Dark Crusade (21 page)

Kane bore Erill no animosity for her part in prolonging Jarvo's annoying existence. He felt that Erill had had opportunity to reflect upon her interference, as she hung from the nails before the mob.

"What will you do now?" she had asked.

"Wait for the revolt to spread throughout Shapeli," Kane replied. "Orted can't face my army on the savannah. I've destroyed whatever elements of the former Sword of Sataki remained loyal to Sataki. I control the conquered provinces of the southern kingdoms. I can't allow Orted to live--he's too dangerous an enemy. If the people of Shapeli won't rebel and do it for me, I'll have to fight my way into his stronghold and pull it down on his head."

Kane added thoughtfully, "And that won't be easy."

"And what will Orted do?"

"Have his hands full controlling a populace whose religious zeal will cool without the threat of the Sword of Sataki. Orted took a big chance insisting that all those conquered peoples be brought into Shapeli."

"If it was a risk, why did he take it? He could have delegated their rule to territorial governors, as in any empire."

Kane laughed. "That was the final error I made in judging Orted. I'd always assumed that--fraud or fanatic--Orted's goal was an empire. It wasn't. That's why I couldn't predict his actions."

"What is his goal, then?"

"Orted's methods to power were used to attain the goal, but it was Sataki's goal all along. He needs millions of faithful souls for a final evocation. I wonder just how many more worshippers the Prophet will require to furnish enough power to open the gateway one final time--to let Sataki come all the way through."

Kane clambered over the edge of the excavation, into the sandy pit below. "That's it!" he shouted. "Hold your shovels! Break that seal, and we're all dead men."

His men stood back sharply, as Kane knelt at the bottom of the excavation, began to paw through the damp sand with his fingers. They had been digging through the ruins of Ashertiri for a good week now, uncovering buried wall after sunken edifice, as Kane directed. Precisely what Kane sought here, no one was certain.

Yesterday they had unearthed what appeared to be a jumble of fused green stone. Kane exulted, directed them to dig farther down. Hours of labor revealed what evidently had been a tower of some emerald-hued ceramic substance, of which all but the very foundations had been blasted into slag by some inconceivable energy. After levering away slabs of rubble, they at length uncovered what appeared to be the buried floor of its lowest level.

Kane's excitement rose as their shovels laid bare a hexagonal slab of metal set in what had been the center of the cellar floor. Under Kane's clawing fingers was revealed a hexagon of silver metal, some eight feet across. Barely perceptible cracks divided the hexagon into six triangular segments, and at the center, where the apices converged, was an intricate seal stamped in what might have been crimson glass.

"Leave me now," Kane told them, studying the crimson seal. His order was obeyed most willingly.

Erill gained the edge of the pit as they scrambled away. Her curiosity drove her past the retreating soldiers, and she peered into the excavation in time to see the triangular sections of the silver hexagon slide smoothly back into the stone of the floor.

Steps led downward into cold darkness. An invisible exhalation from far below swirled upward, like shimmering heat waves about glowing steel. Kane completed a complex gesture above the gaping pit--then stepped down into darkness where no living thing had entered in millennia.

Erill sensed rather than heard a menacing hiss from deep within the earth. Even Erill had a limit, and she scuttled back to where Kane's men awaited his return.

The minutes dragged past. The sun touched its zenith, began to curve downward. No one ventured closer to the excavation.

Kane returned rather suddenly, bearing with him a small casket of silver-grey metal, its hasp secured with a seal not unlike that of the door disclosed beneath the sand. Kane appeared as exhausted as any of them had ever seen the man. "Bury it," Kane ordered. "Bury it completely."

Their shovels flung sand back into the excavation in a steady avalanche. Erill got a quick glimpse of the bottom of the pit. The silver hexagon was closed, its crimson seat unbroken. Then the sand of the dead city once more buried its secrets.

"What is it, Kane?" she asked, studying the silver-grey casket.

"Something that doesn't like shadows," Kane said.

They left the haunted rains of Ashertiri the next dawn. During the night, exhausted messengers rode into camp carrying grim news to Kane. The rumors, for a change, were true.

Jarvo had gathered a new army.

A season had passed since Kane's abortive coup d'étàt in Ceddi. While Kane and Orted maneuvered for command of the Dark Crusade, Jarvo had been at work amidst the unconquered states of the southern kingdoms. His efforts had been most effective.

Kane had conquered half the region because the separate kingdoms could not oppose him as a united force. Centuries of internecine wars, smouldering jealousies and hatreds had kept them apart. Certain of the kingdoms had thought to ally themselves with Kane in order to destroy traditional enemies; others had found resistance to the Sword of Sataki impossible, had capitulated without battle. One by one the Dark Crusade had engulfed them.

The disruption caused by Kane's rebellion afforded the remaining kingdoms pause to consider their plight. The excesses of the Satakis were by now too well known to allow for any consideration of peaceful affiance with the Dark Crusade. Moreover, the relentless conquests of Sword of Sataki made it obvious even to the most thickwitted ruler that the Prophet would not halt his advance until every city had fallen to him.

Into this atmosphere of growing panic, Jarvo had forced his presence. As the general who had dealt the Satakis their only defeat--and compared to subsequent Sataki victories, the disaster at Meritavano appeared a close battle--Jarvo suddenly enjoyed immense prestige. He was a compelling figure--his features scarred, his spirit one of implacable vengeance. He had penetrated into the Prophet's very citadel, and escaped to proclaim to the world the atrocities of the Dark Crusade.

Scarred emotionally now as well as physically, Jarvo seemed a destroying angel. Crowds and councils listened to him with rapt attention. The populace saw in him a savior, the army considered him an invincible leader, rulers sought his favor and counsel.

It was the power Jarvo had always dreamed of gaining. Now that he attained it, he no longer cared.

The solution he offered was straightforward: Counter Kane's cavalry with an even greater army.

Breaking all precedent, the free states of the southern kingdoms formed a temporary alliance, the Grand Combine. Individual kingdoms massed their armies under Jarvo's command.

When word of his coming reached Kane at Ashertiri, Jarvo was advancing with an army of 200,000 men, including almost fifty regiments of heavy cavalry. It was the largest professional army ever to take to the field on this continent.

Kane could not hope to face it. The army of the Grand Combine was almost twice the strength of the Sword of Sataki at its peak. There had been constant attrition with each new conquest; now revolt had cut its strength yet further. Kane's entire army barely numbered 25,000.

Kane had no course but to run.

And because Kane needed a place to run to, he sent emissaries to Orted Ak-Ceddi.

It was a desperate move, but then it was a desperate situation. Kane knew the Combine's army would annihilate his own force if it ever came to open battle. While he could avoid battle so long as he retreated across the broad savannah, Jarvo would pursue to the end. The conquered provinces had been laid waste, stripped by the Satakis; no new provisions and supplies were forthcoming from Shapeli. Kane could only flee across a barren land, pursued by a vastly greater, better supplied army. Kane's strength would dwindle with each league, and it would only be a matter of time before he was overtaken, crushed by a superior force.

If that much was evident, so was the subsequent fate of Shapeli. Jarvo was an implacable foe, and the Grand Combine was pledged to destroy the Dark Crusade, root and branch, and to liberate the conquered kingdoms of the eastern plains. This time the dense forests of Shapeli would be no protection--the Combine's army was too powerful to be halted, and Jarvo had sworn to reduce Ceddi to rubble. The Grand Combine would force its way into Shapeli, if they had to uproot every tree in the forest, and the Prophet's depleted army could not hope to throw them back.

Annihilation was inevitable--for Kane and for Orted Ak-Ceddi.

There was only one chance, and Kane proposed it: To make their truce and to fight the Grand Combine together.

To Kane the logic was beyond denial. If the present situation were maintained, it meant certain destruction for them both. If the warring factions of the Dark Crusade were reunited, there was a chance to wrest victory from an otherwise hopeless position.

Kane commanded 25,000 veteran troops--all that remained of the Sword of Sataki. Orted Ak-Ceddi, counting in the Defenders of Sataki, could probably muster three times that number of trained and fully equipped foot soldiers. Drawing upon the Sataki horde, the Prophet could raise a militia of hundreds of thousands--the crucial point being one of supplying effective arms to enough men who could be trusted not to turn against the Sataki hierarchy.

In the open, such an unwieldy coalition would stand no chance against the might of the Grand Combine. Within the forest, it was a different matter. Jarvo could only advance as fast as the conditions would allow. Presumably he would force a spearhead along the military road into Ingoldi, clearing trees to expand his march, laying waste to towns and strongholds in his path.

The Sataki militia could not stand against the Combine's troops in battle--poorly equipped rabble were sword-meat for trained soldiers. Kane's proposal was to use the militia as a constant harassing force to slow the Combine's advance--driving them in suicidal waves against Jarvo's troops as they cut through the forest. As such, they could do little damage, but men under attack cannot fell trees. While the slaughter would be appalling, Jarvo's advance would bog down, his troops would be exhausted by the time he finally reached Ingoldi. There, from the protection of the city's fortifications, Kane could coordinate an effective defense, using the Prophet's infantry to hold the walls, counterattacking with his cavalry force.

If all went well, Kane knew he had a good chance of withstanding Jarvo's siege, forcing the Combine's army to withdraw--and once in retreat, the invading army could be decimated as it pulled back through the hostile forestland. If so, it would be more than simply staving off extinction--it would be a matter of winner take all. For the kingdoms of the west had staked everything on the army of the Grand Combine; if Kane defeated Jarvo's invasion, it would leave the whole of the southern kingdoms open to conquest by the Dark Crusade.

Thus everything hung in balance for the Dark Crusade. The logic of war was evident. Under these circumstances, Kane was certain Orted Ak-Ceddi would agree to the proposed truce.

Orted agreed.

"Can we trust him, though?" Alain protested.

"We can trust Orted for the same reason that he must trust me," Kane answered. "Because each of us depends on the other if he is to stay alive."

He paused, remembering. "There was a time that I went into a tavern to kill a man. We were rivals, blood-enemies--sworn to kill the other on sight. He was good; I couldn't take him at once. While we were fighting, the tavern was surrounded, the city guard rushed in. They were sworn to kill us both on sight.

"And so we fought back to back, he and I--while the guard tore at us both. Neither of us feared a treacherous blow from the other, for the guard would instantly cut down either of us alone. We killed maybe twenty of them, before the handful that were left broke and fled."

"And after that?" Alain prompted.

"Afterward," said Kane, smiling at the memory, "I killed him."

A thunderhead of dust towered above the horizon, following Kane relentlessly as he retreated toward Shapeli--as if he fled before a storm of inconceivable fury. Jarvo was pursuing hard on their trail, crushing all that did not flee. Kane managed to outdistance his nemesis, but only by holding to a pace that killed horses and left his men hanging to their saddles as drowning sailors cling to broken timbers. Kane wondered if the Combine's cavalry fired any better; probably they did--having set out with fresh mounts and full provisions.

The time lost in arranging the truce with Orted Ak-Ceddi was of itself almost Kane's undoing. The Combine advanced at a speed Kane had not imagined possible for so vast an army--even considering that Jarvo rode unchecked by the terrain and without fear of ambush. As for pursuing Kane, once the Combine's army converged on his trail, it was only a matter of following the swath of trampled earth and the litter of dead mounts and abandoned gear. A day's lead dwindled like wax in flame as the killing race stretched on. By the time they reached the forest, Kane doubted that Jarvo was more than handful of hours behind.

No use now to think of tearing up the roadway, of throwing barricades and ambuscades in Jarvo's path. Too late to organize resistance--time only to ride headlong for Ingoldi. Sleep in your saddle, stuff handfuls of whatever is left to eat in your mouth as you ride. Horses have to stop for food and water and rest; men don't. No more fresh mounts, and every dead horse means a dead man when the Combine catches up. Ride on for Ingoldi, and pray its walls won't be your tomb.

After Sembrano, on the forest edge, Kane was able to stretch his lead over Jarvo. Ingoldi was a ride of several days from the border and through hostile territory for the army of the Grand Combine. Jarvo had to funnel his gigantic body of troops into the forest-spanning military roads, wary of ambushes and pockets of resistance that did not exist. His objective was secure and his enemy bottled up. Jarvo would slow his pace to save horses and men for the impending assault on Ingoldi.