Valour and Victory (34 page)

“I see,” said
Zaoaldavdr and lowered his head with regret. “I am sorry.”

“Do you know
anything about what is happening to the north?”

“There is a
great battle. Much killing.”

“Who is
winning?” asked Danal.

“I do not know.
We Larg of the Avuzdel are no longer a part of Largdom. We refused
to take part in the insanity. The Susalai told us you were here in
the dry nadlians. He asked us to protect you. We have been
shadowing you for seven suns.”

“It was you we
have been sensing?”

“Indeed. We
could not contact you in case we alerted the kohorts and the Dglai
to your presence.”

“And it was you
who held off the kohort who were hunting us? We were sure there was
one. The Larg that killed Derek and Denei would have told them
where we were.”

Zaoaldavdr
nodded.

“We fought
them. We fought our brothers. Larg against Larg. It was a sad day,
sad but necessary.”

“What now?”

“We wait for
the end.”

“Your rtath,
your eln, your lin?”

“Hidden where
the Dglai will not find them. I never did trust the Dglai. Their
promises of Larg ascendance were a falsehood. They turned on us in
the end. They have already gathered in many of the meat herds.
Hunger bites the packs. Even if your plan to destroy the Dglai has
worked we will starve this coming cold season.”

“You and your
people will not starve,” promised Danal. “Vadath will help.”

“As will we,”
added Inalei.

Zaoaldavdr
lifted surprised brown eyes but his mind was far away. He was not
listening. Everyone except Grainne heard what he said next.

: The Ammokko
is gone! Some survived the blast, none of the Dglai. Some Larg were
far away but close enough to see when she blew up and to spread the
news :

“Tala and Chizu
did it!” the exultant voice of Inalei said to Grainne.

“What about the
battle?” she asked.

“The Larg are
gone,” Inalei answered, “except for one kohort, they do not know
why.”

* * * * *

Niaill

The ridge was
silent, every participant in the battle stunned by the events.

They stood and
gazed mesmerised at the golden wings of the Lai spiralling down in
ever decreasing circles. Then first one then another group began to
shout out with jubilation. The ridge resounded with calls of
welcome and relief that the battle was over.

Even Zuvavdr,
Kohortangan of the Larg army in Duchesne who had remained on the
battlefield with what remained of his kohort began to bark out a
welcome of his own although he kept a wary eye on the Lindars.

He was defeated
and defeat in battle was considered the greatest dishonour any Larg
could experience; punishable by death but he could not find it in
him but to feel anything but relief that the Largan’s plan had
failed and that he need fight no more.

The oft
denounced and repudiated stories about the existence of the Lai
were true after all. The Largan had been wrong and more than wrong.
Zuvavdr now realised he had been wrong in many things. The Dglai
had not been the true allies of the Larg but a duplicitous enemy.
They had used the kohorts of the Larg for their own purposes. What
would happen now Zuvavdr had no idea but he did know that he was a
witness to one of the most momentous events in history.

He stood,
surrounded by his remaining warriors, tail between his legs as
befitted one who had been vanquished and watched as first one then
another golden flyer landed on the ground between him and the
ridge. Some of the Lai, he noticed, had human riders on their
backs.

Then there was
a surge of movement from the centre of the ridge as the Lindars
began to run down the slope towards where the Lai were landing.

He commanded
his warriors to remain where they were and the kohort waited in a
tight little knot for the Susyc to arrive so that he could intone
the words of his formal surrender. Zuvavdr was not feeling
despondent about having to utter the words. Perhaps once he had
surrendered the victorious would permit him to approach the Lai on
his own account, to praise them and to give thanks for what they
had done to stop the madness.

From the ridge,
Niaill and the rest of the Vada were keeping an eye on the small
knot of Larg.

: They are
not fleeing with the rest :
telepathed a surprised Taraya
:
I wonder why :

: Perhaps
they have nowhere to go :
surmised Niaill
: perhaps their
eln and lin were among those who the Dglai killed and they have
nowhere to go :

: Their
Kohortangan wishes to surrender :

: It is not for
us to receive it - that is the duty of Julia and Alyei :

But to their
surprise it was not the Susyc pair who was now approaching the
kohort but a large white-haired Lind that Niaill recognised as
Hansei, the Susalai of the three branches of the Avuzdel. He
trotted out of the crowd of Lind milling around the Lai and headed
towards the Larg.

To Zuvadvr’s
astonishment, Hansei, after he had introduced himself, refused to
accept the surrender of the kohort, informing him that there was no
need.

Zuvavdr did not
know what a Susalai was but he did gather that Hansei was a most
important Lind and thus merited a great deal of respect.

He bowed low in
front of Hansei’s paws, his nose on the dirt.

“All will
become clear in time,” Hansei told the confused Zuvavdr. “You are
the new Largan?”

“Kalavdr is
dead then? I feared it was so. I have not heard from him for many a
long sun.”

Hansei nodded.
“The kohorts who were with him are either dead or fled. The Larg
will need a new Largan now.”

“The Dglai?”
asked Zuvavdr. “They have been killing our eln and our lin.”

“We know,”
Hansei replied with sympathy, a sympathy quite remarkable in the
circumstances when Zuvavdr thought about it, “and the Dglai ship is
destroyed.”

A group of Vada
were approaching as an apprehensive Zuvavdr watched.

“Holad,”
explained Hansei. “They are here to tend to your hurts.”

Zuvavdr nearly
collapsed with shock. The Holad had come to tend to his Larg!

: Some of the
Holad have gone to the aid of the Larg, those not tending to the
Lai :

: Good :
announced Taraya, satisfaction in her mind-voice
: what is
happening over there is more tremendous even than the arrival of
the Lai :

Niaill knew
what she meant.

* * * * *

“From this day
forth,” pronounced Hansei in a loud voice, “all enmity between Lind
and Larg must be at an end. The Holad coming to your aid is the
proof of this. Lind and Larg are together once more as the Lai have
ever promised. Let peace exist between us now and always, as it was
in the ancient times.”

At these words
Zuvadvr’s tired legs did give way beneath him and from his prone
position he looked around in stunned shock as the Holad began to
move amongst his wounded, smearing smaha ointment on their hurts
and speaking to them with voices of kindness and compassion. He saw
one of the maroon clad humans begin to sew up a large bleeding tear
in one of his warrior’s sides to his left. The young warrior would
normally have died from such a serious wound; had in fact been
dying before the Holad had arrived. Now he had every chance of a
long life.

Hansei followed
his gaze. “See, I speak truth. Now do you understand?”

Zuvavdr
did.

* * * * *

Rilla

The weary Rilla
and Zawlei stumbled into the midst of an equally tired looking
group of soldiers dressed in Garda blue who were sitting on the
churned up ground, every one of them but the one grey haired man
among them staring into space. He was staring at his boots.

: I do not
think she is here :

: Where is
she then? :
asked Rilla, looking around as if expecting her
sister to bounce out from behind one of the boulders and give her a
fright as she had done when they were girls.

The grey
haired, bleary-eyed man raised his head at their approach. “Can I
help you?” he asked.

“I’m looking
for my sister,” Rilla answered. “An officer back there told me that
this is where the Officer Trainees were.”

: Are these the
Trainees? : asked Zawlei.

: I don’t know
:

: There are
not many of them :
observed Zawlei.

: Perhaps
she’s been wounded :
answered an uneasy Rilla.

“And you are?”
asked the bleary-eyed man. “Name’s Taplin by the way, Warrant
Officer, Garda Academie.”

: We’re in the
right place then :

“Cadet Rilla
and Zawlei, Vada,” Rilla answered. “Rilla Talansdochter. My sister
is Senis Hilla Talansdochter.”

Warrant Officer
Taplin looked at her, this cadet had been fighting - her maroon
tunic was dirty and torn and the white of a bandage was showing
through her trousers. Her Lind had cuts and scores on his body.

Rilla grew more
uneasy.

Wilf Taplin
regarded the grimy-faced few sitting around him and sighed. There
was no easy way to say it.

“Your sister
didn’t make it. I brought over one hundred Trainees up the line
with me. I’ll be marching home with eleven.”

A stricken
Rilla stared.

“She didn’t
make it? Hilla can’t be dead. She is my sister! She’s wounded,
isn’t she?”

Wilf Taplin
shook his head.

“Senis Hilla
Talansdochter was killed yesterday.”

No … not
Hilla, she’s so alive, she can’t be dead ... she can’t be.
“Are
you absolutely sure?”

Wilf Taplin
enunciated his next words with care, “I am truly sorry. She fell on
the ridge at the time, at the time when the right wing was overrun
and everything erupted into chaos.” He coughed, “at the time the
Larg broke through. I have her dog-tag here.” He indicated a
leather satchel on the ground beside him, “with all the others.” He
saw no need to tell Hilla’s sister how she had died.

“Did she
suffer?” asked Rilla.

“No, it was
quick,” he lied.

“She always
wanted to be a soldier,” said Rilla to herself but the Warrant
Officer heard her words.

“She was very
proud of you,” said Wilf Taplin. “Very proud that she had a sister
in the Vada. She spoke about you, these last few days, wondering
how you and Zawlei were and how you were coping, would cope with
the battle.”

“We survived,”
said Rilla in a dry voice. “Where is her body?”

“She was taken
to the rear, with the others. I helped place her in the cart.”

“Do you know
where exactly?”

“The burial
details started working last night,” said Wilf Taplin.

“I thought the
Garda always took their dead home.”

“Not this time.
Too many and too far. Butchers Bill was high.” The ‘Butchers Bill’
was Garda slang for the death lists. “You’ll be able to visit her
grave,” he added, attempting to offer some comfort, “there’s to be
a war cemetery.”

“Did her friend
Jen Durand make it?” asked Rilla.

“She died on
day one. Her brother was here earlier. He’s Captain, Major now,
with the Twenty-seventh Foot at the other end of the ridge. If you
wanted to talk to him I’m sure he would be happy to talk to you.
Jen and Hilla were great friends.”

“Perhaps
later,” Rilla answered. “I’ve still got to find my brother. He’s
with the Dunetown Militia. Do you know where they are?”

“No idea. They
were fighting beside the Second Foot and every man, jack of
them
was killed. Don’t build your hopes up Cadet Rilla. I’d
try the casualty stations. If he’s wounded that’s where he’ll
be.”

With that last
piece of advice Wild Taplin had shot his bolt. His head sagged
forward and he once again began to contemplate his boots.

“Thank you,”
said Rilla as she remounted Zawlei with some difficulty. She was
very stiff and sore.

As she and
Zawlei left, Wilf Taplin raised his head to watch, a despondent yet
gallant little figure atop her blue striped Lind and wondered if
she would find her brother, but he was really too bone weary to
care.

* * * * *

Niaill

Niaill was
kneeling on the ground, Deby’s bloodied head on his lap. With one
finger he stroked her damp cheek. Deby was crying, the tears were
running down her face. She was crying, not with the pain that
Niaill knew she must be experiencing but because her Lind Alfei was
lying dead on the ground beside her.

She kept
murmuring his name as if saying it would bring him back, that she
would be able to sense his presence in her mind again.

“Deby,” said a
heartbroken Niaill. It could so easily have been him lying here,
mourning the death of Taraya.

A Garda medic
approached, touched Niaill on his shoulder and he looked up.

“Will I?” asked
the man.

Niaill shook
his head.

The man
understood and with a compassionate look at Deby, moved on.

Deby would die
soon. She wanted to die. She could not bear the thought of life
without Alfei, it would be an empty life, one without meaning, a
half life. All the medics could do in such cases was to ease the
pain and move on to try to save someone or somelind who
did
want to live, who had something to live for.

Niaill dribbled
some sedative into Deby’s mouth and continued to stroke her
cheek.

He would stay
with her until the end. It would not be far away. She was bleeding
to death, the rents up her side oozing blood and with the blood
flowed the unpleasantly smelling contents of her intestines. The
Larg who had killed Alfei had ripped his rider apart.