The Right Hand of God (41 page)

'Except the Children were caught by snow in the northernmost pass,' said Te Tuahangata bitterly. 'We were not so foolish as to press on, but in the three days we huddled under the shoulder of a hill we lost fifty men. I do not blame anyone for this. Not the prince, who offered to take his soft Deruvians through the north pass, and not myself, who could not see the bad weather coming. But the fifty men we lost were all brave fighters, and not easily replaced.'

Wiusago turned to Leith. 'You came through Vulture's Craw,' he said. 'The snow must have been terrible there. How did you fare?'

Leith's good humour disappeared in an instant. Just a few moments in which to forget myself

- just a few moments, and then 1 must be the leader again. He sighed. Why must it always be so?

It was a sombre group that rode into the Falthan camp late in the evening. A gentle rain fell, reflective of their mood. The loss of ten thousand men, including some Wiusago had known personally, stunned them, hardened soldiers though they were. Leith stripped off his cloak and made his way to the main pavilion, the Arrow banner hanging limp in the heavy air. He was followed by the prince and the Child of the Mist.

Pulling open the flap, he glanced around to see all the

Company assembled, along with his strategists and generals. Steeling himself for yet more silent recriminations, and maybe some not so silent, he was surprised when he was greeted with considerably more animation than he had for some time. They hadn't yet noticed his two companions, and already the Haufuth was on his feet. 'Leith, there is someone you need to hear. One of the scouts has returned.'

A pasty-faced young man was brought forward; he couldn't have been more than a teenager.

He looked clearly nervous, brushing his long ginger hair out of his eyes and darting worried glances at the Arrow while he gave his report. Te Tuahangata and Wiusago sneaked into the tent as he spoke.

'My lord, I was sent east soon as Instruere fell to the northerners - the Arrow-bearers, begging your pardon. I was given a writ from the City to change to fresh horses whenever I needed

'em, so I made good time east. That's good time even for a horseman from the plains of Branca, and we're the best, no question.' His eyes flashed with pride. 'One month and twenty horses and I was through the Gap and into the Brown Lands. I stole a big-hearted grey stallion and took him right to the Bhrudwan army, high up on the Birinjh plateau, travelling by day and night. Best horses in the world, up on the Birinjh.'

'Well, son, what did you see?' Leith made his voice gentle.

'I stayed only long enough to count them, my lord. Horsemen count their herds on the hoof, so fifty thousand soldiers sitting around a thousand fires, fifty to a fire, were not difficult to number. They seemed well provisioned, and their horses are superior to anything we have in Faltha, certainly better than the donkeys I saw at the edge of this camp. Begging your pardon, my lord, but it's only the truth.'

'And how far away are they, man?' one of the Deuverran captains cried out, unable to contain himself. 'Tell him. How many days do we have left to secure the Gap?'

The young lad took a deep breath. 'Estimating walking distance from the saddle is hard, but we of the Branca grasslands are the ones to ask. One month is my guess. We have one month.'

Numbers, more numbers. 'Then we must reach our goal in thirty days, whatever it takes,' said Leith. 'The race for the Gap is on.'

THE GENERALS LET THE Army of Faltha march hard for three days, every soldier at his own pace, until they were strung out along many leagues of the East Bank Road. 'Give them their heads,' had been the sage advice. 'Let them feel they are making up for the time we have lost.'

On the fourth day the pace slowed markedly. The generals re-formed their companies to allow a head count in the still hour before sunset.

Now we will find out what our losses truly are, Leith considered. The suggestion had come from the losian leaders, who argued that, in their experience, the losses of an army were often overestimated at first count. Injured, missing or otherwise engaged were often initially considered dead, a mistake usually not corrected until much later. If they were right, if the toll of death was less than first guesses had made it, the news would give the soldiers new heart.

Not just the soldiers, reflected Leith. I could do with some good news.

He doubted there would be much chance for good news in the days ahead. Those few among the leaders who knew anything of the eastern roads were sceptical, even dismissive of the likelihood of such a large army making it to the Gap within a month. Four days into the journey, he could see their reasoning being borne out. The road, though running close by the River Aleinus where possible, was often forced to cut eastwards to avoid sheer cliffs, steep banks or ragged ridges of sharp black rock. There was no easier path further inland where, beyond a narrow strip inhabited by fisherfolk, the bitter, infertile ground gradually sloped upwards to a harsh upland, the dusty playground of capricious winds. The army travelled many more leagues than the map suggested, and at a pace far greater than any time on their journey east, yet their progress as recorded on the strategists' charts was less than before..

Farriers reported thrown shoes; doctors talked of strains, tears and broken limbs; blisters and saddle sores were legion; and everyone suffered from a deep tiredness, whether they cared to admit it or not. Since the debacle at Vulture's Craw the losian Army of the North had stopped their nightly revelry, and apart from a few half-hearted attempts did not revive it, wisely conserving energy as their goal drew slowly nearer. Not a sound was heard from any other part of the army between sunset and sunrise. Leith's back and hindquarters ached, and his soul seemed wrapped in a weariness borne of months of sleeping in strange beds, walking under the stars and, latterly, the uncertainties that came from directing the lives of others. He had been told the great army would suffer on this march, but the reality still shocked him.

Soon the head counts began coming in. Some reported no losses at all; others numbered their deaths in the hundreds. The clerk who kept the tally sheet supplied the gathered commanders with a running total. Initially the count climbed but slowly: five hundred, eight hundred, one thousand, twelve

hundred, fifteen hundred. Hope rose in the pavilion, but clearer heads pointed out that the larger sections, with the potential to have sustained greater losses, would take longer to count.

The mood deteriorated as the reports continued. Two, three, four, five thousand, all within a sobering ten-minute period. Silence descended as the numbers climbed. Six thousand was passed - and then the amounts being reported dried up. Leith watched the tent flap, and for many minutes it did not move.

'What is the final total?' he asked, hardly daring to hope.

The clerk took a deep breath. 'Six thousand, seven hundred and—'

The tent flap opened. In came an elderly man; surely a clerk, far too old to fight.

'I come to report on the losses of the Deruvian army,' he told them in tones from the grave itself. 'In the snows of Vulture's Craw we lost eighty wagons, over two hundred horse and one thousand five hundred and twenty souls, including our entire contingent of supply officers.

We have less than three days' food left—'

'O Most High,' Leith groaned, cutting off the Deruvian clerk, who did not look impressed that a mere commander would interfere with the recitation of numbers. 'I forgot about Deruys. The total?'

'Eight thousand two hundred and ninety, my lord,' came the prompt reply. 'Far fewer than we feared.'

Excited talk broke out across the tent. Smiling commanders patted each other on the back.

The self-congratulations made Leith feel sick.

'The total might be less than first thought, but I take no pleasure in these numbers.' He strode angrily across the cold

earthen floor of the tent. 'How can I announce this dreadful news as though it was a triumph?'

'Because the men in your army wish to hear it,' Farr Storrsen retorted in heated tones. 'The count is nearly two thousand less than we thought. Is that not worth telling people about?'

'If I might suggest something, lord?' It was the old man from Treika, Jethart of Inch Chanter, the nearest they had to a real leader, Leith reflected. 'We have heard reports of great courage and bravery from those who survived the snows. There are rumours amongst the tents of some who made it through the Craw and all the way to Kaskyne on the northern road. With your permission, I would like to take such of these as can be verified with me on a tour of the soldiers' camps. Their stories might bring new heart to those who hear them.'

His idea was well received, and the old man was assigned helpers to uncover the tales of valour undoubtedly existing out there in the winter dusk.

The disaster had been enumerated, but Leith's heart felt heavier than ever. Better when I didn't know, he realised. Now he had eight thousand, two hundred and ninety more reasons to lie awake under the pale canvas of his tent.

Another day of white solitude ended as the litter jerked to a halt. Stella stretched her deadened limbs, and continued to nurse her anger, a great rage kindled by the Destroyer's cruel game.

She knew he could force her to do anything he wanted, and she shuddered at the thought. But why did he not? Why did he insist on wearing her down? She had no powers with which to oppose him, apart from her own stubborn will. Why did he seek her surrender?

There can be only one reason: I have something he wants. But I have nothing! At least, nothing I know about. Or perhaps there is something he wants me to do . . . Unbidden, her thoughts turned to the last time she had seen the Company, if only for a moment. Deorc had taken her out into Instruere, where he confronted the large crowd gathered in one of the squares. She could see it clearly in her mind's eye. Along the walls crept the Guard, ready to take the crowd and their leaders by surprise. She was forced to follow the guardsmen, gagged and in chains, pushed and shoved by Deorc himself, until the crowd opened before them ... and there, at the head of the gathering, stood her friends.

She had not examined that moment since, finding the memory too painful to contemplate, but now she allowed the sights and sounds to flood back, while she searched for a clue. On her arm the rough grip of Deorc, his insane rage-smell in her nostrils. Directly in front of her the churning of the blue fire, eyes and mouth gaping horribly, ready to consume the world in hatred. On either side the murmuring and fear-cries of the crowd, men and women realising something frightening was happening. A short distance away stood the Company - keep thinking! Don't turn from it! - Mahnum and Indrett, Phemanderac, Kurr and the Haufuth, Hal a kind of blur, as though he was in two places at once, or somehow stretched between two places. Holding a bright object, which must be the Jugom Ark, was Leith. Oh, how she wished -she wished - it didn't matter what she wished.

The voice of the blue fire cried out to the crowd, and people screamed. Then a flash of blinding white light so intense everyone covered their eyes, everyone but Stella whose hands were bound, so she saw Leith leap on to a box and cry out to her:

'Stella!'

There was a world's weight in his cry, an intensity that seared her like nothing she had suffered under Deorc, like nothing she experienced even in the loathsome presence of the Destroyer. It was Leith, and the terrible depth of his need . . . and something even deeper, something else that burned . . .

... burned like a shaft of pure Fire that took her from the floor of Foilzie's basement back to her village in Loulea Vale, showing her what her friends thought of her . . . flames settling on her hand, burning up her arm, looking for an entry point...

... Kurr telling them stories as they rested on the Westway below Snaerfence, above the Torrelstrommen valley, telling them legends of the First Men ... of the children from the Vale of Dona Mihst seeking the Fire of the Most High, learning the Way of Fire, the Fire set deep inside them...

... a cold concrete floor in the dark, her head spinning, a terrible vision of a haggard man healing himself, his cold, cruel voice . . . his searching, sifting, slicing violation of her mind in search of - in search of the Right Hand that held the Jugom Ark ... and in the midst of the agony he pauses, staring at something set within her. The same flame.

The Jugom Ark, the Fire of her dream in the basement, the Fuirfad of Dona Mihst. The same flame. She knew the secret.

And now, if the Destroyer ever sifted through her mind again, he would know it too, and everything would be lost.

As if summoned by the thought, the silk curtains of her litter parted, framing his terrible face: she screamed and he laughed. Ah, Stella, am I so unhandsome? There are women in Bhrudwo who kill their husbands after a night in my presence, believing they gain a better chance of becoming my consort thereby. You will be the envy of every woman!' The smile left his face as though eaten by a cancer. 'Now, come. I have something I wish you to hear.'

Out in the dusky evening sat a circle of men surrounding the familiar blue fire. No doubt contributing to its potency in ways they do not know, Stella thought grimly.

'Make way for the Queen of Bhrudwo!' announced the Destroyer; and the men stood and bowed to her as he drew her close to the hungry flame.

'Speak!' he commanded it.

'O my lord,' came a distant voice. 'I present to you good news! We have lured the so-called Falthan army into a trap, and sent twenty thousand of them to their deaths!'

Stella screwed her eyes shut, but the man beside her held her shoulders in a tight grip, so she could not block her ears against the words.

'How many remain?' the Destroyer asked the flame, voice sharp as a needle.

'My landsmen estimate not more than thirty thousand survived, many of them in poor condition. They moved on towards Kaskyne, and we watched them until they crossed from Favony into Redana'a.'