The Right Hand of God (32 page)

Over the next few days the army settled into a pattern of

sorts. They made their way almost due east from Mercium, crossing the plentiful plains of Straux. With the king's grudging permission the army took most of their provisions from the land around them, careful to make payment where possible and making sure they stripped no region bare. 'We want no enemies behind our backs,' the provisions master said. So each day a tenth of the army gathered food for the other nine-tenths, and no food was taken from the wagons that still streamed south and west from Instruere. The army would begin their march an hour after dawn, giving four clear hours on foot until halting for the midday meal. The afternoon saw six more hours of marching, ending just before the sun went down, allowing them barely enough time to make their camp. The fires were lit, the soldiers' kits were inspected and repaired where necessary, blisters and other injuries were ministered to; then the experienced men among them retired early.

But not all did so. Many of the younger men stayed up late by the fire, sharing songs and occasionally liquor purchased or stolen from a local farmer, even though this was expressly forbidden. A number of the soldiers were punished, severely and publicly, before the more unruly men calmed down. 'They're nervous, that's all,' some said; but others counselled the need to conserve all the strength they had. 'Get your sleep now,' they said, 'for there will come a time when you'll need it.'

And then there was the losian army. None of them went early to bed: young or old, they danced and sang late into the night, and marched as soon and as quickly as their counterparts.

Some of the Falthans grumbled, but their commanding officers would not relent, and so they had to lie in their tents, listening to the laughter and the shouting in the distance.

On the third night east of Mercium, and their fifth since leaving Instruere, Leith paid a visit to the losian camp. There, by a massive bonfire, he met with Axehaft of the Fodhram, Tanama of the Widuz and the Fenni clan chief. With them were Perdu, Farr (who jokingly told Leith he had 'gone native') and the unsettling figure of Jethart, who sat in the shadows like a dark cloud on the horizon.

'We read your rising in the stars,' said the clan chief through Perdu, who interpreted for him.

'The Five great Heavenly Houses have arisen to oppose the blue fire coming from the East.

The clash of fires is coming, and we have been called out to support the First Men with the gifts the gods have given us, the secret gifts of the vidda known by no man save ourselves.'

'What gifts are these?' Leith asked, and the clan chief answered briefly once the question had been interpreted.

Perdu shrugged his shoulders, puzzled. 'He won't say, and I know nothing of them. I do know the people of the vidda use fire, but do not worship it. They see themselves as people of the Air, from where the snow comes, and in which the mighty eagles soar in search of their prey.

There are many secrets the Fenni would not share with me, a child of Fire as they called me. {

never knew what they meant,' he said, then glanced at the Arrow in Leith's hand. 'Perhaps I do now.'

Leith thanked the Fenni for making the long journey east. 'You must have left not long after we departed your lands,' he said.

'We left as soon as the priests could meet,' was the answer 'Your coming confirmed the signs in their mind. We march eastward to see the fire fall' And nothing clearer than this cryptic answer could Leith obtain.

Axehaft and Tanama sat down together, side by side, seemingly allies, yet Leith could clearly sense the tension between them. 'It was not my idea to join with our enemy,' said the Warden of the Fodhram. 'That gem came from our friend from Inch Chanter, sitting apart from us, as though this had nothing to do with him.' He laughed, a deep chuckle that reminded Leith of pine-scent and the dark depths of forests, or water foaming at the bow of a canoe. 'He turns up one evening, as pleased with himself as a bear having found a honey-tree, as though he was anything but a stranger to our lands, having neglected them for twenty years and more.' Again the laugh, softening the words. 'He had the remnants of the Widuz leadership in tow, suing for peace. Seems they pay him the same kind of respect we do. Anyway, there was nothing we could do but accept. Shamed into it, really.' He saluted the stern-faced Widuz chief sitting next to him. 'We were barely back from avenging our dead at Helig Holth, but Jethart gathered us up over the summer, and we marched together as an army as soon as the leaves turned. Fenni, Fodhram and Widuz. Who could have guessed?' And he laughed at his own credulity.

'What?' Leith managed. 'Jethart just told you to march, and you marched?' He risked a glance into the shadows, but the hunched-over figure gave no indication he was attending to the conversation.

'He explained what the hidden signs meant,' said the Widuz leader. 'He told us of the Earth and of the defeat of the fire. He spoke with the authority of a priest. He drew us out from Adunlok, from Frerlok, from Uflok; from our fortresses and sacred dancing grounds. He promised we will look on the day of our freedom. He told us what we would see in your hand.'

Then, before anyone could shout a warning, the man leaned forward, casually stretched out an arm and, with his gaze firmly fixed on Leith's face, placed his hand on the shaft of the Arrow.

Leith cried out, startled, then his eyes opened wide in shock as the Widuz leader showed no sign of hurt. Behind him the Company gasped in dismay. 'But - but...' Leith spluttered, astonished. 'How can you touch it? Is the Jugom Ark yours?'

'No,' came a deep voice from the shadows. 'No, it's not. Haven't you yet guessed, youngster?

The Arrow is of the Fire, and can hold sway only over those that are of the Fire. He of the Widuz can touch it, but cannot control it, It is just an arrow to him. How is it you do not know this?'

The old man stood up and stepped forward into the firelight, facing the Company. Though very old, he still retained the shape of a fighting man, and fixed them with a fierce eye. That eye settled on Phemanderac, whom he addressed, speaking right over the top of Leith's head.

'Why did you not tell him, offspring of the House of Sthane? Why else were you called across the desert, if not to instruct the boy?' There was heat and power in the voice, and Leith felt the pull of the Wordweave - now he had a name for the strange power he'd felt time and again since this adventure began -even though it was not directed at him.

'I am ready to teach him, when he agrees to the tuition,' said Phemanderac defensively.

'Though it seems as though you could have done just as well.'

The man from Inch Chanter raised his beetling brows, then laughed shortly. 'He wasn't ready.

Still isn't ready. Doesn't want to be ready. Nevertheless, he must learn!' He turned his owl-like gaze on Leith, who tried not to quail at his stare.

'You must learn, and quickly. I thought you would have listened to those provided for your instruction, but you wouldn't have it. This must change.'

'How is it everyone knows what I should do but me?'

'How is it you still don't know what you should be doing?' Jethart responded evenly.

'Do you know? I'm asking politely.' Leith's terse, angry voice belied his words.

'I'm not the one appointed to teach you.'

Leith jerked the Arrow out of the grasp of the Widuz leader and forced himself to his feet.

'You don't know, that's why.'

'Maybe youare right,' Jethart responded.

'Then I'll find my own answers,' Leith said stubbornly, and stomped away from the fire.

Phemanderac followed him into the darkness. No matter how fast Leith walked, or where he turned, the philosopher kept up with him. The young man found his angry steps taking him away from the huge camp site, past the sentries who dared not question the youth with the mighty arrow, out into the harvest fields of Westrau, but still could not shake Phemanderac off. Soon he was running, angry anew at the sheer silliness of what he was doing, at his own childishness and at what the losian must think of him, but did not stop until his pursuer caught him by the shoulder.

'Sit down, Leith,' said the philosopher's voice, his face hidden in the darkness, the only contact the hand on the youth's shoulder, and the voice in the night. 'Sit down and listen to what I have to say.'

Leith squatted on the ground and listened as Phemanderac spoke. 'I should have told you,' he said. 'I really only suspected at first, and it wasn't until you sent the Fire out to mark the losian in the crowd that I realised what it all meant. I must apologise to you.'

'What what meant? What are you talking about? Why could the Widuz warrior touch my Arrow?'

'Listen, Leith. Please; this is important. Falthans descended from the First Men are of the Fire.

That is how the Most High came to them; that is the nature of the covenant he made with them. But not all people are of the Fire. Other Falthans are descended from people who are of the Earth, like the Widuz and the Children of the Mist; still others are of the Air, like the Fenni, and there are yet more who are of the Water.'

'But they are losian?' exclaimed Leith, confused. 'They fled from the Vale, from the Fire, and are lost. How can they have another covenant?'

'Because the losian the First Men told us about are no more than a myth,' said Phemanderac firmly. 'There were people of the Vale who rejected the calling of the Most High, but I doubt any of them made it through the desert to Faltha. The people living here in Faltha before the time of the First Men were not refugees from the Vale of Youth. They came to their own understanding of the way the gods dealt with them. When the First Men arrived, they explained the existence of these people in their own terms, and the explanation also served to make the so-called losian lesser, which justified the taking of their lands. Don't you see? The Fire is of the First Men, the last-comers to this land. The land was of Earth and Water and Air before the Fire came. The First Men brought death and destruction, a great burning, and the Faltha the losian knew was laid waste.'

Leith listened to the earnest voice coming from the darkness. A cool wind picked up from the north, rustling the

wheatfields surrounding them and bringing with it the cooking smells of the distant camp: the familiar smell of Instruian fare and, mixed with it, the spicy scent of exotic food.

'So if the only people the Jugom Ark is a weapon against are the descendants of the First Men, why do we see the Arrow as our salvation in the coming war?' he asked slowly, thinking carefully as he spoke. 'Surely the Bhrudwans are not of the Fire?'

'No, they are not,' came the answer. 'From what we've been able to piece together over the years, they are of the Water. But remember, the Destroyer was once Kannwar, strong in the ways of the Fuirfad. He can be touched by the Jugom Ark, we know that; he has only one hand because of the Arrow you now hold.'

'If he was of the Fire, how did he manage to subject the Bhrudwans to his will?'

'Ah, this is the great mystery,' said the disembodied voice of his friend. 'Hauthius believed that when the Destroyer drank of the Fountain of Life, in disobedience to the command of the Most High, he entered into a second covenant without breaking the first. Thus, alone of all people the Destroyer is of two covenants, Fire and Water. Together they mix in his veins, keeping him alive past his time - in the same way the spray of the Fountain preserved the dwellers in the Vale, giving them their legendary longevity. This second covenant made him acceptable to the Bhrudwans, and gave him power over them. He is the only one in the whole world who could rule over both Falthans and Bhrudwans. Such is his ambition.'

Leith shifted nervously: the Arrow in his palm seemed to burn with an even greater potency, though the flame did not flare like it often had. 'You say only those not of the Fire can touch the Arrow without hurt,' he said. 'Why can I touch it, then?'

The silence emanating from the darkness went on for some time. 'Leith, I don't know the answer to that. But somehow you and the Arrow are linked: it responds to your thoughts and emotions, it heals where you see hurt, it flames when you are angry. It is an extension of your heart. Anyone who looks on the Arrow sees you, and the strength and beauty and fire within you.' The philosopher's voice sounded suddenly thin, somehow hesitant, as though approaching a thought he did not want to give voice to.

But this fragility did not communicate itself to Leith. 'My heart? Or the Arrow's heart?

Phemanderac, I feel like I am an extension of it - as though I am a walking quiver, a place for the Jugom Ark to rest before it is finally used by its rightful owner. Sometimes it speaks to me, and makes me do what it wants! You don't know how many times I've begged it to leave me alone!' Abruptly the youth stood up and stumbled off into the darkness, clearly unable to bear the weight of what was being asked of him. The Arrow flared in his hand like a beacon: bright, clean, pure, beckoning. Desirable.

Phemanderac did not follow. Instead he put his head in his hands, and whispered to himself: 'I see your heart, Leith.' Then, unable to speak the words written on his own heart, he wept.

THE BHRUDWAN ARMY MARCHED westwards, dragging Stella along with them.

Somewhere ahead lay the borders of Faltha; and somewhere beyond that huddled the towns and villages of home, places made by ordinary people doing everyday things, unaware of what marched towards them.

Stella shivered in her white cocoon. She knew with a dreadful certainty what marched towards the Falthans. She had seen it in all its pitiless, terrifying violence. She stared at the wastelands outside her cot, seeing nothing but the fire set to Loulea, the cries of those about to die. Nothing she could do was able to erase the horror, so much greater than even her own terror of the man who had her in thrall.

A week ago Stella had woken from evil dreams to find the eunuch leaning over her, shaking her, his eyes rolled back in his head and his flabby body rigid with the control of his master.