The Twilight Herald Part 38

At General Gort's signal, the columns of light infantry advanced with flaming torches held high against the darkness, marching down the Bearwalk, the wide avenue that ran almost directly south from the New Barbican. It would take them most of the way to Six Temples. They were exposed and vulnerable on that wide avenue, but Gort was determined to keep a tight grip on his growing fears. That he wasn't exactly sure what was frightening him was making his imagination run riot.

The Knights of the Temples had taken the New Barbican with a minimum of fuss, and since then they had seen none of the mobs the New Barbican's defenders had spoken of with such terror in fact, they hadn't seen anyone at all. They marched through abandoned streets, watching the shadows nervously and feeling increasingly disconcerted.

General Gort felt horribly alone, the only man on horseback at the head of the column and a prime target for even a mediocre archer. Behind him rumbled a dozen carts, guarded by sappers, then General Chotech, his long, curved axe resting on his shoulder, led his ranks of heavy infantry. His men were armed with heavy s.h.i.+elds and thrusting spears: at the first sign of the mobs roving the city, they would lock s.h.i.+elds and present a spiked wall that even disciplined troops found hard to break through.

The general turned and inspected the troops with him. A legion ol infantry and two hundred lancers stretched out along the Bearwalk. The major of the lancers saw him and gave a theatrical salute, prompt ing a smile. Major Derl was an excellent officer, from Canar Thrit, a city well known for producing line soldiers. He was experienced enough to know any idle gesture would be noticed by the nervous troops, so Gort suppressed his own fears and gave a cheery wave in return, noting a few smiles before he turned his attention back to the road ahead.

'What have I got us into?' he muttered to himself. 'Will a legion be enough?'

His horse twitched its ears at the sound of his voice and he tight ened his grip on the reins. The horses were as skittish as the men. Perhaps they too sensed that this was not a place for the living. It was obvious, and not just in the smashed windows of abandoned buildings, or the shadows lurking at the base of every shattered wall, or even the brutalised corpses strewn across the city. He couldn't decide which was worse, the h.e.l.lish sight of fire raging unchecked through entire streets and consuming everything in its path, or the broken ruins wrapped in unnatural dark. He felt the sweat trickle freely down his spine. The heat was still a palpable weight on his shoulders, despite the stiff wind that had recently picked up.

General Gort caught Lieutenant Mehar's eye and the aide obedi-ently stepped closer.

'What do you make of this place, Mehar?' he asked. 'It's so hot at night you can hardly bear to wear a s.h.i.+rt, let alone armour. You're a scholar, what are your thoughts?'

Relief flushed Mehar's face for a moment. Gort suppressed a smile, the young man had been worrying that he was being punished for some failure; unusually, he'd been excluded from most of the general's meetings over the last few weeks. Mehar was a good aide, and he had a fine intellect, but his devotion to the order made it hard to tell what he would make of discussions about a deal with the Farlan, or the developing quarrel with the Knight-Cardinal. Right now they couldn't risk finding out.

'It feels like the Land has been turned on its head,' Mehar said hesitantly. He was a shy young man of twenty-five winters whose tem-perament didn't fit with his large, athletic frame. His father had been barely bright enough to swing an axe, but he had been keen to eii.iin his eldest son spent as much time studying as trying to fill his latinVi over-sized shoes. It had paid off: Mehar loved his books.

'A natural order has been upset here, sir. I think that's why the horses were reluctant to pa.s.s through the New Barbican gales. What we need to know is whether this discord is the result, or the pur-pose.'

'And we'd need a mage to work that one out?'

Mehar nodded unhappily. Their order vehemently disapproved of magic, of any description. It was their greatest weakness in battle, but it was a belief they all held to: magic was an unnatural art, and the province of G.o.ds, not men. Individuals who had the talent were not blamed for it, but they were encouraged to forsake the magic inside t hem. The order considered magic to be an addiction, one that could be controlled through faith.

'I just hope we don't find it out the hard way, sir.' He took a breath and looked around at the gutted sh.e.l.ls of building that lined the avenue. 'The natural order of things is that of the G.o.ds on high and mankind, their servants. If that has been reversed, what are we going to find at Six Temples?'

Gort paused. 'Not a comforting thought, Mehar. Not comforting HI all.'

Neither man spoke again until they reached the far end of the Bearwalk.

Parties of light infantrymen flanked the main column, half carrying torches, the other half with weapons at the ready. The wavering light illuminated the rubble of an old marketplace, the remnants of broken stalls and shattered awnings.

Gort started at a dark shape that flitted behind the furthest stalls, tall and flowing, with a bone-white face but in a blink it was gone, and the soldiers marched on unhindered. The light from the torches, the general a.s.sured himself, the moon catching a pane of gla.s.s. To the flicker of doubt in his heart he said nothing.

At the end of the Bearwalk stood a large, ornate fountain, and beyond that six smaller streets fanned out, leading to different parts of the city. The fountain itself was old, though its stone looked scrubbed clean; those statues that remained whole a scattering of cherubic bodies reaching up from the lower bowl, three pike rising out from corners of a central plinth, and a pair of legs that were all that remained of whatever Aspect had fed the fountain had been scoured by centuries of wind and rain. The broken fragments in the now-dry bottom of the lower bowl made it clear that someone had vented their rage upon the fountain, stopping when the Aspect's statue had been destroyed.

Gort rode closer to the fountain as his troops spread around it and locked s.h.i.+elds, waiting lor the light infantry to regroup. His height afforded him a good view: I heir were not only smashed limbs of stone, but human remains too. The people of this thirsty city had refused whatever succour this Aspect of Vasle might have offered, fouling both fountain and water so no one could drink from it.

Gort lowered his eyes and whispered a short prayer, a lament for the pa.s.sing. Aspects might be nothing more than local spirits subsumed by a G.o.d of the Pantheon, but they remained part of the divine. The waters no longer ran here, so this part of the divine had died.

Mehar appeared at his side, looked inside the fountain then carefully stepped away. He swallowed, and said, 'Your fears were justified then, sir.'

'Thank you for your approval,' Gort snapped, irritated by the young man's tone. 'I will be sure to check every other decision I make with you.'

Mehar's mouth dropped open. For a moment Gort thought he was going to retort, then he shut it again with a snap of teeth.

The general looked away; he didn't have to explain himself to his aide, and certainly not when they were in the field, surrounded by enlisted men. He waited in brooding silence for the ranks to form up into companies, tight blocks of fifty soldiers ringed by smaller knots of flickering torches held high in the gloom. He s.h.i.+fted in his saddle. The hot night air was responsible for an infuriating itch that had worked its way under his skin, even to the back of his throat, while the stink of rot from the fountain grew heavier.

The clatter of hooves preceded Major Deri as he led his lancers into the plaza and joined General Gort at the fountain.

'Blood and p.i.s.s,' the major growled as he looked over the lip, 'let's hope they've treated the temples with more reverence.'

'There's no reason to suppose they have,' Gort said. He gestured at the roads leading off the plaza, all dark bar one, where a burning building had collapsed halfway down the street. 'Which of these takes us to Six Temples?'

Deri looked up at the pedestal where the statue of the Aspect had been. 'We were told the fountain pointed directly towards Six Temples. Could they have torn it down intentionally?'

'They tore it down because they're G.o.dless wretches who have forsaken their sanity,' Gort growled. 'They are animals, not men. They act as their instincts tell them they do not have the forethought to lead us into a trap.'

'Animals can still possess cunning, sir, Derl said, before he caught sight of Gort's furious expression and added quickly, 'but only the insane desecrate a shrine, of course. Mehar, why have those d.a.m.ned skirmishers not come to report to the general yet?'

Mehar jumped. 'I will summon them at once, sir.'

'Don't bother,' Major Deri said dismissively. 'I wouldn't trust them anyway.' He stood up in his stirrups and turned to look back up the Bearwalk. Gort did likewise. Halfway up they could see the torches of the cavalry company he'd ordered to follow behind, to protect I heir line of retreat. They would hold there, with another positioned here, within eyeshot: no great defence, but enough to summon help if required.

One lancer broke off and made his way over, offering a sloppy salute to the general. Gort glared at the insolent cavalryman, but said nothing. The man was so pale, his face drained of energy and slack with fatigue that he looked about ready to fall from his saddle. The dark rings around his eyes were a strange contrast to the feverish glow within.

'Woren, which road takes us to Six Temples?' Deri asked.

The lancer looked around at his surroundings as though astonished at being there. Slowly, he raised a finger and indicated two of the streets, wavering between the two. He opened his mouth to speak, but managed nothing more than an exhausted sigh.

Strange, thought Gort, the man must be a native of Scree, but is he the only one we could find? He looks touched by fever, or madness, maybe is this what has happened to the rest of the city?

'Well?' Deri demanded.

'That way curves round to the east,' Woren said dully, indicating the Ieft-hand road. 'The other goes straight, leave it at the Corn House and past that to the north edge.'

'Right.' Deri turned to his commander. 'Sir, I suggest we head for the east, since the road is better; we don't want to be confined if we are attacked.'

Gort nodded. 'Send the skirmishers off, lancers behind.' He leaned lorward in his saddle, staring intently at the street they were about to take. Did he see a movement in the darkness there, a flash of skin even whiter than Woren's? Or was that just his own fear?

'Mehar, as soon as we're within the outer ring of Six Temples, block as much oi the south and west as you can so our hacks aren't exposed; use everything you can find, unless it's been blessed, and everything we've brought in the carts.' He didn't notice his left hand going to the hilt of his sword and tightening around the grip.

He spoke up so all the men nearby could hear, hoping conviction would swell into courage. 'This whole city may have turned against the G.o.ds, but while there are still temples here, our oath to defend them binds us.'

Isak took the lead as they ran back through the corridors of the palace. The handful of soldiers they met were dispatched without breaking stride. The sounds of destruction echoed in their wake: men dying, the distant crashes of the fire Vesna had set raging out of control. Isak didn't care how much noise they made now.

When they reached the postern gate there were no guards waiting, and when they checked, they could see the remaining guards on the wall were leaving their posts and fleeing for the far side of the palace. They could hear the roar of flames echoing through the pa.s.sageways they had run through. Outside, orange shards were leaping higher and higher into the night sky.

Without further delay, Isak charged through the open gate and down the stepped gardens until he was once again in the lee of the building where he'd left Major Jachen and the ranger, Jeil.

The troops he'd left behind were already mounted and formed up, ready to leave at a moment's notice. Only Jachen, Jeil and Suzerain Saroc were on foot, and as soon as Isak rounded the corner they ran forward, leading their horses.

'My Lord, we have to hurry,' Saroc said, his voice m.u.f.fled by a black'iron helm with a red chalice painted on the left cheek. The plate armour accentuated his short stature; he would have appeared comical had it not been for the ma.s.sive axe resting easily in the crook of his arm.

'What's happened?' Isak asked, sheathing his sword and swinging up into Toramin's saddle. His huge charger danced on the spot, the emerald dragons on its flanks rippling as he did so.

'Jeil went to check on the decoy troops. The mobs have found them. We need to get you away to safety before they move further this way.'

Isak didn't move. 'And what about the decoy troops?'

Jachen stepped forward. 'They're surrounded, my Lord. There's nothing we can do for them.'

'And that's it?' Isak asked in astonishment. 'You're happy to leave them to it?'

'There is nothing we can do, my Lord,' Jachen repeated. 'There are thousands attacking them. We're not enough to help and the sight of you will drive them into a greater frenzy.'

'So you suggest we abandon them? Leave men you've fought alongside to be torn apart by a mob?' Isak roared. 'Or is it simply that you're as much a coward as I've been told?'

'My Lord,' exclaimed Suzerain Saroc, 'it is not a question of cowardice; Major Jachen has a duty to the tribe, and that must come first.'

'Come before the lives of five hundred men and the most loyal suzerain in the tribe?' Isak turned to Count Vesna, but he remained silent. 'Vesna, have you got nothing to say about this?'

'My Lord...' His voice tailed off.

His face-plate was up, and Isak could see the helplessness on his lace. At last he realised what the count had been talking about in Tor Milist: good men were dying when they shouldn't have had to. To Isak's surprise, Count Vesna said nothing more. 'You can't agree with them,' Isak gasped, almost pleading. He felt a clammy horror sweeping over him. He'd had a change of heart in Tor Milist; was he now going to leave these men to die, without even a word?

'1- Lord Isak, duty must come first,' Vesna said eventually.

'Duty? Will even you not follow my orders? Isak growled, his shock t urning now to anger.

The other suzerains, Nelbove and Fordan, had dismounted and come to add their voices to the argument, hut Isak''. obvious fury kept them silent.

'Well? What about it, my loyal subjects? Ate you going to follow me, or does one of you want to be the first to try to forct me to run?" Isak's voice was tight with fury. Eolis remained In Its scabbard, hut that meant little; they all knew he could draw n In the blink 1)1 an eye.

'My Lord,' said Major Jachen, moving a hall step forward.

Isak whirled to meet the man and saw naked feai in Jachen's eyes, yet the former mercenary refused to buckle. A spark ol defiance re-mained and he forced himself to stand tall and match Isak's relentless gaze. 'My Lord, they are loyal to death. They will follow you.'

'Well, what are we waiting for then?' Isak snapped.

'You'll have to cut me down first, my lord.'

Isak faltered, surprise overriding anger momentarily. 'What?'

'They'll follow you to death if you ask them to-'

'And you won't?' Isak cut in angrily. 'Last time I looked, you were also under my command.'

'Do you remember the first time we met?' Jachen said with fatalistic calm. 'You asked me if I'd have the guts to face you down if I thought you were wrong.'

Isak thought for a moment. 'So this is you clouting me round the head, is it? You've picked a b.l.o.o.d.y stupid time to grow a spine, Major Ansayl.'

Jachen ignored the jibe. 'I am in command of your personal guard. My first duty is to the tribe and that is to keep you safe. You said it yourself: you're a white-eye, and you don't always make the best decisions, and you need a commander who'll tell you when you're plain wrong.'

Jachen could see the men behind Isak standing open-mouthed, but he didn't dare change tack now. The ma.s.sive white-eye was as surprised as any of them, but at least it had deflected Lord Isak's anger for a moment, and made him think. Oh G.o.ds, am I putting my life on a white-eye thinking rationally? he thought, surprised at how calm he felt.

'You think it's wrong to think our comrades worth saving?'

'Right now, yes,' Jachen said firmly, sensing his lord was wavering. 'The mobs number in their thousands, many thousands. Whether those men are torn apart or not, my duty is to keep you safe. Their loss would be a tragedy, something to pray over when the time is appropriate. Your loss would be a catastrophe, for the entire Farlan nation, maybe even the entire Land. The loss of five hundred soldiers means almost nothing to the future of the tribe, while the loss of the Lord of the Farlan is a disaster that puts us all in danger. There is no Krann to replace you. We would be adrift and at each other's throats before winter.'

'Do you think I don't know that?' Isak said, more reasonable now. 'But what use is a lord who runs from danger and leaves his men to die?'

'One that knows his own value to the tribe,' Jachen said softly. 'Most of those men are going to die, and only the G.o.ds could change that, but as soon as the rabid folk of Scree see you, they'll want your blood first. You're a white-eye lord, and Chosen oi G.o.ds they have come suddenly to hate. For all your strength, my Lord, you cannot kill them all'

Isak stared at the major, mouth half-open to retort, but unable to find anything to say. He couldn't fault anything Jachen had said... but to so lightly condemn a division of men to death? What did that make him?

Is this what it is to be lord? To carelessly choose who lives and who dies? He felt sick at the thought.

'It is,' rang out a powerful voice in his head. Isak jumped at the unexpected contribution from Aryn Bwr. 'To be mortal is to be afraid of what comes after; to be afraid of consequences. They make kings as they wors.h.i.+p G.o.ds, because they are too weak to make choices themselves. Offer them a s.h.i.+ning figure they can pretend is better than they are and they will embrace you as their saviour.'

Isak kept silent, trying to come to terms with what he had to do. An image of Lord Bahl appeared in his mind, the blunt lines of his lace and his usual grim, inscrutable expression: a face to trust, a man to rely upon, no matter what. And inside he was wracked with loss and guilt, but as long as his people didn't know that, they would have stormed the gates of the Dark Place at his side.

Slowly, Isak nodded; Lord Bahl would have made this decision. It would have pained him, and their deaths would have weighed on his soul, but only his closest friends would have ever seen that pain. The needs of the tribe would always come first. Isak hated himself for it, but he had to do the right thing.

'Fine,' he said in a muted voice. 'We make for the rest of the army.' He didn't look at anyone.

From the streets south of the Red Palace came the clamour of voices, and the sound of hundreds of feet thumping on the cobbled ground. Without delay Isak remounted, gesturing to everyone to do likewise.

'And we go quickly,' he said in a louder voice as he drew his sword.

IS here anything else I can get for you, my Lady?' the soldier asked, hovering in the guardroom doorway.

Tila looked up, her face blank for a moment until she returned to the present. 'No, thank you,' she said eventually.

'Are you sure?' The guard's face was half concealed by shadow, but he looked concerned. 'Lady Tila, when did you last eat?'

'A while ago,' she said, not really sure when that had been.

'Shall I fetch you something? You're not looking your best.'

Tila sighed, her fingers twisting the citrine ring on her left hand. 'I'm not hungry, and I'm not ill, I'm just worried.'

He tried to look relieved, but Tila couldn't tell if it was genuine. 'Lady Tila, I don't care how mad the people of Scree are, they couldn't hurt Lord Isak. All he needs to fear are the G.o.ds themselves!'

'I'm afraid you are wrong, Cavalryman,' Tila said wearily. 'Lord Isak is stronger and faster than any man, but he is flesh and blood. After the battle in Narkang I bound his wounds. He has as much to fear from battle as you or I. Is there any news from the city at all? Do we not have scouts or mages reporting back?'

'Of course,' he said, wondering how much he should say. 'There's no word of Lord Isak. I heard one of the mages tell General Lahk that some of the Knights of the Temples were on the move. There's talk they're going to ambush Lord Isak, but the general says he was expecting them to move.'

'General Lahk is correct,' Tila said firmly. 'The Devoted will not harm Lord Isak they will head straight for Six Temples and protect it against the mobs, nothing more.'

The soldier nodded and Tila thought she saw a fleeting glimpse of surprise on his face, though it was obvious enough to anyone who knew anything of the Devoted.

Behind her the narrow guardroom window was open to the city. Bars made it secure against intruders but they did nothing against the ebb and flow of sounds from outside, voices, the clatter of hooves, and behind them, further away, noises she couldn't identify. The newly returned wind rustled through, bringing no relief from the sticky heat within.

The soldier bobbed his head, trying to catch Tila's attention as she stared pensively at nothing. Are you sure there's nothing I can get you?' he repeated doggedly.

Tila nodded. 'I'm sure. I left my books in Tirah and that's all I want right now.'