The Right Hand of God (49 page)

seemed the height of foolishness, but they felt the call and knew they had no choice.

They came to the lines of Maghdi Dasht. Now Achtal smiled, and two of the figures turned to confront him, scarred faces confident despite losing command of their binding spell. Their confidence fell somewhat wheri they saw whom they were matched against; nevertheless, they drew their swords and stood shoulder to shoulder.

All around them the pressure in the air lessened noticeably.

I've seen this! Leith realised belatedly. On the ceiling of the Hall of Conal Greatheart, as part of the prophecy of Sir Amasian. Beside him Phemanderac grovelled on his hands and knees, coughing and trying to suck in enough air to take a breath, but for the moment Leith was transfixed. To the right and to the left a double circle of black-robed Lords of Fear wove a net over all those within their compass. In the image on the ceiling the net had been visible as strands of darkness. He remembered it clearly, one of twelve images in one of the twelve paths on the ceiling, all leading to the central image of Amasian's vision, Leith's victory over the Destroyer. All twelve paths were engraved on the roof of his mind, so long had he stared at them all, trying to glean knowledge from them of what was to come, of what he should do.

What could he remember of the image? Think! Two figures standing on a rock shaped like a human skull, one holding up a burning arrow, surrounded by Maghdi Dasht. Behind them, at the top of the slope, stands the Destroyer, his fist raised in seeming triumph: Leith scanned the horizon and thought he could make out a figure on the rocky crest, but could not be sure. And in the foreground of the picture, opposite the slope leading to the Gap, had been a group of Falthan adepts

breaking through the Bhrudwan lines, coming to save the Arrow. Leith spun on his heels.

The Destroyer screamed his anger to the skies. How could I be baulked by such as her, even for a moment? He looked down at her unmoving figure. What are you? How can you have so much power and yet be unaware of it? 1 will tear you open, shred you, slice you into pieces, make you howl until I find out!

He could sense the small knot of Falthan magicians, could weigh their strength, could estimate their chance of success. Small enough, but I will not risk humiliation. It had been only a momentary loss of concentration, but the northern girl had broken the binding spell and spoiled his triumph for the moment. Delayed, but not denied, he told himself. Slashing his arm in front of his chest, he motioned his trumpeters to give the signal.

The Falthan magicians fought valiantly against their opponents but, for all their efforts, they were about to be overwhelmed. More and more Bhrudwan soldiers poured from between the two lines of Maghdi Dasht, and Achtal held his own against his two opponents only by the most extreme effort. He is an acolyte, after all, Mahnum told himself as the renegade Bhrudwan barely avoided another lethal swipe, flowing between the two men as though he danced with them both. The sight of their arrogant, power-limned faces brought back chilling memories of months of riding to escape, and further months of captivity at their hands. If 1

could just slay even one of them, perhaps I might lay my nightmares to rest. The trumpets rang out again, splitting the sky with their cry. What new magic are they calling down on us?

Mahnum wondered, but to his amazement the Lords of Fear turned and marched from the field, back towards the rocky slope. The thickness in the air vanished a moment later.

We've beaten them! the Trader crowed. I don't know how we've done it, but we've defeated them! His spirit surged within him, and he joined the others in forcing their way through the few remaining Bhrudwan warriors and towards the skull-shaped rock where his son waited for them.

The rage of the Destroyer could not be measured or contained. His aides sheltered behind the nearest cover as their master strode back and forth along the crest of the slope. Already he had struck down two of their number as well as the girl, sending one of them falling into the blue fire, which roared as it accepted the sacrifice.

Finally he came to a halt, and turned his face to the battle below. 'I will not allow them time to celebrate their supposed victory,' they heard him say. 'I will crush their army! I will walk to Instruere over a carpet of their slain! No one will remain alive who has opposed me! NO

ONE!'

He signalled again. This time the trumpets let out a prolonged blast, calling forth the hidden reserves of elite warriors from their places at either end of the Gap. The sun sent a single gleam down through the low clouds, picking out for a brief moment the paralysed heart of the Falthan army, and the Bhrudwans set their sights on the place the beam had illuminated.

They saw the Lord of Bhrudwo cast a glance down the slope at the broken remains of the Falthan girl, his plaything. 'No one,' a few of them heard him whisper.

ANOTHER COLD, GREY DAWN, another bowl of stew to look forward to, as if that would do more than stave off for an hour or so the hunger hollowing out his insides. Another meeting in the striped tent, another calm recitation from his clerk of the previous day's losses.

Another grave to visit, to pay respects to yet another hero whose fall could not be borne.

Another in the month of days that had passed since the Destroyer sprung his trap. Except that today the grave they would visit was that of Jethart, the leader of the Falthan armies.

The hero from Inch Chanter had been caught in a small ambush just off the Sna Vazthan road as he went about his daily inspection. His route was changed every day to avoid such an ambush, so he had either been extremely unlucky or he had been betrayed. They killed his escort outright, then tortured the old man in sight of the Falthan army, finally casting his desecrated remains at them with contempt, along with his sword, broken at blade and hilt.

Mahnum reacted with an extravagant fury, and would have rushed out to confront the entire Bhrudwan force if not immediately restrained. For the rest of the day he insisted on fighting in the front line, and none of the enemy had been able to withstand his white-hot wrath: already the whispers throughout the camp were being converted into song.

Leith sighed, rubbed his aching back and picked up the Jugom Ark. It seemed like the main benefit the Arrow conferred was keeping his sleeping tent warm while everyone else suffered from the cold. He pulled back the tent flap and stepped out on to the snow-covered ground.

A month of horror, a month of futility. On that first afternoon, when he and Phemanderac were so dramatically rescued from the clutches of the Lords of Fear, the whole war might have ended. The Destroyer had loosed his shock troops on them, fierce, savage men who had cut down thousands of Falthans on that terrible afternoon, and for a time all seemed lost. Only the coming of darkness had saved them that day.

Yet the Falthans demonstrated a courage far beyond that which Leith could possibly have guessed. Perhaps they knew the only way down from this accursed plateau was through the Bhrudwan army, or perhaps the image of what would happen to the towns and villages of Faltha was fixed in their minds. Whatever the reason, they fought with a stubborn determination, holding off even the most skilled of the Destroyer's fighting men, though with terrible losses. All the first week they were driven slowly backwards across the grey stone of the Nagorj, giving ground only with the greatest reluctance, retreating only when the sternest of orders from their commanders made it plain they had no option.

By the end of that week the Falthan army had lost three leagues, and were fighting along a greatly extended front in a much wider part of the plateau. They had lost seventeen thousand men, a figure so dreadful that when it was pointed out to Leith that this figure included the wounded as well as the dead, he hardly heard the good news. The Bhrudwans had lost perhaps a third of that number, no doubt their weakest and least competent fighters.

Then the snows came, and for two weeks there was little or no conflict as both armies settled down to the business of survival. Dry snow, hissing down day after day, piling up in drifts, engulfing tents and making life miserable - and in some cases impossible - for the horses and other beasts accompanying the Falthan army. Only the aurochs, which the Fenni clan chief had so far kept in reserve, seemed to thrive in the cold weather.

Leith spent the two weeks close to the apothecaries' tents, employing his Arrow to warm the cold and heal the wounded. The Jugom Ark neither harmed nor healed the losian: the only help he could offer his allies was to lift their morale. He tried to inure himself to the awful sights inside the tents of healing, but could not ignore the hundreds of men and boys, and a few women, who had sustained terrible wounds in his name. He wanted to beg their forgiveness, to seek their absolution. Agonisingly, all but the most sorely wounded tried to wish him well, expending freely of the energy they had left to reaffirm their support, their belief in him, their next-to-worship of the Jugom Ark. He would have been less troubled had they reviled him.

In all that time Leith did not see his brother. He had assumed that Hal would be working in the tents with his parents, but his family was somewhere else in the vast spread of the Falthan encampment. He missed them terribly, but never had a moment to seek them out: there was always someone else to heal, always another meeting to attend.

He remembered the moment on that first day when the Lords of Fear left the battlefield, and the little group of Falthan magicians had come to his rescue. So much that was surprising!

Apparently his mother, his father and his grandfather possessed some ability in that area, just as did his brother. There were others, too, to whom he owed his life: even Phemanderac had helped dampen the attack of the Maghdi Dasht, though the lean philosopher denied it.

Certainly some mighty magician exerted a great power on his behalf well before the group joined together to rescue him, though no one was sure who it had been. Leith and Phemanderac had embraced each of their rescuers in turn, thanking them, profusely, and there had been an awkward moment with Hal.

'Hal led us,' his mother said, voice hard, searching, demanding. 'He drew us together and showed us how to combat the magic of the Lords of Fear. Without him you would be dead by now.'

'I'm sure he had his reasons,' Leith retorted, and walked away, ignoring the gasps behind him.

Perhaps he did owe his brother an apology, but short of an organised search Hal simply could not be found. It couldn't be helped: there were more immediate issues to be dealt with, such as a dire food shortage. The wagons from Adolina and Sna Vaztha grew much less frequent, for even the enticement of Instruian gold could not overcome the snowdrifts and frozen roads that made travelling a treacherous business. The few animals imprudent enough to show themselves on the Nagorj were bagged by the soldiers. How were the Bhrudwan army kept in food and supplies 1 It must be much further to the nearest source of food for them.

As he walked towards the striped tent that until yesterday

was Jethart's domain, Leith struggled to keep the cloying despair from clouding his features.

Can't have the soldiers thinking we're giving up! He waved to them cheerily, and they applauded him as he walked by: each smiling face another nail in his chest. If he was hungry, having been supplied with the best of the food, how much must his soldiers be suffering? He scowled at the Jugom Ark, flickering quietly in his right hand: for all your healing power, you can't make food magically appear or take hunger pangs away.

Leith entered the tent and found he was the last to arrive, so took a seat at the back of the room. What will we do without jethart? he wondered emptily. Who else will we lose during this cursed war? And who will replace Jethart? Who can bring even half of his wisdom and good counsel to the table?

The latter question was answered almost immediately. Apparently he was even later than he thought: there had already been a discussion, and the new commander stood to address them.

Leith squinted through the misty air in puzzlement, then disbelief. The woman standing in front of them all was his mother Indrett.

'Well then, we have much to consider,' she said, voice clipped and competent in the way Leith had heard her conduct herself both in Loulea and in the markets of Instruere. 'We have lost a great man, and it is our task to ensure that we do not lose too many more. The Bhrudwans have shown they are preparing to re-ignite the conflict. But before we rush away to our companies and prepare for battle, we must think carefully. What does the Destroyer hope to accomplish?'

Judging by the amount of muttering as she spoke, not all of the generals and strategists were comfortable with a woman leading them, however tactically gifted she had shown herself, irrespective of whose mother she was. For a moment they assumed that she asked a rhetorical question; but when she did not continue, merely waiting, holding them with her fierce eyes, the answers began coming.

'The total destruction of our army,' offered Axehaft the Warden.

'No! They will try to capture the Jugom Ark once more. We must protect the Bearer of the Arrow at all costs!' cried the Captain of the Instruian Guard.

Modahl's deep voice cut across the speculation of others. 'The Destroyer wants one thing above all others: to stand acclaimed in Instruere as the ruler of Faltha.'

Indrett nodded. 'That is what I think also,' she said, smiling slightly. 'He will bypass our army completely if it means he gains Instruere. If it were summer, I believe he would already have struck out along the Sna Vazthan road, looking to travel across the southern province of Am'ainik and through the lands of Pereval and Haurn, then down the Branca through Asgowan and Deuverre. But his way is undoubtedly blocked by snow and ice, so he has no choice of route. He will go through us, but at as little cost as possible, for he will need many men to control Faltha. Each of the Sixteen Kingdoms will oppose him, and he will have to reduce them one by one—'