The Right Hand of God (45 page)

The floor of the Gap was paved with rough, stony ground, he was told. There were many places to hide an army, the best hidden under the banks of the River Aleinus, now incised in a stone valley to the north, and on the lower slopes of the mountains to the south. If they could occupy these vantages they could rush down upon their foe in a massive ambush that might end the conflict then and there. Some warned against this strategy as it involved dividing their forces, which was considered poor tactics, and others counselled against hiding on the slopes in case the weather turned to snow, trapping them there. On into the night the debate raged, but early on Leith made up his mind. The risk was worth it. Finally a consensus was reached.

The majority of commanders agreed with Leith, to his relief. Instructions were prepared and runners sent to alert the hundreds of captains needed to implement their strategy. One bold strike, Leith thought, and if our luck holds we break the Bhrudwans here on the Nagorj.

Early next morning the white curtain twitched open, and Stella drew her sheets around her, the only defence she could mount. But it was not the Destroyer who entered her litter. She gasped with genuine delight. Her visitor was the round-faced eunuch, back after more than a week away. Though, as she looked more closely, he appeared to have been ill. His skin had a grey cast, and hung in folds from his cheeks and neck. 'What has happened to you?'

she asked him.

He turned his eyes on her, twin vortices of despair, then opened his mouth. For a moment Stella did not understand. His throat worked up and down, and tears started from his sad eyes.

Then she looked more closely, and her hands went to her face in shock. His tongue. Most High, O Most High! His tongue had been cut out.

Tongues wagged freely as the Falthan leaders directed their troops. The sun had risen on a clear sky, blue, remote and cold, and the breath of man and horse steamed in a crackling frost.

The clouds had drawn back from the hills, exposing tall, snowcloaked spires, nameless peaks that together formed a forbidding wall stretching inward from the horizon to the left and the right, offering no way through other than the Gap. It was a scene of delicate beauty, like a glass sculpture.

'Not a place to fight a war, is it?' Modahl stood beside his grandson as all around them men from Instruere prepared for the final march. 'We've been lucky with the weather so far, but many of your men are not equipped for a northern winter. Let us pray the conflict is not prolonged, or you will be forced to spend your soldiers like fretas.'

Leith smiled at the old man. 'Is the queen well?' he asked shyly. The grizzled head bobbed in reply.

'Now for it, then,' said the young man to his grandfather. 'A journey begun nearly a year ago finishes here today. I just hope I know enough swordplay to keep alive.'

Modahl peered at him in surprise. 'Don't you know how to use the Arrow as a weapon? It's the talk of the camp: everyone expects you to wield that thing like a hero of legend. How can you not know?'

'He - I have spoken with someone who knows about the Jugom Ark,' he said, unwilling to betray his ambivalence about the bright thing in his hand. 'But he says there are limits to what I can do with it. Phemanderac promised to teach me more, but 1 haven't seen him in many days. I don't know what's happened to him.'

'Who have you seen?' the old man asked gently. 'Have you spoken to your friends? Your family?'

'Not you as well!' Leith growled. 'Why does everyone think my brother is more important than the coming battle? Can't I get on with the planning for this war?'

'Leith, I didn't say anything about—'

'And what of you?' All of Leith's tension on this day of days seemed to boil up to the surface.

'Isn't there someone you should be talking to? Have you even tried to speak to my father?' He could tell from the hurt on the old man's face that he had scored a telling blow, but he could summon up no joy at the sight.

The final march began, but the feet of the army did not carry them forward with the same swiftness as the previous day. Heads were raised, staring at the ever-widening opening in the mountain wall ahead of them, and many a man or horse stumbled on the stony ground as a result. The land became more and more broken, gentle slopes giving way to knife-edged ridges that had to be navigated around; then the badlands gave way to a grey rock plain. The Gap seemed so close in the clear morning air, but still tantalisingly far away.

Just before noon the vanguard of the Falthan army emerged from behind a ridge and found themselves at the foot of a shallow talus slope. Ahead lay the Gap, perhaps a third of a league away. Cheering broke out from those on horseback... but the sound died away to an echo, then to nothing.

Boiling down from the head of the slope came hundreds, thousands of small shapes, leaping lightly over the broken rocks, taking up positions of seeming impregnability all across the incline. Within moments it seemed that the whole slope seethed with them, as though someone had kicked over an ant's nest.

Emptied of all emotion, wrung out like a dirty cloth, devastated beyond belief, Leith sat on his horse and cried bitter tears as he watched the Bhrudwan army pour through the Gap and into Faltha.

DOWN THE SLOPE POURED the Bhrudwan army, in almost complete silence. No yelling, no attempt to intimidate the Falthans. The Destroyer's army possessed a supernatural calmness, as if the Bhrudwans had practised for months for this moment, as if their victory was beyond doubt. As if they knew something. Their silence intimidated the Falthans more than any amount of screaming would have.

We've been tricked, Leith realised, lured here like mice to a trap. Somehow the Bhrudwans had known their army would arrive at the Gap first. How long had they been watching Leith struggling to form an army? Had spies reported on Falthan progress ever since his army left Instruere? Had they timed their own arrival to maximise Falthan exhaustion and despair? If we had known we would lose the race, we would have taken the journey much more carefully. The weight of over eight thousand dead settled even more heavily on Leith's shoulders, as it became clear they had died in vain. Had the misguidance of the Favonian landsman been a mistake, as his generals all assumed, or something more sinister?

'Get back from the slope!' a voice screamed in his ear, but it came to him as the crashing of waves on the shore, a noise without any meaning. 'They can roll rocks down on us! Back!

Back to the plains!'

'I don't want to retreat,' Leith mumbled, his hands and feet numb, his shocked mind a blur. It was cold, so cold.

'Bring the Arrow-bearer! Take his bridle! We can't stay here a moment longer!'

Other voices, equally frantic, joined the shouting. 'Sound the retreat!' 'Send word to the wagons!' 'No! We must find high ground!' 'Look to the Arrow-bearer!'

The rattle of pebbles drew Leith's misting eyes back to the stony slope. The nearest Bhrudwan was no more than a minute's hard run from him, and still more warriors surged into view over the crown of the slope. His gaze lingered on the brown-cloaked warriors, and he finally realised in the pit of his soul that they were indeed real, not a figment of his father's imagination. The journey had been so long, he had forgotten that one day it would have an end. The Bhrudwans were real, they held the Gap, and their swords were out.

'Look down there,' said the Destroyer, his one hand gripping Stella's shoulder, fingers biting into her flesh. 'Witness the fruition of my plans!'

'I can see twice as many Falthans as Bhrudwans,' she spat back at him, heedless of the punishment she might receive. 'They may have prepared you a trap of their own.'

He laughed cruelly, a mockery of her brave words. 'They might have a hundred thousand fools on the field of battle, but they are untrained, exhausted by their hurried journey here.

Dispirited, having lost the race to the Gap. My warriors are hungry for victory, while theirs are desperate to avoid

defeat. They will not avoid it, this 1 prophesy. And you, my little tigress, will watch them die.'

He took his hand from her shoulder and something within her relaxed a little, as the trapped fly might relax when the spider turns his attention towards another victim in his web. 'Set the blue fire,' he commanded his servants. 'I must have contact with the Maghdi Dasht.'

Stella leaned out from their perch on top of a rocky outcrop, trying to see what happened below. Anything to distract her from the spider beside her. The Falthans were already in retreat, drawing back from the Bhrudwan advance even before they had engaged with their enemy, but even so the two armies were still closing. From where she stood the Falthans looked disorganised, the distant wagons still pressing forwards while the vanguard had turned back. The Bhrudwans pressed on unhurriedly.

It could all end right here, today. And with that chilling thought, she realised just how much she depended on a Falthan victory.

Leith came to himself. This was his army, and not all was yet lost. Perhaps, just perhaps, a victory won here today might lay eight thousand icy spectres to rest. His army's headlong retreat had nearly won them free of the treacherous, broken ground at the base of the slope.

Before them lay a wide plain packed with Falthan soldiers, some unsheathing their swords, others nocking arrows to their bows. Horsemen, pikemen, footsoldiers, all competent, all ready to fight. The sight settled his nerves. Leith lifted the Arrow high and his army roared in response to the flash of flame.

'Turn!' came a cry from somewhere nearby. 'Turn and face!' It was Jethart. Leith swung his horse around to face the

Bhrudwans, and suddenly a great exhilaration rose within him. Death. Death comes running towards us! His heart hammered painfully at his ribcage. For a wild moment he went for his sword, desperate to strike a blow, then remem-bered the Jugom Ark. No one will be able to stand against me while I have this!

The first Bhrudwans came leaping over the last of the rocks and out on to the level ground.

Just as they closed within reach, a volley of arrows arced down from behind them and thudded into the Falthans, who instinctively jerked their shields up to cover themselves. In many cases this proved fatal, as the Bhrudwans drove in with swords and pikes. Piercing death from above and ahead.

Leith endured a dreadful thirty seconds as the fighters directly in front of him absorbed the initial impact of the Bhrudwan assault. His hope that the first line of defence would hold them evaporated along with his men, as they melted away in the face of fierce swordplay.

There had been some talk about where he should be positioned when the battle began. Some of his generals had argued that he was too valuable to risk on the front line, while others, obviously in awe of the Arrow, saw his value to the morale of the Falthan fighters as outweighing any risk. But there had been little talk of it in the past week during the punishing sprint across the Nagorj, when their hopes of taking the Gap had been so high. Suddenly Leith felt awkward and out of place, and wondered where he should be: he spun around but couldn't see any of his friends. None of the Company, none of his family, and only a few of his generals. Up until now he had gone into battle with the Company at his side. What was he to do now? Where was he to go?

The Bhrudwans pressed closer. Leith saw a Falthan nearby

go down screaming with an arrow in his eye. His anger kindled, he raised the Arrow again and strode forward. His soldiers gave way before the fierceness of the blaze, and a path opened up to the Bhrudwan lines. From somewhere behind came the sound of his name, calling him back, but he ignored it. Time to measure the worth of this weapon, he decided.

Down came a volley of arrows, clattering off the shields of the Falthans - those fortunate enough to be carrying shields. Others cried in pain as they were struck. But not Leith: no arrows penetrated the bright flame of his own Arrow. In front of him men in brown cloaks rushed forward, then threw spears, twenty spears or more all aimed at him. They vanished in a crackle of flame, the spearheads falling hot to the ground. The Bhrudwans fled faster than they had advanced. Heartened, his men came up behind him. 'Follow!' he cried. 'Burn the enemy!'

'Burn them! Burn the enemy!' The cry echoed around the Gap. Leith pointed the Arrow, and willed flame: a jet of pure fire spat across the space between him and the fleeing Bhrudwans and enveloped a dozen or more browncloaks. A fierce yell erupted from behind him as the Falthans watched, exultant.

But their joy turned to terror as the flame winked out, revealing the Bhrudwans unscathed.

Leith had only a moment to realise the truth of Belladonna's warning. The Jugom Ark was no weapon. It could not kill. No, more accurately it could not kill Bhrudwans, could not harm anyone not of the Fire. He could hurt his own people, but not the enemy.

For a moment the Bhrudwans stood frozen, clearly astonished, then with cries of glee they drew their swords and

charged the bewildered Falthans. Men reprieved from death by fire, now seized by bloodlust.

Behind Leith all but a few of the bravest of his men fled.

Cries of men and ringing of swords echoed across the valley. As yet only a small fraction of the two armies had engaged. The level ground was perhaps half a league in width, the northern third occupied by the swift-flowing Aleinus River. Phemanderac found a house-sized boulder, an erratic from one of the mountain ranges shaped eerily like a human skull, and clambered up the side of it for a better view of the battle. Surprisingly he felt exhilarated, not frightened, in spite of what Hauthius had written about wars. To watch this one at first-hand would surely earn him a scroll in the Hall of Lore in Dona Mihst.

There! A flash of light right where the armies had come together! Who was he fooling? He had not climbed this rock to watch the battle. He had taken this position to find Leith. Since the night west of Sivithar almost three months ago, Phemanderac had been afraid to speak to the Arrow-bearer, afraid of the feelings he carried for the clever, brave, naive fool who burned his heart like the Fire of Heaven. Jethart of Inch Chanter had taken the philosopher aside and charged him with telling Leith what he needed to know about the Jugom Ark, but he had not been able to do it. Every time he drew near . . . oh, it felt like a handful of hot stones churning in his stomach. He could not do it. And now Leith was out there, unaware of his danger.