The Right Hand of God (64 page)

With a gesture the Vinkullen man divided his force in half, sending one group to the left to find a way up the wall behind the Maghdi Dasht, while he took the rest to the right, meaning to appear on the wall ahead of them. He could not tell if those on the wall had seen their approach: he assumed they had. There would be no surprise attack, and the inevitable confrontation would undoubtedly cost many of them their lives.

Up the stairs they pounded, and then along the wall. But where had the enemy gone? One black figure remained: as they watched, it leaped from the battlement out into space. Farr rushed to the nearest crenellation, to see the figure slow somehow in the air, then settle down on the grass as though he had simply stepped off a stair.

'Magic,' a voice behind him breathed.

'Yes,' said Achtal, dragging a limp body with him and dumping it in front of Farr. 'Magic costs them much.' Horribly fascinated, Farr stared at the corpse, which looked as though someone had sucked out its bones and innards, leaving little more than a skin. The eyes were blank, windows into emptiness.

Down by the river's edge the remaining Maghdi Dasht were doing something. Their eerie chant rose up to the ears of those watching impotently, unable to jump the many feet to the ground and knowing that the nearest gate was much too far away. And as they watched, the river began to solidify in a line stretching from where the Lords of Fear stood across to the far bank.

'They make a bridge of water,' Achtal commented, listening to the song. 'They freeze the water and will walk across on the ice.'

'How do they have the power, when their master is injured so badly?' Farr asked him.

'They are of water, so work it more easily,' came the reply. 'But look! They still die to feed the bridge.'

It took everything they had. One by one the Maghdi Dasht collapsed, falling into the river from the fragile bridge they had conjured. Less than a hundred remained when finally the Destroyer stood safely on the southern shore.

He turned then and raised both his arms, facing the city that had once again bested him. Fires glowed in the darkness, making the water shimmer at his feet. 'I curse you, City of Faltha!' he cried, pouring two thousand years of poison into the words. 'May your rulers never find peace, and may your people die unsatisfied!' Then the Lord of Bhrudwo, still with Stella on his shoulder, spun on his heel and set out, no doubt to try to find what was left of his army.

The Hermit of Bandits' Cave sat down on a box marked 'Dates/Sarista/17 Days' and took stock as he tried to regain his breath. The sound of pursuit had lessened out here in the Docks: people seemed to have taken refuge in their

homes, and his pursuers were obviously content to have driven him and his followers away from the houses and tenements of Instruere.

Burn.' They will all burn! The word of knowledge must be. fulfilled!

'Oh, but it has, and you did not see it.'

No! The Hermit fell to the floor of the storage shed, clutching his head in his hands. No! Get out of my head!

'When was the first time you put aside my voice for your own, yet claimed it was me you heard? Why did you not heed my warning when I came to you in your cave?' The blue-robed body jerked across the dirty floor as the inner battle raged. When did you come?

'You would not accept my rebuke, and you will not accept it now. Thus you will be destroyed by that which might have saved you.'

You never came! Get out of my head! I never saw you! Don't leave me!

The Hermit rolled on the floor, trying to shake the voice from his mind. He crashed into a small table on which a trader's accounts were kept, knocking over the torch with which he had fired all those houses in the City . . .

He and his few remaining followers had run from the Destroyer's fall, snatching up burning brands and seeking places to set alight in fulfilment of their vision. Instruere must be cleansed; the corrupt rulers and evil-doers must be driven out. Somewhere on their flight from the Hall of Meeting a mob gathered, trying to stop them from their fanatical task. The Presiding Elder fell to them, unable to keep up, and was crushed under their feet. Across the City the Ecclesia had run, heading west towards the Docks, stopping whenever the pursuit dropped back to put their torches to

another tenement. The shrieks of those trapped by their flames seemed to them the cries of the wicked, and the smoke and flames the evidence of judgment.

One by one his followers had been taken by the howling mob, until he was the only one left.

Through the unguarded Dock Gate he had run with a torch in each hand, barely twenty paces ahead of his chasers. Ahead was a maze of small buildings and narrow, dead-end alleys; but he could not stop to consider his path. Could not stop . . . my path had long ago been set before me. He laughed raggedly, then turned and pitched one of the torches into the following crowd, dragging more shrieks from the throats of the unclean, seeing once again the bright, clean flame blossom like a spring flower in freshly ploughed ground . . .

For a moment he came to himself. The wicked voice had left him weak and shaking: he pressed his eyes tightly shut until the words it had spoken faded from his mind. Eventually he rolled over on to his side and manoeuvred himself into a sitting position, then opened his eyes. Immediately he shaded them against the flickering light that seemed to surround him.

I was faithful! he raged. I spoke only the words I heard! Hundreds came to hear me speak the words of the Most High. But few would heed my warnings, and so their punishment is just! 1

am the Anointed One! The Fire falls at my command!

Behind him came the crash of timbers as the small shed began to collapse, consumed by the flames from the Hermit's torch. His eyes came wide open, and he realised the peril he was in.

His robe caught fire, and flames dripped down on him from the thatched roof above .. .

already his hair was alight...

The vengeful citizens of Instruere who had been attacked

by flame-wielding men - Bhrudwans, they assumed - were drawn to the screams, initially thinking that yet another innocent had been taken by the fire. A figure of flame staggered to the door of the shed, arms wide, mouth open. Then they recognised their tormentor, and watched in silence as he enacted some crazy rite of self-immolation, clutching the door-frame with weakening fingers until finally the shed came crashing down on top of him.

The Falthan commanders were clearly desperate to leave the City and go north to where their army was still - for all they knew - held by the Bhrudwan force. Perhaps the Maghdi Daskt had made their way north to their army. If they could make a bridge across the river in one direction, why not in the other? It might be that, even as they waited in frustration, their soldiers were being executed, one by one. It was their duty, they had to go.

But clearly they could not. Fires had taken hold all through the western part of the City, and the Arrow-bearer had commanded them to help put them out. No one thought to disobey the man. It was through him, after all, and the trick he had played on the Undying Man, they had gained their own freedom. Few people were entirely clear what had happened that afternoon, and they discussed it as they handed buckets to each other.

'I saw the Jugom Ark flash across the hall and strike the Destroyer,' said the Captain of the Instruian Guard. 'The wielder of the Arrow is a magician of rare power! I witnessed him dry up the Aleinus River to make his escape from Instruere.'

'But why did he wait so long to strike?' one of the Fodhram asked. 'If he had the power to defeat the Destroyer, why did

he not do so much earlier? Why did he refuse the single combat offered him?'

'Yes!' another of the Instruians agreed, then paused a moment to pass his bucket on to a man who dashed into the burning tenement. 'I saw hundreds of those under my command slain.

Why didn't he do something about it?'

Perdu clapped the Instruian on the shoulder, turning him half-around. 'I might as well ask you why you let this building catch alight. Why didn't you prevent it catching fire?'

'Because I was too busy with another fire!' came the indignant response. 'How could I prevent it when I was not here?'

'Exactly,' said Perdu. 'Leith is a young man, not a god. He could not foresee what the Destroyer would do.'

'But he refused the combat,' said a Deuverran officer. 'I was there. You can't tell me otherwise. The Destroyer challenged him and the Arrow-bearer just walked away.'

Perdu spread his arms. His wife and children were somewhere in this City, along with other Fenni who had not made the journey east, but as yet he had not found them. They could be anywhere, even in this tenement. 'I don't know why he refused!' he said irritably. 'Perhaps his courage failed him. At least he did something about it when it mattered!'

'It mattered to my brother,' growled a youth from Straux. 'He was caught up in the fighting on the two hills west of The Cauldron. Dead or captive, I don't know. Will he bring the dead back to life with that arrow of his?'

The adopted Fenni put down his bucket and stared at the youth. 'I'm sorry to hear of your loss,' he said softly. 'But I saw the boy you rail against suffer under the weight of our expectations. You had better pray that you are not chosen one day to be the instrument of our rescue. I doubt that you would fare as well as Leith!' He kicked his bucket over and stalked away.

'What ails that one?' the boy from Straux asked those around him. 'Why did he take it so personally? I just wanted some answers!'

'Because he was one of the northern Company, that's why,' said the Captain of the Guard.

'He's seen more in the last year than you will ever see in your life. I would keep my mouth closed in future, if I were you. Such criticism may not prove all that popular in the new Faltha.'

The boy grunted and picked up the overturned bucket. Around them the City glowed orange, slowly fading as the night drew on and one by one the many tenement fires were doused.

It was not until the hours before dawn that the hundreds of firefighters were able to draw breath. Leith, his Arrow but one flame among many, sent messengers to fetch his commanders to a meeting. It took more than an hour before the last of his captains made his way to the Hall of Meeting, stumbling with weariness.

'The fires are still burning, but everyone who was in danger has been rescued,' his chief clerk told them in a tired voice. 'My lords, the City has been searched extensively, and no sign remains of those who started the fires, save a score or more bodies.'

'And the Maghdi Dash?' Modahl inquired in his deep voice. Any reports of them still within the walls?'

'No, my lord. It appears that they all escaped over the wall and across the river, just as we were told.' Here he indicated Farr, who grunted at the man's sceptical tone.

'We heard it was they that started the fires,' said Sir Chalcis of the Knights of Fealty. 'We searched the streets and alleys, but did not find any evidence of their passage.' His voice was softer than was his habit: he had seen too much, and it had been one of his knights who had falsely interpreted his vision. The deaths of so many knights, and the failure of their order to live up to the ideals of Conal Greatheart their founder, weighed heavily on him.

'No,' said the Haufuth. 'It was the followers of one of our former companions, a man we befriended. He claimed to hear the words of the Most High. Perhaps he did; I half thought he did. He formed the Ecclesia, and for a while it seemed that he and his followers were a force for good—'

Someone in the group snorted derisively: the sound echoed in the huge chamber.

'Whatever his intentions,' the Haufuth continued, 'it is clear they were corrupted somehow, driven by a vision of good and evil that, if fulfilled, would have seen the deaths of many people. He made alliances with the remnants of Escaigne, and then with the Arkhos of Nemohaim.'

At least four members of the group shuddered, remembering their former association with the traitorous Arkhos. Former Arkhoi themselves, they knew they had been lucky to escape with their lives when so many of their fellows were dead. They glanced around the group who sat on the front benches, their eyes on a level with the platform on which the signing table still stood. Someone had disposed of the hand. What might have become of them had the Destroyer gained control of Instruere?

'How many people have we lost today?' Leith asked, trying to suppress the dispassionate voice in his mind already beginning to recite the numbers.

'Well, my lord, we rescued many citizens from the fires, but perhaps a hundred people were unluckily consumed before we could get to them—'

Farr Storrsen had heard enough. 'We can hear the death count later. What won't wait are the questions, and I have two. First, what happened yesterday afternoon? And second, how can we relieve our soldiers out there on the plain?'

It was late - or early, depending on how one looked at it - and there were things Leith did not want to examine too closely. Not yet. Not when he didn't have any clear thoughts. However, there was a high degree of agreement with Farr's sentiment, and as the demands for answers became more strident, the Arrow-bearer nodded wearily; but before he could begin, Modahl stood and motioned for silence.

'There is a misconception abroad that must be cleared up now,' he said forcefully. 'I have heard talk that my grandson, the Bearer of the Arrow, refused to face the Destroyer in single combat. Further, I have heard it said we were betrayed by his brother, who took up the challenge in the name of the Arrow-bearer with no expectation of winning, thereby placing us in his hand. Now, Hal Mahnumsen cannot defend himself, as he is dead; and Leith Mahnumsen will not speak in his own defence, as he does not consider the ignorant criticisms of others worth answering. So I will speak on their behalf.

'Such a challenge as Leith received would no doubt have broken many of you by sheer force.

Some of you may not know about the magic of the Wordweave, with which the Destroyer fortified his words. The Destroyer bound himself with the challenge, and had Leith accepted it without thought, would have bound us also. However, he took some time to consider it. To sift the task from the trap. Where is the shame in that?' He gazed at those around him, many of whom still looked mystified.