The Bloodstained God (Book 2) (41 page)

The king looked down. “I am the king,” he said.

“You are a pawn that I have turned against its master,” Pascha knew that Terresh was a proud man, and as soon as she spoke the words she regretted them. It was not that she felt kindly towards the Telan king – he deserved any humiliation that she could pile upon him – but that pride might lead him to sacrifice himself, his queen and all his men rather than take the fare that she was dishing out. She wanted this to be a victory for Narak, and one that he did not have to win with his blades drawn.

“You are a cruel god, Passerina,” Hestia said.

No, I am not, she thought. Narak would have been less kind. “You will forgive me if the memory of your betrayal lingers,” she said. “I am prone to forget that we are allies now.”

It was Hestia’s turn to flush.

“As to your doubts, lord king, I give my word that three thousand Avilian men will sally from the gate when the fighting begins. You will understand, I am sure, if we wait until blood is shed.”

Terresh nodded, but could not bring himself to speak. Hestia covered the king’s hand with her own, a tender gesture that surprised Pascha. “And you have our word that blood will be shed, and done so on your signal. But what of after the battle? What then?”

“After?”

“Yes. When we have slain the Seth Yarra who guard the gate, what then?”

“Then you may do as you wish.”

“But you know what will happen. The Army that passes us even now will send men back south to retake the position, and they will send more than two thousand. Will your Avilians stay and help us fight?”

Pascha looked at her. Hestia was right. They would send men. The army would only be a few days march north, moving slowly. There would be survivors from the battle, and one at least was sure to get through to the enemy’s main force. No commander, even an arrogant one, could leave the pass open behind him. It was an invitation to be attacked from the rear. They would detach a force large enough to prevent that, perhaps three or four thousand men. Hestia and Terresh and their Telan army would be wiped out. They would have a few days at most.

Unless Skal stayed with them, and then it would be an even battle.

But nobody wanted an even battle. Both forces would be greatly reduced. Skal’s regiment would be finished as a useful reserve force, its strength halved at best. Narak would be unhappy that she had thrown away so many men, lost his reserve. Pascha knew that she should have thought of this, but she was no strategist.

There was an answer, of course, but it was something that she shied away from. Pascha could kill them herself. She knew that she could do it, and now for the first time she had an idea of the weight that must sit astride Narak’s shoulders on the eve of battle, when men looked to him and knew that they could not lose. Death himself was on their side.

If she did this it would change her forever. She would look in the mirror and see a field strewn with dead men. Others would look at her and she would see nothing but fear in their eyes. They would know, after this, what she could do. Skal would know. Narak would know. There was no escaping it.

But how could she not do it? Even now, possessing the body of this servant, she looked at the eyes of Terresh and his Queen, and they were not afraid of her. She could reach out and touch them, and they would be gone, but they did not know it. How could she not do it? Hundreds of men would die; hundreds of Avilian and Telan men. They would die at the hands of Seth Yarra soldiers, and it was something she could prevent.

“I will talk to the commander of the Avilian regiment,” she said. “We will see if he is willing.”

Hestia nodded, Terresh nodded, and there was some hope in their eyes. Pascha had no intention of speaking to Skal, but she needed time to think. If there was another way she knew that she would choose it. Yet what to do? She could go to Narak; explain to him what she had discovered and what she had become. But Narak had problems enough. In truth she did not want to tell him, for she feared what she would see in his eyes when she spoke the words. Even harder would be to find the right words to speak.

She left Derdan’s body and returned to her own, sitting in the stillness of the woods, the sound of birds around her, a whisper of wind high above. It seemed so out of place. In her head there were storm clouds, lightning, and a gathering sense of doom.

She walked back to the regiment. Already they were beginning the long process of resuming their march. The jingle of harnesses, the stamp of horses, the shouts of men and the unmistakable odour of damped fires reached through the trees before she saw them. A groom was waiting on the edge of the forest with her own mount, and she thanked him and swung up into the saddle. She rode easily to the head of the column, wrestling all the time with her problem. How to avoid what she so dreaded?

The shame of it was that she could see a hundred ways of throwing the enemy into confusion, but all of them required that she should speak the cursed Seth Yarra language, and she had not a word of it.

“Deus!” It was Skal, greeting her from a distance. “All is well?” he asked as she drew near.

“As far as I can tell,” she replied. “Tell me something. If the great Seth Yarra army hears of what we have done to their gate guard, what will they do?”

Skal nodded as though this was an obvious thing, a thing he had already considered. That annoyed her a little. “They will send back a detachment to reverse the situation. The size of it will depend of how nervous their commander is about his rear. There are still ten thousand Seth Yarra in Telas, after all, and he may send to them to clean up the mess.”

“But you do not doubt they will come?”

“Not at all, and they will come in force, enough at least to deal with the Telans, and probably enough to press us back behind our wall.”

Pascha wondered if she was indeed stupid not to have foreseen it. Hestia had, and it was obvious as a mountain to Skal. Narak would have known, too. Skal seemed to sense her discomfort.

“It is war, Deus,” he said. “Our little action will serve the greater cause. The great army will be weakened, and Cain will have an easier time of it in the north. Is that not the purpose?”

It was not, but Narak had asked her not to speak of it until the trap was sprung. So many of his stratagems had been apparent to the enemy, and so many friends had turned out to be less friendly than he had hoped that he was resorting to secrecy. Even Cain did not know what he planned. It had all been entrusted to that child of an officer called Henn.

They rode steadily, making good speed on a good road. Pascha had expected that they would have to camp one more night on the road, but Skal insisted that they press on, citing landmarks that told him they were near to Fal Verdan, and sure enough it proved to be so.

The light was leaching out of the sky by the time they were met. A squadron of Berashi light cavalry blocked their path and an officer moved forwards. As soon as he saw who they were he bowed from the saddle.

“Deus, Lord Skal, you are welcome here,” he said, though his glance at the men behind them indicated a lesser degree of comfort with the presence of so many Avilian soldiers.

Skal recognised him. Pascha did not know the man from a thousand others who had fought at the wall, but Skal clearly knew him as a friend.

“Miresh, have you kept well?” he asked.

The captain smiled, pleased to be recognised. “Well enough, Lord Skal,” he said. “But the colonel will not let us kill any Seth Yarra. He says they are too many, and we may not risk the wall.”

“It is still Tragil who commands?”

“The same. He will be glad to see you. So shall we all if you have come to fight.”

“That we have, captain.”

“Well, then I shall ride with you to the wall.”

He gestured to the other riders and all but two peeled away, walking their mounts into the darkening forest. Captain Miresh Simfel swung his own mount into line with Skal’s and they began to move again. It was not long before they broke from cover and came to the Berashi camp, which was almost a city. Pascha remembered that Tragil had been given a full regiment, three thousand men, to guard the wall, and here they all were, of a number of them at least. They had their camp at one end of the gorge which the wall blocked, and the wall was at the other end, well out of bowshot.

Men going about their business stopped and stared at the new arrivals, some looked hostile, while others smiled and pointed, a few even saluted. Those few were the ones who had fought here before, Pascha thought, the Wolves of Fal Verdan.

Tragil appeared almost at once, striding across the camp ground with a clutch of junior officers in tow. He stopped before them and bowed.

“Deus, Lord Skal, you are most welcome,” he said. He was smiling. “Old wolves are always welcome at Fal Verdan,” he added.

Skal jumped down from his horse and he and Tragil gripped each other’s arms in the warrior fashion, both smiling. Pascha felt somehow excluded by all this. After all, she, too, was a veteran of the wall. Yet it was not something she could do. She was a god, not a warrior, and the distance between her and these mortal men was growing greater all the time. She stayed upon her mount for a moment and watched them.

“Deus, we should speak,” Tragil said. “Will you accept the hospitality of my tent?”

“If you have something to sit upon that does not resemble a saddle, then I shall be glad to,” she said. She swung down from the horse and walked with Skal and Tragil to his tent. She was truly glad to be out of the saddle for a while. She had never been much for riding and had only ridden so far because it seemed inconsiderate to flit ahead and wait at the wall.

Inside the tent she was not disappointed. Tragil had seats, and comfortable ones. She settled herself in one and accepted a glass of wine. It was warm in the tent, decorated with red and yellow – what the Berashis called winter colours – and lit by two dozen lamps. A servant offered her food from a tray, small morsels of meat wrapped around fruit in the style that Narak favoured. She ate one.

“You have a plan, Deus?” It was Tragil again. He sat forwards on his seat, anxious, keen. She glanced across at Skal.

“We will rid you of this presence beyond your gate,” she said.

“There are four thousand of them,” Tragil pointed out. “I am inclined to ride out with you, but I cannot lose the wall a second time.”

“I would welcome your company, Colonel,” Pascha told him, “but we have been promised help from beyond the wall, and it should be enough. The Telans will turn on their allies.”

“The Telans?”

“It seems a rash gamble, I know,” she smiled at the Berashi colonel. He above all others had cause to rue trusting Telans. He had done it once and lost his command.

“Then why?”

“My reasoning is simple enough, colonel. Seth Yarra turned on Terresh, imprisoned him in a cell, stripped away Hestia’s guard. They were both marked for death, and they knew it. I freed them. If they stand with us they at least have a chance of redemption. Without us they and all their people are so much dog meat.”

“Still I would not trust them,” Tragil said.

“Nor would I,” Pascha assured him. “They are required to begin the fight on my signal.”

Tragil nodded. “And we will have your back, should things not go as planned.”

“It is a comfort,” she said. She was not going to tell him that she was her own last resort, a walking creature of death.

“When will you act?” Tragil asked.

She was about to tell him tomorrow, or perhaps the next day, but she stopped. Why did it have to be so soon? If she waited then the Seth Yarra army would be further north, it might even be defeated. There would be no commander to send troops south and perhaps no troops to send.

“I will hold back for a few days,” she said. “I want to test the Telans’ resolve a little more. I want them to be desperate.”