to sweep around their enemies; here they're hemmed in. And they don't know the strength of the opposition they face either; their intelligence is now very limited.”

“So what do you think they will do?” Merral asked.

“My guess is that they will try and avoid the gorge. They may choose to climb the Hereza Crags.” Azeras gestured to the rocky ridge. “And from there cross to Mount Adaman behind us.” He turned and traced the route with his hand.

“Are you serious?” Merral asked, looking at the massif with its cliffs, screes, and stands of dense woodland and undergrowth.

“True, it would be several days' journey for men, but for Krallen, especially if they leave their repair facilities behind them, it would be just a few hours. The rules of battle you've learned don't apply to creatures that need neither food, nor water, nor rest.”

“And from Mount Adaman where would they go? On to the Western Trunk Road?”

Azeras scowled. “No. They will not leave an enemy in their rear. My guess is that from up there they will race down upon us. With all their forces.”

As he looked up, Merral followed his gaze and stared at the heights above the village where the air seemed to wobble in the haze.

“Imagine, nearly twenty thousand Krallen hurtling down the slope in a single overwhelming charge,” Azeras continued. “They will attack on a wide front, and the edges of their attack will swing round any defensive line we can muster. We will be encircled. And that will be that. I had worried about it, but . . .” He shrugged. “They would be unstoppable.”

Merral squinted at the slopes, feeling his insides writhe.
Unstoppable
was hardly an overstatement.

He turned to Vero for reassurance, only to see his friend, hand to his ear, seemingly engrossed by what he heard.

“You're sure?” Vero asked, frowning at the ground. “All of them?” In the pause that followed he raised his head and stared in the direction of Mount Adaman. “Thank you.” He sounded wretched.

Vero turned to Merral. “That was Anya. The main body of Krallen have turned and are starting to climb the Hereza Crags. Betafor confirms it.”

Merral stared westward, seeing the first columns of dust rise up from the foot of the crags.

“How soon?” Vero asked, his expression devoid of hope. He turned to Merral. “The best guess is early afternoon. Two, or at most, three hours.”

Vero groaned. “I'm sorry; I should have thought of this. I assumed that these cliffs were an impossible barrier. A bad mistake.”

Merral put his hand on his friend's shoulder. “I don't think blaming yourself is the best thing to do right now. We all underestimated them, and we now need to create some defenses. Let's go and look at the land.”

With Lloyd trailing after them, they jogged through the village to a gentle ridge covered with new olive groves. Within minutes, they had agreed on the alignment of two defensive ditches and had summoned earth-moving equipment.

While the others discussed some of the details of the ditches, Merral stood apart and stared southward through the haze and rising dust at the gray fungus that was spreading over Hereza Crags. He felt sick. Within moments, the status of their defenses had gone from being well fortified to weak. Ten minutes ago, they had had a chance. Now, even that slimmest of hopes had fled.

Vero walked over to him. “My friend, let's talk. The irregulars are trying to delay them, but they are too few.” Vero pointed to the open ground beyond the line of the trench. “Oh, if I had only consulted Azeras, we could have had these trenches dug already or put explosives out there.”

He punched one hand into the other in a gesture of regret. “Something at least. Oh, what a fool I've been! I could never have imagined that they would do this.”

“Vero, what we did—or didn't—do is past. Do you really think all is lost?”

“No. I think we have to hope. God has been good to us so far.” He paused, his expression one of deep anxiety.

“True. But we need another miracle. And I see no sign of one.”

Vero gave the weariest of smiles. “If you did, it probably wouldn't be a miracle.”

“True again. But any hope we have now comes from the Most High.”

“It only ever did.”

Merral gestured to the area chosen for the ditches. “I intend to put all our remaining reserves here—any soldiers we can spare from the gorge and any of the irregulars who are left.”

He paused, and tapped his foot on the thin soil. “Vero, we'll make our last stand here.”

The decision made, Merral strode rapidly away to the villa and, during a meeting with a somber Colonel Lanier, agreed on a strategy. Zak would defend the gorge with a handpicked force of a hundred men. The rest of the soldiers—along with any others who could fight—would be sent to the new defenses on the upper olive groves.

Zak received his orders with ill-disguised irritation.

Merral then found Anya, who was slumped in her chair looking at imagery that showed the Krallen moving up and over the Hereza Crags. For some moments, Merral stared wordlessly at it, marveling at the relentless determination of the seemingly endless swarm of creatures. Their regulated order had gone, but there was still the sense of directed purpose as they climbed over all but the most severe cliffs, scrambled urgently through the thickets of thorns and junipers, and darted over unstable screes. Nothing stopped them and little slowed them.

“Anya,” he said, “things are changing. It looks like there is going to be an attack from the mountain—an unstoppable one.”

“I know,” she said and he saw the tiredness in her sky blue eyes. “There's a logic to it. They don't like this slow attrition. They want a sudden and overwhelming victory.”

“That may be the theory, but that wasn't what I wanted to discuss. We're evacuating all the wounded. I don't want any transports on the ground here when they attack and the Krallen will not spare anyone, least of all the wounded.”

“I know that.”

“We have to face the possibility—the probability—that we will be overrun. We are outnumbered twenty to one. And they will take no prisoners.”

“Yes.”

“So I think you ought to leave.”

“No.” There was an almost sullen defiance in her face.

“Technically, you are now an only child. Anya, I would prefer it if you left—for your family's sake.”

Anya looked away for a moment and then turned to Merral with a stony expression. “No.”

“I can order it. Have Lloyd lock you up and bundle you on the flier.”

“I wouldn't try.”

“I want you to go.”

“No, again. I will stay here. I use no resources. I am not a burden. I may be able to help. And if it comes to it, I will fight. There is spare armor here that I can use.”

“But fighting is different.”

“Merral, I helped Azeras make the training material. I helped design the armor and the swords.”

For a long second, he stared at her and was met again by a look of unyielding resolve.

“You praised my sister for her heroism. Now you want me to run away? Be consistent at least!” There was anger in her voice.

Merral stared at her and then, defeated, shrugged his shoulders.
After all,
Isterrane will hardly be safe once we fall
.

“Oh, very well,” he said, slowly. “I admire your spirit. But I remind you, your future doesn't look good.”

“My sister would have reminded you that God still reigns.”

“Rebuke accepted.”

Merral went up to the roof. As he watched the lines of Krallen that were already approaching the serrated summit of the Hereza Crags, he called Jorgio.

From the juddering image that appeared in the diary, the old man appeared to be seated in Brenito's rocking chair. His face was unshaven.

“Mr. Merral,” Jorgio said. “It's good to hear from you, very good. I was wondering how things were. As I prayed this morning, I sensed that there was a great struggle in the heavens. But I felt the Lord's servant triumphed and the enemy was frustrated.”

“That's true. But we now face a new crisis.”

“So I have heard. Lots of these things—nasty devices with teeth and claws. Not nice, not nice at all. And I've been praying as the King will deliver you—and us.”

“And?”

A skewed smile appeared on Jorgio's face. “The King keeps his counsels to himself. I reckon that's his privilege. He wouldn't be the King if it wasn't.”

“True. But, Jorgio, the situation looks hopeless. We are heavily outnumbered.”

“
Tut
. The Lord can win a battle whether he has many warriors or only a few.”

“I accept that, Jorgio, but from where I stand it's hard to be confident.”

“Mr. Merral, the one way to be sure that there is no hope is to believe that there is none.”

“True.”

There was silence between them. Finally, Merral said, “The estimates are that they will attack us sometime between two and three this afternoon.”

Jorgio nodded. “I will pray much for you. Always do. It's a battle sometimes. But if I hear anything, I will let you know.”

“Thank you. I hope we talk again.”

Jorgio smiled again. “Oh, Mr. Merral, we will. If not here, then in the world to come. So cheer up.”