Dark Foundations (88 page)

Outside in the corridor, Vero said, “I believe Lezaroth has lured us into a trap. Is that what you think?”

“It's possible,” Merral answered cautiously.
A trap surely, but for who? Me, Vero, or both of us?
The idea that he had walked into a trap raised implications so horrendous that he resisted them. “It could be an act of vengeance. They know I come from here.”

Vero shook his head emphatically. “It's more than vengeance. Remember I told you of the sentinel practice of trying to put yourself in your opponent's shoes? Now, imagine that Lezaroth blames you for these defeats: D'Avanos, the great adversary; D'Avanos, the heir to Lucas Ringell—the last scourge of the Freeborn; D'Avanos, the commander at his defeat at Tezekal Gorge. He wants
you
. He knows we—and you—value human life; he knows this is your town. So he lures you in, closes off your exits, and then crushes the town.”

Merral turned away, stabbed by agonizing thoughts.
The envoy told me not to leave Isterrane, but I disobeyed and, as a result, I have brought the threat of utter disaster on myself and my town. What folly!

Merral considered whether to confess to Vero what he had done. But as he thought about it, he had a strong reluctance to admit that he had done something so appallingly stupid as to disobey the envoy.
Anyway,
we're not absolutely sure yet that this is a trap
.

Trying as best he could to hide his feelings, Merral said, “I resist that idea. But I suppose . . . I can accept that it's a possibility.”

Vero seemed to watch him intently and Merral sensed in the careful gaze that his friend suspected there was more than had been said.

“We'd better break the news to the warden,” Merral said.

“
Here?
All of them?” Enatus rolled his eyes and reached out a hand to steady himself against a table. “Around twenty thousand Krallen?”

“I'm afraid so,” Merral replied.

“Is there any chance that Colonel Thuron will come to our aid?”

“I will talk to him again. But . . .”

Enatus sighed. “
But
we can't presume on it. By this evening you say?” The little man fell silent and his head and shoulders sagged as if they were pressed under a great burden. He peered up at Merral. “So, humanly speaking, there isn't much hope?”

He looked away and when he looked back, Merral was surprised at the resolution that burned in his eyes.

“Very well,” Enatus said, his voice ringing with such defiance that people in the office turned to look at him. “However many there are, we will fight them. That's that.”

He clapped his hands in a gesture of determination. “We'll make such a defense that the whole Assembly will be proud of us.”

In spite of his own troubles, Merral felt proud of the little man.

Enatus stood upright, his plump hand slipping to his sword hilt. “Gentlemen, ladies, we must do what we can. But we can promise our enemies this: a tough fight.”

29

A
fter Vero left to see Balancal and organize the irregs, Merral walked down the corridor, found an empty room, and began to make some calls. The first was to Frankie Thuron. When he got through, the image on his diary showed a very troubled man.
That makes two of us
.

“Merral, I'm very sorry,” Frankie said. “The whole Dominion army is on the move and heading your way: fifteen, sixteen thousand Krallen plus other things—ape-creatures, cockroach-beasts, and those flying things. I . . . I don't know what to say.”

“Come on, Frankie, you can move now. Come and help us. The threat to Isterrane is removed. Attack them from the rear.”

Frankie's lean face darkened. “I can't. That's a fact. I just talked to Clemant. We are not to move from our defensive positions. His orders.”

“Look, from all we've seen, this town will fall this evening and the bloodbath here will make Tantaravekat seem like a minor incident.”

“Merral, I am under authority.” Frankie's open face plainly showed the torment of conflicting emotions. “I
can't
rebel. I understand why you did what you did, but you've set a precedent. If we all followed it, we would tear this world apart.”

It's no good.
Frankie takes his orders seriously
,
as perhaps I should. I thought I was just rebelling against Clemant. I now realize that I've rebelled against the Most High.

“I understand,” Merral said slowly. “Colonel Thuron, you must do whatever you have to do.”

“Sorry. You have to go to Clemant. . . .” Frankie's voiced tailed off. “But whatever happens, you have my prayers.” Then, evidently close to tears, Frankie terminated the call.

A minute later, Merral called Clemant.
I will not get angry. That will do no good at all.

A cold, round face greeted him. “Strictly speaking, Captain, I should order Enatus to arrest you, but I think he is going to need every man he can get.” Clemant sighed deeply, but Merral detected no sympathy in his face. “You have thrown away everything on what now seems certain to be an utterly futile venture.”

“Sometimes, sir, one must do what is right, even if it does prove futile.”

“I am sorry. You are in a mess of your own making.” There was a slight, stiff shrug of the shoulders.

“Sir, I am not concerned for my own safety. I need help. I would like you to order Colonel Thuron to attack the Dominion forces.”

“The answer is no. The interests of Farholme come first. Indeed, one might almost say that the interests of the Assembly come first. And there are other factors now.”

“
What
other factors?”

Clemant's face remained impassive. “They are not relevant to you.”

“So you won't send us any support?”

“I wish I could, Captain. I really do.” Clemant paused and looked away as if unable to look at him. “Necessity is, I'm afraid, a cruel business.”

Barely able to constrain himself, Merral simply mumbled, “Thank you, sir,” and closed down the link.
If I get out of here,
I will deal with that man.

Trying to bury his anger, Merral made a third call, this time to Jorgio. The old man, his head shaded by a battered straw hat, was out in the garden. Based on the glimpse of a trowel, Jorgio was weeding.

“Why, Mr. Merral,” he said in a reflective voice. “I was wondering about you. I gather you're in trouble.”

“Yes, trouble's the word. We're trapped here with around twenty thousand Krallen on their way.”

“Not nice, is it?” Jorgio rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “Not nice at all. I have been praying about it as I have been doing the weeding. My family too are in Ynysmant. . . . But truth to tell, Mr. Merral, I got the impression as the trouble you was in was something else. I couldn't help but feel as there was something that you had to sort out with the King.”

“I see,” Merral said, thrown into bewilderment. “I have felt in the last few hours that . . . well . . . coming here may not have been the wisest thing to do.”

Jorgio brushed a fly away. “I don't reckon as it being wise was the issue. It felt more . . . well, about obedience, if you understand what I mean.”

“Jorgio, I came here to try and save our town. I chose to risk my life and the lives of my soldiers in coming here.” Merral heard the defiance in his voice.

“
Tut
. I'm sure that's what you meant, but I reckon as a thing can be good and still be the wrong thing.” He fanned his face with his hat and then seemed to peer thoughtfully at Merral. “See, Mr. Merral, if I worked for someone and they said, ‘Jorgio, grow nasturtiums' and I grew dahlias instead, why that'd be a wrong thing—disobedient—even if they was beautiful dahlias.”

“I will consider your words, Jorgio,” Merral answered, feeling accused by the conversation. “But please pray.”

“Oh, I will. But I would say this: you might want to watch yourself.”

“Thank you.” The call ended.

He slipped his diary onto his belt and stared at the wall.
I have rebelled against the Most High
,
and I know what I ought to do. I ought to repent. I ought to find Vero or Luke and admit that I disobeyed the envoy and I ought to pray for forgiveness.
Yet as he thought this, the idea of admitting he was wrong seemed very unattractive.

“Look,” he said aloud. “I had to defend my town. You have to understand.”

Still bitter, he rose and went to find Lloyd.

Merral exited the stairway by the sandbags and stared around Congregation Square, stunned into silence by the scene before him.

Before him lay a scene of complete devastation. Where the
Emilia Kay
once stood was a smoldering, blackened hulk of torn and twisted girders that steamed as fire crews sprayed water on it. Smoke and steam drifted across the square and with them came the smells of burned synthetics and charred flesh.

All around were fragments of wreckage, smears of lubricant, and scorch marks. A bladed vehicle bulldozed its way across the square, piling the wreckage into large piles. Merral watched as a stretcher bearing something that had once been a living body was placed in an ambulance.

Men and women peered out of the entrances to the refuge, their faces showing fear and incomprehension. A flock of pigeons wheeled across the square, apparently untroubled by the devastation below them.

People have died here.
Women and men who were alive this morning.
The bitter thought seemed to harden his resolve to stay his course and not repent.

He wondered about his parents and, on impulse, made his way to the nearest refuge entrance. Amid the men and women gaping at the scenes in the square were harassed officials with databoards trying to impose order while overseeing the delivery of supplies and assigning bunks.

“Excuse me,” he said to one of them, “do you know if my mother is inside?”