The Right Hand of God (54 page)

Destroyer. He could feel the magic building, and made ready to oppose it.

As did others. The Lords of Fear continued their chilling song; and as they did so, many Falthans were drawn to this place, the centre of resistance. All those who had previously fought the Maghdi Dasht made their way to Hal's side, all except Jethart who was a grievous loss. He alone of the strategists might have warned against being confined in such a place, of fighting a battle where there was only one way of escape, vision or no vision.

Others were drawn to the scene. Common soldiers who knew nothing of magic, but felt an intense anger against the song, obeyed the inner prompting and came to oppose the singers. A number of the losian came, though their fellows were still heavily engaged on the far western edge of the battlefield. Even a few of the servants and wagoneers found themselves standing with Hal on the lip of the dell, facing the Lords of Fear, wondering why they had been so foolhardy.

Leith looked down into the cauldron, a blue-grey swirling pattern of rain and wind, running and falling figures, punctuated by lightning lances hurled down into the chaos. This is not what 1 saw! Sir Amasian was on his knees, his face lifted into the storm, eyes wide open and staring at something not of this world. 'It is all.. . running backwards!' he screamed.

Down on the plain a small group stood in opposition to the Maghdi Dasht. Leith's gaze was drawn to this stalwart group. As he watched they appeared to ripple for a moment, as though suddenly heated by a smith's furnace, and began to glow faintly. At the same time the Lords of Fear seemed

to solidify. The gaps between the individual warriors vanished. One body, one throat, one song.

Raise the Arrow;, came a voice into his mind. Raise the Arrow!

For a moment Leith hesitated. Was this the voice he knew? In the midst of the wind and the rain, the fire and the water, he could not think. Below him the Falthan group pulsed orange and yellow.

Raise the Arrow;/

Something within him wanted to resist the command. Why should he obey? But he had been too stubborn for too long, and his own reckless decisions had cost thousands of lives. Time to stop questioning, to put doubt aside. He raised the Jugom Ark.

Instantly a surge of raw energy burst from the glowing group below, rushing up the wall of the bluff. Before Leith could react, the Arrow in his hand flared white-hot, the two flames combined into one immense conflagration, and raced into the sky, finally detonating against the base of the cloud vortex with a huge explosion. The sky flashed white, then black as the two powers met, and Leith expected the world to start coming apart, so incredible was the blast.

The noise rumbled around Vulture's Craw for a minute or so, then faded into silence. Leith opened his eyes to see the maelstrom above him gone, the tattered edges of cloud fluttering like shredded cloth as a rising west wind dispersed them. Beside him Sir Amasian lay on the ground, hands over his eyes, groaning as though in the throes of death: 'No, no, no.. .'

Did I burn him with the Arrow? Leith wondered, and went to check, but a flash of colour caught his eye. He straightened and looked out over the valley.

There it was.

There hung the vision, the prophecy, the image on the ceiling of the hall of Conal Greatheart.

Behind him the Destroyer's storm fizzled and flickered, driven away eastwards by the power of the Arrow. Below him men and beasts struggled to rise from where they had fallen, but already cheers rang out from Falthan throats, eyes raised to the heavens, arms pointing to the sign hanging in the sky.

Over the valley of Vulture's Craw hung a great rainbow, a many-coloured arch anchored on the hills right and left. It was so close Leith imagined he could reach out and touch it. The colours shone with a bright-washed joy, a symbol of victory. The Bhrudwans seemed to be running, all fleeing to the western end of the field. A fierce exultation sprang up in Leith's heart. It has all been worth it! The many deaths were not in vain!

'Behold!' he cried, and his voice carried across the valley, magnified by the magic that still hung in the air. Every eye looked skywards, every man and woman on the field of battle saw the figure holding the blazing Arrow. 'Behold the victory of the Most High!' And the Falthans cheered.

A gasping voice from the ground at his feet spoke into the silence that followed the joyous shouts. Each word seemed purest agony.

'What. .. happened ... to the fist?'

Phemanderac ignored the cheering. His feeling of unease had been growing all day. For a while he thought it was just because Leith had spurned him, having not sought his counsel or teachings since the siege on the rock, but the tension continued to grow in that still place he had created long ago, the place he had learned to trust. Though he had no idea what might be amiss, and little hope that the Arrow-bearer might listen to him, he sought Leith - but had not been able to find him.

His eyes were drawn upwards by the rainbow, and for a heartbeat his spirits lifted: perhaps he had been wrong! But then he heard Leith's cry of triumph, and in that instant he knew. He had studied the prophecy, and he knew.

The path to the top of the bluff was guarded by the Knights of Fealty, and they barred his way with their swords as he approached. He begged and pleaded with them, but they would not hear his arguments. There is no time for this! he thought, and fashioned the most frightening illusion he could remember from the teachings of his Dhaurian master. Snakelike, the wide-mouthed apparition snapped at the knights, who scattered in confusion. Phemanderac darted between two of the armoured figures and along the path, but staggered; and as he lurched to his feet he felt a blow across his shoulders, accompanied by sharp pain. Can't stop! Forcing himself onwards, he stumbled up the steep path. But before he had gone more than halfway he knew he was too late.

The rainbow hung in the sky, a banner of light. Then, like a desecration in a temple, the singing began again.

Immediately Leith's eyes flashed down to the battlefield below, but the thirteen ranks of Maghdi Dasht were no longer visible, having scattered all across the valley floor. Yet the song swelled anew. No! Be quiet! We have won!

Rasping laughter reached his ears. The figure across the river stood facing him, his right arm held aloft by the second, smaller figure. Leith could feel the evil in them both. They were more than a league away, yet the laughter continued to echo in his head.

Groans of dismay floated up from below, mixing with the Maghdi song to create a dissonance like the swirling of ravens in a farmer's field. Leith was held a moment longer by the Destroyer's laughter, then jerked free and turned to the battle . . .

... where a giant fist rose high into the sky, solidifying by the second.

Dumbfounded, the Falthans watched as the vast hand opened, the gnarled fingers extended, with nails as long as claws, ready for rending. Groans turned to shrieks of fear as for a moment it appeared that the hand was about to reach down and scoop them all up: instead, it moved up the valley until it hovered next to the rainbow.

The singing changed, taking on a deeper timbre, and the ground shook. With incredible slowness the hand closed around the rainbow, squeezing it, squeezing it tight. Then, accompanied by an earth-shattering shout, the hand tore the rainbow loose from the hills and crumpled it in its fist like a piece of multicoloured parchment. Shards of colour and light spiralled downwards towards the upturned faces.

The singing stopped, the fist disappeared; the broken shards of the rainbow hung in the air a moment longer, then they, too, vanished.

A few seconds later Phemanderac arrived at the top of the pinnacle. There Leith knelt, face drained of all colour, breathing heavily. Beside him lay the body of the seer, slain by the vision he had misinterpreted. A profane laughter swirled all around them.

'Behold!' a great voice boomed, filled with inhuman glee. 'Behold the victory of the Undying Man!'

Leith pulled himself to his feet, his heart still beating, his mind still spinning, unsure as to why the Destroyer's power had not ended his life. Phemanderac placed a hand on his shoulder, a support for the unsteady youth. Within the philosopher rose a genuine fear that Leith might fall from the bluff, so badly was the boy disoriented.

Below, on the field of battle, everything had changed. Many of the Falthans cast down their weapons in fear and stood with lowered heads, uncaring of their fate. Others ran blindly, overwhelmed by panic; a number of these blundered into the river. The Bhrudwans recovered more quickly, and made short work of any Falthan who stood fast.

'All is lost,' Leith whispered, and the despair in his voice hammered into Phemanderac like a blow. 'My army is no more. The way to Instruere is open. We are defeated.'

'Not so!' the tall scholar argued. Taking Leith's hand, he pointed into the distance. There, on two low hills, perhaps ten thousand Falthan warriors fought with the bulk of the Bhrudwan army. 'They fight still! Take heart!'

But Leith could think of nothing except the destruction of the vision. 'What went wrong?'

Leith groaned. 'What happened to the prophecy? How could we have been dealt such a blow?'

Phemanderac ran his hands through his hair. Just when he needed the soothing tones of his harp the most, he'd left it behind. Lost now, no doubt. 'Leith, the vision of Sir Amasian was flawed. He saw truly up until—'

'Son of Mahnum!' called the voice of the Destroyer from across the gorge. 'Son of Mahnum!

Lay down your Arrow! Surrender to me and I will guarantee the safety of your warriors. Your friends and family will be allowed to go free!'

The words battered at Leith like hammers. The Wordweave,

he thought. He is using his power to strike at my despair. Yet even with this knowledge, the words were difficult to resist. So easy, so easy to put down the Jugom Ark. All this time I've wanted to — and now no one would blame me if I did ...

'Are you watching, Son of Mahnum? Do you see what happens below? With every moment that you delay the inevitable decision, you take more of your countrymen's lives! Can you count to ten thousand? Twenty thousand?'

The Falthan soldiers on the two hills were now hemmed in by Bhrudwans. The Destroyer's men had finally been joined by the Maghdi Dasht, fighting as warriors and not as magicians, each Lord of Fear worth a hundred men. Leith could make out a group of barechested warriors in the midst of the fighting. His heart fell as he realised that the Children of the Mist were trapped along with the rest. Where Tua is, Wiusago will not be far away. Sure enough, there fluttered the Deruvian banner, green against a sea of brown.

Themanderac!' Leith groaned. 'Surely that cannot be all who remain? I do not see the Instruian Guard, nor the losian Army of the North. Have they escaped? Are they destroyed? Do they fight on still?' The philosopher's grip on Leith's hand tightened until the youth cried out with the pain of it.

They watched as the battle raged across the twin hillocks below, trying to ignore the taunts coming from the southern bluff. At one stage it seemed the Falthans might break free: indeed, a few score warriors drove through the Bhrudwan ranks, having chosen a place where no Maghdi Dasht fought, and might have escaped had there not been a company of Bhrudwans patrolling behind their own lines, waiting for just such an occurrence. They were cut down within minutes, and their piteous cries echoed in the ears of the Arrow-bearer and his friend.

The voice across the gorge fell silent, and Leith glanced at the far bluff. There seemed to be some sort of struggle on top of the pinnacle, as if the smaller figure battled the larger. But it could not be, could it? Would the Destroyer have brought an enemy to watch the battle with him, one with power enough to challenge him? The bright southern sky made silhouettes of the figures, rendering them difficult to see.

When Leith's attention returned to the battle below he was shocked to see how quickly the Falthan numbers had dwindled. Perhaps half the force remained, clearly without hope of escape or rescue.

'I cannot watch this,' Leith said, but he did not move. To his left the sun admitted defeat and sank towards the Taproot Hills, while below him the remnants of the Falthan army were systematically destroyed.

Prince Wiusago lowered his bruised and battered shield arm. For just a moment, he told himself, trying to catch his breath. It took the next challenger a few precious seconds to clamber over the bodies piled up in front of him, enough time for the Prince of Deruys to cast a hopeful glance around the battlefield.

'We Deruvians and Children are the last of them, Tua,' he said grimly to the man standing behind him. 'There is no other fighting anywhere on the battlefield.'

Te Tuahangata swung his mighty club with as much vigour as ever, catching a skilled Bhrudwan fighter behind the knee. 'It is fitting that we are the last,' he replied. 'We may die, but we are not disgraced.'

'Defeated only by weight of numbers,' Wiusago agreed, laughing despite himself. 'Ah, Tua, I am glad it is you I fight alongside. I am proud to call you my friend.'

The next opponent finally reached him, and for a few moments Prince Wiusago struggled to stay alive against a man at least his equal in skill, and much less weary. Not a Lord of Fear, as none of the Maghdi Dasht had come their way, much to Tua's disappointment. The Mist-man had even tried to attract their attention. The Deruvian's only advantage against his current opponent was a hard-earned one: the Bhrudwan had to be careful where he placed his feet, for fear of stumbling over his dead comrades. This one really was very good, light on his feet and with a sword that flicked in and out more quickly than the blond-haired man could match.

'Friend Tua, I might need help with this one.' 'Friend, is it?' the Mist-child growled from behind him. 'Friend?' he repeated, as though running the word across his tongue, checking to see if he liked the taste. 'More of a friend if you were a better warrior.'

Wiusago laughed again, so unexpected a sound in such a dark corner that his opponent jerked up his head - right into the path of the prince's tired and ill-timed stroke.