Part 25 (2/2)

They rode on, emerging at last on a wide ledge overlooking a bowl-shaped crater. More than a hundred tents were pitched there. Belash touched heels to his horse and galloped down the slope.

'I think we're home,' said Senta.

From this high vantage point Angel could see the vastness of the steppes beyond the mountains, brown and arid, great folds across the land, rippling hills, humped-back ridges, as far as the eye could see. It was a hard, dry land and yet, as the sun dipped below the storm clouds, Angel saw in the steppes a relentless beauty that spoke to his warrior's heart. It was the beauty of a sword-blade, strong and unyielding. There were no fields or meadows, no silver streams. Even the hills were sharp and unwelcoming. And the voice of the land whispered to him.

Be strong or die, it said.

The mountains reared around him like a jagged black crown, the tents of the Nadir seeming fragile, almost insubstantial against the eternal power of the rocks on which they stood.

Angel s.h.i.+vered. Senta was right.

They were home.

Altharin was angry. He had been angry since the Emperor had given him this command. Where was the glory in wiping out vermin? Where was the advancement? Within days the main body of the army would be filing through Sathuli lands to invade the Drenai, sweeping across the Sentran Plain, meeting the Drenai sword to sword, lance to lance.

But no. Not for Altharin. He gazed up at the looming black peaks and wrapped his fur-lined cloak more tightly about his long, lean frame.

What a place!

Basaltic rocks, jagged and sharp. No horses could ride here - the lava beds cut their hooves to ribbons. And men on foot had to make long, lung-bursting climbs before reaching the enemy. He glanced to his left where the hospital tents had been erected. Eighty-seven dead so far, in five miserable days.

Turning he strolled back to his own tent, where an iron brazier glowed with hot coals. Loosening his cloak he cast it over a canvas-backed chair. His manservant, Becca, bowed low.

'Mulled wine, sir?'

'No. Send for Powis.' The man scurried from the tent.

Altharin had suspected this a.s.signment would not be as easy as the Emperor believed. Surround and exterminate a few hundred Nadir, then rejoin the main army at the southern camp. Altharin shook his head. The first attack had gone well. The Green Monkeys had sat and watched as the Gothir lancers rode in, and only when the killing began did they recognise that death was upon them. But when the scouts reached the camp of the Wolves they found it deserted, the tracks leading off into these cursed mountains.

Altharin sighed. Tomorrow the Brotherhood would arrive, and his every move would be watched and reported back, his actions questioned, his strategies derided. I cannot win here, he thought.

The tent-flap opened and Powis ducked into the interior. 'You called for me, sir?'

Altharin nodded. 'You have gathered the reports?'

'Not quite all of them, sir,' answered the young man. 'Bernas is with the surgeons. He has a nasty wound to his face and shoulder. And Gallis is still on the peak, trying to force a path through from the north.'

'What have you learned from the others?'

'Well, sir, we have found only three routes through to the interior. All are defended by archers and swordsmen. The first is narrow and the men can move only two abreast. This makes them easy targets, not just for arrows, but rocks hurled from above. The second is some three hundred paces north. It is fairly wide, but the Nadir have moved rocks and boulders across it, making a rough, but effective wall. We lost fourteen men there this morning. The last route is the one Gallis is trying to force. He has three hundred men with him. I don't know yet what success he has enjoyed.'

'Numbers?' snapped Altharin.

'Twenty-one killed today, slightly more than forty wounded.'

'Enemy losses?'

'Difficult to say, sir.' The young man shrugged. 'Men tend to exaggerate such matters. They claim to have killed a hundred Nadir. I would guess the figure is less than half, perhaps a quarter of that.'

The manservant, Becca, ducked inside the tent and bowed. 'The Lord Gallis is returning, sir.'

'Send him to me,' ordered Altharin.

Moments later a tall, wide-shouldered man entered. He was around forty years of age, dark-eyed and black-bearded. His face was streaked with sweat and smeared with black, volcanic dust. His grey cloak was slashed and grime-covered, and there were several dents in his embossed iron breastplate.

'Make your report, Cousin,' said Altharin.

Gallis cleared his throat, removed his white plumed iron helm, and moved to the folding table on which sat a wine jug and several goblets of copper and silver. 'With your permission?' he croaked.

'Of course.'

The officer filled a goblet and drained it at a single swallow. ”The cursed dust is everywhere,' he said. He took a deep breath. 'We lost forty-four men. The pa.s.s is narrow at the base, flaring out above. We forced our way some two hundred paces towards their camp.' He rubbed at his eyes, smearing black ash across his brow. 'Resistance was strong, but I thought we would get through.'

He shook his head. Then, at the narrowest point, the renegades struck.'

'Renegades?' queried Altharin.

'Aye, Cousin. Drenai or Gothir traitors. Two swordsmen, unbelievably skilful. Behind them, above and to the right, was a young woman with a bow. She was dressed in black. Every arrow found its mark. Between her and the swordsmen I lost fifteen men in that one place. And high above us, on both sides, the Nadir sent rocks and boulders down upon us. I ordered the men to pull back, to prepare for a second thrust. Then Jarvik lost his temper and ran at the swordsmen, challenging them. I tried to stop him.' Gallis shrugged.

'They killed him?'

'Yes, Cousin. But I wish they had shot him. As it was one of the swordsmen, the ugliest fellow I've ever seen, stepped out and accepted his challenge.'

'You're not telling me he defeated Jarvik in single combat?'

'That's exactly what I am saying, Cousin. Jarvik cut him, but the man was unstoppable.'

'I can't believe it!' said Powis, stepping forward. 'Jarvik won the Silver Sabre contest last spring.'

'Believe it, boy,' snapped Gallis. Turning to Altharin the officer shook his head once more. 'No one was in a mood to continue the attack after that. I left a hundred men to hold the position and brought the rest back.'

Altharin swore, then moved to a second folding table on which maps were spread. This is largely unexplored territory,' he said, 'but we do know there are few sources of food within the mountains - especially in winter. Normally we would starve them out, but that is not what the Emperor has ordered. Suggestions, gentlemen?'

Gallis shrugged. 'We have the numbers to eventually wear them down. We must just keep attacking on all three fronts. Eventually we must break through.'

'How many will we lose?' asked Altharin.

'Hundreds,' admitted Gallis.

'And how will that look back in Gulgothir? The Emperor sees this as a short, punitive raid. And we all know who arrives tomorrow.'

'Send the Brotherhood in when they get here,' said Gallis. 'Let's see how far their sorcery will carry them.'

'I have no control over the Brotherhood, more's the pity. What I do know, however, is that our reputations and our futures are in the balance here.'

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