The Right Hand of God (62 page)

The Destroyer laughed, a mocking sound, and idly he flicked his arm in her direction. With a shriek her struggles ceased, and she took up the pen and signed her name as though it was the key to their victory.

'Now, the former Lord of Faltha and Bearer of the Jugom Ark will affix his name to the document,' the voice intoned, and without warning Leith was jerked out of his seat and across the platform. He could not even think of resisting. His face burned with shame as he signed his name under that of his mother. They all saw my inability to resist? What will they think of me? And he answered himself: they are far too busy worrying about themselves.

As Kannwar the Destroyer prepared to sign the terms of surrender, Leith's attention was again drawn to the crowd, their helpless eyes fixed on him as his were on them. He refused to watch the pen move across the paper. He could not bear to see the moment of his final defeat, the moment when his true life would end. There would be time left to him, he knew; but it would be a life of torment. He knew the Destroyer better than to hope for a quick death. He had seen what had been done to Stella.

A tomb-like silence enfolded the Hall of Meeting as at last Kannwar savoured his triumph.

Leith's eyes were drawn upwards, following a delicately-carved column up, up to the great row of carvings depicting the Vale of Dona Mihst. He had seen them many times since the day he had first been admitted beyond the Iron Door, the day the corrupt Council of Faltha rejected the warning so hard-won by his father. There among the carvings high on the wall, just as down below in the hall, Kannwar took centre stage, kneeling to drink from the forbidden fountain, carven in jet-black stone at the moment of his triumph; there the Most High waited to loose the arrow - the Jugom Ark, Leith remembered poignantly - against he who would one day be named Destroyer. A slight breeze stirred the feathers of the arrow; its stone tip pointed at the grey figure who prepared to drink, unaware of his imminent doom.

Below, the Destroyer dipped his pen in the ink and lifted his good hand.

And then Leith froze, his skin tingling with fear, awe, wonder. It had taken him a moment to register what he had seen.

Mariswan feathers stirring in the breeze ...

. . . yet the feathers were carved from stone.

Below the carvings, Kannwar put pen to parchment.

Stunned, Leith stared at the great carving. For the first time the Most High had a face, and alone of all the people in the hall, Leith knew whose face it was. A fragmentary glimpse, a moment forever graven on his memory. A face of alabaster, just as he had last seen it. The Right Hand of God revealed.

No spell could keep him silent; the scream had finally found an outlet. 'HAAAAAL!' he cried at the top of his voice.

The crowd turned; the Destroyer looked up, momentarily distracted.

At that moment the stone figure loosed the arrow in a

graceful, fluid motion. It flamed as it flew, remorselessly seeking its target. With a hollow thud it severed the Destroyer's one good hand cleanly from his arm, then slammed into the signing table and burst into incandescent brightness.

'No!' The Destroyer's howl cut through the shocked silence. Pain, fear and frustration intermixed. 'NO!'

Instantly a great clamour arose in the hall. Bhrudwan and Falthan alike were loosed from their momentary stasis by the cries of the world's conqueror. Confusion descended upon the place.

People surged towards the signing table. Others, who had not seen what had happened, cried out in bewilderment. Panicked Maghdi Dasht laid about themselves, striking down anyone who moved. The Destroyer continued to bellow like a wounded animal.

Leith did not move. He remained transfixed, staring at the jugom Ark embedded in the table, flaming as it always had, its feathers moving slightly. His hand tingled with the memory, and the Arrow glowed brighter still.

Hal.

THE MOMENT STRETCHED OUT until Leith was sure time itself had been halted. And perhaps it had. If Hal could return from death itself to defeat the Destroyer, what was he not capable of?

'Pick it up.' The voice slammed back into his mind.

Hal! Hal, is that you? Hal, I'm so sorry! I should have spoken to you.

'Not quite Hal, but close enough for now. You'll understand later what has happened. You did try to talk to me; I haven't made it easy for you.'

Hal, what happened?

'Again, that's something for the future. For now, just pick up the Arrow - unless you want to take this moment to have one of our interesting debates. ' Leith laughed, the sound passing the sudden constriction in his throat with difficulty. Once again, we'll leave that for the future, he said to the voice, hardly able to contain his joy, and the voice laughed in response.

He took a pace forwards and the moment shattered. Cries and screams swirled around him, and a great booming explosion shook the hall at the exact moment a grey figure flashed past his eyes. Within moments he stood by the table, then reached out his hand . . .

... and time seemed to pause again.

I'm choosing to pick up this Arrow because I want to, he indicated defiantly, with a hint of self-mockery. Not because anyone's making me, or from some sense of duty. Is that clear?

'Very clear,' the voice said dryly. 'But would you mind picking it up quickly?' There it was. Leith had held it in his hand during his waking hours for more than half a year, and he could tell beyond doubt that it was the very same Arrow he had left lying in The Cauldron - just as the face he had seen on the carved wall was the same face he had left lying by the Arrow. And there beside the Arrow was a severed hand. Ancient and scarred, it looked more pitiable than terrible. Get what you came for, he told himself, and reached out before any doubt, any question of his worthiness could take hold. The Jugom Ark settled into his hand as easily as its voice had settled into his head.

'I'm sorry,' Leith said aloud. I'm so sorry.'

'I speak with the voice of a prophet, ' the voice said. 'This is my prophecy: that won't be the last time you apologise to me.'

I'm sure it won't be, his brother replied, amused. So, what now?

'That is up to you. I would add two cautions, however. Don't be surprised if not everyone here accepts your version of events. Few saw what you saw, and almost no one else here hears what you hear. And don't pursue your enemy to the death. Remember that his curse is to live, and not even the Jugom Ark can undo that.'

But there is someone . . .

'Of course. But that is up to you - and her. Just like you, her journey is not yet finished.' Again the moment ended with a sudden surge of sound and movement. It took Leith a while to orient himself.

'Leith! Leith! What happened?' His mother took his arm, her tear-smeared face a mixture of shock and elation.

'That's something to be talked about later,' the Arrow-bearer answered calmly, unconsciously echoing the voice he had just spoken with. 'Is everyone safe?'

'We're not sure. Mahnum rounds them up even as we speak, but some have gone in pursuit of the Destroyer.'

'The Destroyer?' Leith had almost forgotten him. 'He will have found some way to use his magic to escape, surely?'

'We don't think so. We think the loss of his hand might have limited him. Most of his power was exercised through his hand. Remember?'

'If that is so, where is he?' Then he added, as his mind continued to clear: 'And where is Stella? Is she safe?'

'We have seen neither him nor her since the Arrow was loosed. We think she remains his hostage still.'

Mahnum put a hand on his son's shoulder. 'Something must be done about the enemies that remain,' he said, thinking things through as he spoke. 'The Destroyer appears to have allies in Instruere, and it would not surprise me to find him sheltering in their midst. However, you also have a City to speak to. The people of Instruere are no doubt frightened, and the sound of your words and the sight of the Jugom Ark will do much to comfort them. I do not know which you should do first, but if I was to advise you I would suggest that your prime responsibility is to speak to your people. Go to them, Leith, and leave the search for the Destroyer to others.'

Leith nodded, still half-dazed, but he recognised the wisdom of the counsel, even if it came from a father keen to keep alive the one son remaining to him. Already some of the commanders were running in pursuit of their enemies. As much as he wanted to find Stella, the Arrow burned in his hand. The Jugom Ark: the Arrow of Unity. Of responsibility.

His father leaned closer. 'And now I have a question for you, my son. I saw you talking to the Jugom Ark, and I swear I could almost hear it talk back to you. Would you tell me about it as we go? After the events we have just witnessed, I am prepared to believe anything, so make it as fanciful as you like.'

The southern Army had not expected to be opposed in their landing, so were taken by surprise by the blockade and the two siege towers. They had to endure another slow, frustrating week until the opposition could be assessed and worn down. Again the Saristrian admiral wore his discomfiture poorly, constantly cursing these ill-favoured lands for providing no true harbour.

His men were harassed by a flotilla of small boats, and had to be constantly on their guard against poorly equipped but fiercely determined raiding parties. Reluctantly - for these were Falthans who opposed him -he allowed the Corrigians among his crew to deal with this threat in their own ruthless manner. Raiding parties were much more reluctant to try to scale a ship's side when one of their fellows could be seen hanging over the side from a makeshift gibbet at deck level.

One of the ruffians was eventually caught, and under duress agreed to show them a way around the blockade. The admiral had been told that the swampland of the delta was impenetrable to anyone not familiar with it, but sent men anyway, none of whom had returned; so he was delighted at his good fortune. But first, at the cost of a precious extra day, he sent the man out with three of his best officers, just in case the whole thing was a carefully planned ambush.

Finally the route was mapped. The mercenary revealed the existence of a southern path which the admiral decided to take on trust. He divided his forces: nine-tenths of the men would cross the northern delta and make for Instruere and the Inna Gate through Deuverre, while a much smaller force of less than three thousand men would use the southern path and look to enter Instruere by the Struere Gate. The ships would be left to fend for themselves. This last was a grievous situation, but since there was no telling whether Instruere was already occupied by the Destroyer - and the presence of a blockade indicated this might be the case, and, further, that they were expected - the Saristrian admiral considered he had no choice.

By dawn the divided southern forces were well on their way across the swamps, north and south. Two days of stiff walking enabled Graig to regain his land-legs, and just before sunset on the second day he and the rest of the northern force could see Instruere's walls in the southern distance. And they could see something else: from a dozen places behind the wall rose plumes of black or grey smoke. The town had clearly been the site of a great battle.

The cautious admiral, the greatest tactician of his generation according to his king, sent out spies. And not just to Instruere: north and south he sent them, looking to find the trail left by the passing army, thus to estimate the force he might be contending with. Within half an hour one of his spies came sprinting back to camp with the surprising news that a large Bhrudwan force was camped less than a league east of them.

'I guess around fifty thousand souls,' the spy gasped out. 'We would have run into them had we continued on our course.' Graig sighed heavily: if that number were left outside the City, how many more might be hidden within?

'Possibly none at all,' the admiral replied with a frown, and the young Nemohaimian was mortified to realise that he must have spoken aloud. 'The reports my king received suggested no more than that number were in the original Bhrudwan army. So,' the man continued, counting off the possibilities on his carefully manicured fingers, 'the Bhrudwans might have done some forced recruiting.' He turned to his spy. 'Did you see any evidence of Falthans among the Bhrudwans?'

'Sir, there were a large number of men - perhaps two-fifths of the army - sitting on the ground without cover. I did not think to look more closely, but they could have been captives.'

The admiral went back to his fingers. 'Might the whole Falthan army have surrendered? That is another possibility, though unlikely in my opinion. More likely is that the Bhrudwans have yet to lay a proper siege to Instruere, and that the fires within are the result of some sort of incendiary missile used in an initial assault.'

He paced about for a moment, then stopped, legs wide apart as though he stood on the deck of a ship. First he addressed the spy. 'You will return to the Bhrudwan camp at dawn tomorrow, and this time make a full observation. I expect your report an hour after sunrise.' Then he turned to Graig and Geinor, who stood with the officers of the southern force. 'Meanwhile I will send some men to knock at the gate

of this City. Let us see exactly what condition it is in, and who rules it, before we decide what to do. Graig, at first light I want you to take your father and ten thousand of my men. Go and make it a loud knock.'

It took even the Lords of Fear a few seconds to react when the Arrow of the Most High struck their lord. They all felt the enormous power of it lacerate their souls, and grovelled witless where they stood as the Jugom Ark burned beside their master's hand. The crushing power eased when the Falthan boy picked it up, but access to their inner powers still proved impossible. Fortunately, they possessed many other abilities in no way limited by the burning of an arrow, however magical.

Swords out, they summoned up all their hard-earned discipline and locked their pain behind walls of their iron wills, as taught them by the ancient practice of Mul. A signal from their leader sent all those who had recovered sprinting towards the rear of the hall, where their lord had sought temporary safety in a small annexe. By day's end they would undoubtedly be far fewer than thirteen thirteens, but such losses were acceptable if they could bring their master through the snares of the enemy.