Sovereign (34 page)

'Lynan, it is almost time,' Ager said to him.

Lynan looked at him, blinked. His friend was a little out of focus. He blinked again. 'What?'

'To attack. Our arrows won't last forever.'

'Of course,' Lynan said, and then he shouted: 'Enough!' The Chetts put their bows away. He turned to Ager. 'Now we see if all your short-sword training with the Red Hands and Ocean Clan will pay off.'

'It will,' Ager said confidently, drawing his short sword and kissing its blade. He met Lynan's gaze. 'Just give the word.'

Lynan drew his own sword and stood. 'Up the hill!' he roared, and his voice was met with the bloodthirsty wolf calls of nearly two thousand Chetts as they followed Lynan and Ager and Gudon up the slope. Arrows fell among them, some finding a target, but not enough to slow them down. They hit the first hastily organised ring of defenders like a flood water, running over it easily, stabbing any who stayed to fight, shouting curses at those running away.

Lynan paused to survey the summit and saw that the defenders everywhere were fleeing, but there was some order to it. For a moment he feared an ambush, then realised they had had no time to set one up. They had been ordered to run. They were getting away from him, from his vengeance. Anger boiled up in him. He screamed and set off in pursuit, leaping over rocks, clambering over boulders that would stop anyone else. He fell on two or three running defenders at a time, stabbing with his sword in one hand and dagger in the other, then rushing on to the next group. Word spread ahead of him, cries of fear and despair, and he used the sound to track them down and kill them. He reached the summit before anyone else and looked down the other side.

Too many for him to catch up with them all, and his brave Chetts were too far behind to make any difference. He turned and shouted for his warriors to go back down, get their horses and circle around the hill; that way at least they would trap some before they reached the relative safety of the woods along the river. The command was passed on. Then he resumed his chase, his skin tight across his face, his eyes yellow with wild fury, bounding down the opposite slope like a goat, from boulder to boulder, flying over the deserting enemy and landing in front of them, killing, tearing, paying them back for daring to attack
his
soldiers in
his
Kingdom. As the sun went down he made his way to the bottom of the hill, his arms and hair red with blood, his lips and cheeks flecked with gore.

Charion pulled hard on the reins and her horse wheeled around. Galen, behind her, took the reins from her.

'What do you think you are doing? The Chetts can't be more than half a league behind us!'

She looked wildly at him. 'God's death, man, can't you hear him?'

Galen swallowed back his fear. 'Of course I can hear him! The whole bloody world can hear him! He's more demon than man! What are you going to do?'

'Stop him! He's slaughtering my soldiers, hunting them down like karak!'

'Not all of them, Charion! Many will escape. It is almost dark and they are already reaching the woods. You will only die if you try and confront Lynan by yourself.'

'What difference does it make?' she cried at him. 'You told me what he did to your knights. Could I stop him if I had a huge army behind me?'

Galen shook his head. 'I don't know—'

'Then let's just end it now! Why keep on running?'

'Because I'm not giving up hope, and I'm not going to let you give up hope either.'

Charion stopped resisting him, and he pulled her horse around again and kicked his own into a trot. After a while she took the reins and rode beside him. He could hear her crying softly in the night, then found himself doing the same.

Lynan met his army at the bottom of the hill. He did not know how many he had killed, but he was still filled with an uncontrollable rage. He stared wide-eyed at his Chetts, and they could not meet his gaze. Even Gudon had to look away from him. Only Ager One-Eye, who had seen more horrors in his time than any in that group, could match him. 'Are you alright?' he asked.

Lynan nodded stiffly. 'Yes. No sign of Charion?'

'No.'

Some of his Red Hands pushed a group of men towards him. They were wounded, exhausted, obviously terrified of Lynan.

'Who are they?'

'Prisoners, your Majesty,' one of the Red Hands said.

'Did I say anything about taking prisoners?'

The Red Hands glanced at each other, then shook their heads.

'We should take them back to Daavis with us for interrogation,' Ager said.

'For what purpose?' Lynan demanded. 'Their little army is scattered, their leader fled. Why keep these traitors alive?'

'Traitors?' said one of the prisoners, then blanched when he realised what he had done.

Lynan took a step towards him, his hand outstretched to take him by the throat. A young, red-headed man. Lynan stopped in midstride.

'I know you,' he said under his breath.

The man started shaking uncontrollably.

'I have seen you somewhere before,' Lynan continued. His hand shot out, grasped the man around the jaw and pulled his face right next to his own. 'What is your name?'

The man could not help staring into those yellow eyes, could not help being aware of the enemy's hard, white skin, could not help soiling himself in fear and pain.

'Answer me!' Lynan cried.

Ager put a hand on his shoulder. 'Lynan, he can't speak. You have broken his jaw.'

Lynan threw the man to the ground and drew his sword. With one savage swipe he decapitated the prisoner. Hot blood hissed over him. He bent down to pick up the head by its red hair. He brought the face right up against his again. 'I
damn
well do know you.' He turned to Ager. 'You have my horse?'

Ager made a signal and a Chett brought his mare up for him. He mounted easily, still holding the severed head in one fist. He glanced at his Red Hands. 'We don't need any prisoners. Kill them all.'

As the column turned and started its way back to Daavis, all could hear the screams of the prisoners being slaughtered behind them. Gudon rode next to Ager, and together the two of them watched Lynan in the van.

'What's he doing?' Gudon asked.

'Talking to the head,' Ager said flatly.

'He called the prisoners "traitors",' Gudon said.

'And when he was interrogating the priest, he introduced himself as King Lynan. He's never done that before.'

'Truth, my friend.' Gudon licked his lips nervously. 'Tell me, Ager Parmer, clan chief, do you recognise our Lynan any more?'

Ager felt a spasm pass along his deformed spine, a sensation he had not experienced for longer than he could remember. He knew what it meant. He was learning to be afraid again.

CHAPTER 19

The voices of one thousand Chetts in mourning rose into the air. Standing perfectly still by their mounts, their head back, their mouths open, they cried the song of the dead in perfect unison. The ululating wail seemed to come from the very soil of the Oceans of Grass itself. Above them no bird flew, around them no animal moved.

On the ground surrounding the one thousand mourners were the bones of thousands of Chetts, the remains of Eynon's clan. The strong summer sun and scavengers had made the bones white as ivory; they could be seen shimmering in the grass from leagues away. When Eynon first saw the field he knew in his heart what it was, although nothing in his experience could have prepared him. His whole body had become as heavy as iron, and yet he had still rode on, still made himself lead the survivors of his clan to this field of death.

When the song of the dead was finished the Chetts mounted and gathered around Eynon. It seemed to him that in that moment all of them, even the six hundred who belonged to Lynan's lancers and Red Hands, would follow him to the end of the earth to avenge what had been done here.

So be it
, he thought.
Lynan gave me his boon to carry my revenge as far as I wanted, and I want to take it to its home
.

'We gather no bones,' he told them. 'There will be no funeral pyre. This field we call Solstice Way will forever more be the graveyard of our dead. No cattle will ever feed here, no other clan will ever call this its territory. From now until the end of the Oceans of Grass, this is where the Horse Clan will come every summer to offer the song of the dead so the ghosts of our families and friends can rest knowing they have not been forgotten, and that their deaths did not go unavenged.'

There was no cheering, no taking up of his cry. Eynon turned his mount west, and slowly so as not to disturb any of the remains, the whole column made its way through the field of death.

If Dekelon had not been with him the whole time the Saranah had been on the Oceans of Grass, he would not have recognised Amemun. The Amanite had lost so much weight he was now as trim as any of his desert warriors; he had shorn his beard back to nothing more than a stubble, and the sabre he had taken from a dead Chett was now his closest friend—Dekelon was sure he talked to it at night.

The biggest change was in battle. Amemun was always among the first to charge the enemy, the one to kill the largest numbers, the one to show the least mercy.

Revenge was a wonderful thing, Dekelon thought. It had been the wind that over a century before blew his people off their rightful territory on the plains into the southern deserts, and now blew them right back again. It was the wind that drove so much of Saranah politics and society and, as far as he could determine from the stories told by Amemun about the courts in Pila and Kendra, politics and society all over the continent. And it was the wind that blew new life into Amemun's old husk, giving him the strength and endurance of a man much younger and combining it with the hate that comes from losing not only someone you love, but someone around whom you had centred your life.

And Dekelon knew that revenge could also get in the way.

'I don't see why we can't continue,' Amemun was arguing. 'We can spare another hundred to take this booty back to your people. That will still give us—'

'Too few warriors,' Saranah said over him. 'Every battle whittles away at our numbers. The last two attacks on Chett clans have resulted in scattering them further west and north, not eliminating them. Word is spreading of our presence, and sooner rather than later the clans in this part of the Oceans of Grass will combine and come after us.'

'One more,' Amemun pleaded. 'One more attack. Your scouts have found spore. We can catch the clan tonight, and by this time tomorrow we will all be on our way south.'

Dekelon sighed heavily. He too wished to continue the slaughter and plunder—this had been a dream of his all his life—but he was leader of this war band, responsible for those under him and responsible for the booty they had gathered. In the season they had raged east and west across this part of the Oceans of Grass they had overrun six clans, and in the first four battles had slain every soul. But he felt in his bones that time was running out, and they were now not far from that part of the border where they had first crossed over. That was a sign, he was sure, that it was time to go back.

Still
, he thought,
one more night. One more battle. If I return now I might not see another season, might never fight another battle
.

He looked around him, at the expectant faces of his warriors. He could see it was what they wanted as well.

'Very well. One more. And then we go home.'

He assigned eighty warriors, most of them wounded, to escort the booty from the last attack back to the southern desert, then gave orders to the scouts, who quickly ran north in the direction the spore of the new clan had first been found. The rest of the war band gathered their weapons, fell into line, and followed the scouts at a far more leisurely trot.

It was a clear night with no moon. Eynon lay on his back and looked up at the sea of stars, but instead of the beauty he once saw it now only reminded him of the field of bones he had left behind.

As many bones as there are stars
, he thought.

A silhouette stood above him. He knew, without seeing the face, that it was Makon. For an instant he wondered if he had come to kill him, if that had been Lynan's plan all along, but something deep inside him told him that neither man would do a thing like that. Makon was too proud, and Lynan too confident.

'Can I talk to you?' Makon asked, sounding very young.

'Of course, my friend,' Eynon said, stressing the last word. Even as he said it he realised it was true. He felt a little less alone.

'It's about Wennem.'

'The woman we found at the Strangers' Sooq?'

Makon sat down heavily. 'Yes. I can't stop thinking about her.'

Eynon remembered the first time they saw her. Leaving the column outside the sooq, he and Makon had ridden through the town asking for any information the locals might have had on the border raids. Most they talked to looked skeptically at them, not believing the Saranah would ever dare such a thing, especially now that the Chetts were united. It was not until they had nearly reached the end of the main street that an older man intercepted them.

'You are asking about the Saranah?' he said. Eynon nodded. 'I have a woman in my care. You should see her.'

Eynon and Makon dismounted and followed the man to his home. Inside he sat them down, gave them wine. 'My name is Kayakun,' he told them.

'I have heard of you,' Makon said, suddenly excited. 'Truth, my brother speaks of you with much praise.'

'Your brother?'

'Gudon of the White Wolf Clan.'

'Ah, I should have recognised you.' He looked at Eynon. 'And I know you, Chief of the Horse Clan.'

Eynon grunted. 'You are one of Korigan's spies?'

Kayakun smiled, spread his hands. 'If that's what you wish to call me, although I never spied on you.'

Eynon lowered his gaze. It was true, he knew. He had learned over the last year that Korigan's spies had all operated on the fringe or completely outside the Oceans of Grass, protecting the interests of every clan. Truly, Korigan had seemed to act as a queen for all the Chetts. 'You said something about a woman in your care?'