Part 28 (1/2)

'Master Mage Tendjorn,' said the cavalryman. 'He'll eat you for breakfast.'

He peeled away and rode back to his companions. They shared an over-loud laugh.

'Commendable,' said Rusau to his companion.

The messenger didn't reply. He kept his pace even, riding through the shallow waters of the Dord which, though thirty yards wide at this stretch, barely reached his boots. Unchallenged, they rode to the centre of the camp, where they dismounted. The command tent was obvious, its sides pinned back. A table inside was bare but for a scattering of goblets and a few bottles. Five men stood inside and waited for them to enter.

'You took your time,' said one. Rusau supposed him to be Tendjorn. He was an ugly man with a wide nose, small ears and thinning unkempt dark hair. 'And you? Sent a Lysternan lackey to beg, have they? We've enough of your sort plaguing us already.'

'I am Rusau of Lystern,' he confirmed. 'I seek peace, as I believe ultimately we all do.'

'Well there's your first mistaken a.s.sumption,' said Tendjorn. 'Xetesk's protection of the Nightchild was the first act of aggression in this war and now we are delivering the consequences of their invasion to their door for them to deal with.'

'These people are not consequences of this dispute,' said Rusau. 'You cannot use them as such.'

'Can't I? Xetesk prevented us from dealing with the Nightchild at the earliest opportunity. They were complicit in her prolonged survival, hence the prolonged elemental attacks on Balaia. Therefore these refugees are their problem.'

'Your memories are coloured,' began Rusau, but Tendjorn cut him off with a snap of his fingers.

'Your message, Xeteskian,' he said.

The messenger pulled a leather envelope from his breast and handed it over.

'I would take your reply at your earliest convenience, my Lord,' he said.

Tendjorn untied the envelope and took out the single sheet of paper it contained. It was a brief message, and the mage smiled and shook his head as he read it.

'Gracious me, how predictable,' he muttered, and handed it to the quartet of soldiers and mages grouped behind him. He slapped the empty envelope into the chest of the messenger. 'Tell your commander that we will not withdraw until he agrees to take charge of the people whom his college has made homeless. Tell him that any move to force them across the river will be met with an appropriate response.'

'Yes, my Lord.' The messenger bowed, his face expressionless.

Rusau grabbed his shoulder. 'Wait a moment. You can't deliver that. This is madness. Tendjorn, I beg you to reconsider.'

'You must remove your hand, sir,' said the messenger. 'You may not impede a messenger under the parley flag.'

'I know but . . .' He removed his hand and immediately the messenger turned and walked from the tent. 'Think what your message means. Men will die.'

'Quiet your bleating, Rusau, and face reality,' said Tendjorn. 'This conflict is about far more than just Herendeneth. It concerns balance. Something Xetesk is determined to upset.'

'All it takes is for you to withdraw your forces and let the refugees move to their homes to rebuild their lives. It will give us a basis for negotiation. Please, Tendjorn. Someone has to make a gesture for peace to have a chance.'

Tendjorn walked the pace to Rusau and looked square into his face, holding his gaze.

'There is but one way to stop this and that is for Lystern to stop dithering and join us. Isn't it obvious to you? Xetesk always wanted war; we have merely upset their timing. Without you, they may well beat us. With you, they may well not.

'Heryst is cautious. But what price that when Xetesk marches up to his gates, eh? You have done your best, Lysternan, you and your negotiators. Has Xetesk listened to you? Join us now. We don't want to destroy Xetesk, we need them in balance. They want to dominate, don't you understand?'

'I understand that war will leave all of magic seriously weakened and will draw in the population who surely have suffered enough. More innocents will die in this conflict and hatred will grow. Do not a.s.sume non-mages are too weak to fight. Look at what the Wesmen did to Julatsa.'

'Yes, Rusau,' growled Tendjorn. 'And look what that has done to the balance of magic. Even now we are protecting Julatsa from the inevitable Xeteskian invasion. Where are Lystern, their supposed friends, eh? Xetesk cannot be allowed to win.'

'Heryst is on his way to discuss that very matter with Vuldaroq, have you not been informed? Wait for them to reach accord. Must you fight today?' Rusau was exasperated in the face of such closed-minded determination to let blood.

'G.o.ds, man, are you blind?' shouted Tendjorn. He strode away a pace and threw up his arms. 'You've been in Xetesk; surely you've seen?'

'Seen what?'

'I don't believe it,' said Tendjorn. 'They are arming and armouring every man of fighting age in the city. Every man. They are drilling women and children in battlefield supply. Their forges work day and night. They mean to win this war and they will not hear peace. And whether you believe it or not, the information they will get from Herendeneth will merely make them stronger. Now out of my way; I have a battle to organise.'

Rusau ran from the tent and jumped back on his horse. He fought his way through the army coming to order. Shouts were ringing through the camp, horses were being saddled and mounted, weapons given a final taste of the whetstone. Mages planned offence and defence. He was ignored as he surged across the river. To his right the refugees were being moved away from the likely battlefield. He could hear their fear now. Ahead of him the messenger was galloping hard up the slope. As he went, he waved his parley flag and then angled it vertically down.

'd.a.m.n it,' said Rusau.

A line of Xeteskians breasted the hill to stand silhouetted on the horizon.

Avesh stood with his arms around Ellin while she wept. It had been so since he reached her at the Dord and they had buried their son together. She had refused any sustenance, drinking only water from the river. He could understand. Her son lay dead and she couldn't even escape to grieve because the Dordovans had blocked their progress. Not just across the Dord but anywhere. They had provided food and spoken gentle words but there was no doubting the hundreds here were prisoners to be used against Xetesk. How, he didn't know and was scared to guess.

All he wanted to do was take her away. Somewhere where he knew she would be safe so that he could do what he had to do. Strike back. But right now he was helpless. Caught between two colleges, neither of whom cared whether he lived or died.

He had watched the two riders gallop over the rise to the south and cross to the Dordovan camp. He had watched them ride back separately, the one with the flag in advance of the other. And then he had watched the line of soldiers and hors.e.m.e.n appear, ready to charge. He s.h.i.+vered and cursed under his breath, not even having the strength to be scared like so many of those around him. He now had so little to lose.

He hugged Ellin tighter, kissing her on the top of her head.

'Be strong, my love,' he said. 'And listen to me. We are going to have to run once more.'

Chapter 27.

Chandyr had been organising his men from the moment Rusau and the messenger had disappeared over the crest. He'd split his cavalry into two wings, leaving his foot soldiers to take the central ground. Mages were dispersed along the line, providing offensive and defensive cover. Chandyr's aim was simple. His men would not put one foot in the waters of the Dord, that was not their brief. But they would push every enemy across those waters.

He called his forces to order. Flags waved their readiness from the left flank cavalry. He would lead the right.

'Archers ready?' he called.

'Aye!' came the shout.

'Soldiers ready?'

'Aye!'

'Engage only armed men, shoot at armed men only. I want as little refugee blood on my hands as possible. No one is to walk on Dordovan land. We are not mounting an invasion. Not yet. Lieutenants, sound the march.'

Orders were barked along the line, which stretched for about a third of a mile. Chandyr trotted back to his cavalry. It would be a cla.s.sic pincer if he could close it but he expected the Dordovans to be aware of the tactic. If not, he had movement orders waiting and his command team had been fully briefed, orders ready to be pa.s.sed down to all levels of the army. Chandyr had studied Ry Darrick for a time and had learned a few truths about effective battle. He wondered if he could put any of them into practice.

The army advanced at a walk up the incline, the cavalry keeping pace. It was steady and ordered, as it had to be. And interrupted by a scout tearing back over the hill on foot. He sped down towards Chandyr.