Part 26 (1/2)

'I agree with that, Cousin. I'll order the attacks to continue throughout the night.'

'Stop grumbling,' said Senta, as the curved needle once more p.r.i.c.ked under the flesh of Angel's shoulder, bringing together the flaps of the wound.

'You are enjoying this, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d!' retorted Angel.

'How cruel!' Senta chuckled. 'But fancy letting a Gothir farmboy fool you with a riposte counter.'

'He was good, d.a.m.n you!'

'He moved with all the grace of a sick cow. You should be ashamed of yourself, old man.' Senta completed the last of ten st.i.tches, and bit off the twine. 'There. Better than new.'

Angel glanced down at the puckered wound. 'You should have been a seamstress,' he muttered.

'Just one of my many talents,' replied Senta, rising and moving out of the cave and staring down over the mountainside. From the cave mouth he could hear the distant screams of wounded men, the echoing clash of war. The stars were bright in a clear sky and a cold wind was hissing over the peaks and crags. 'We can't hold this place,' he said, as Angel moved alongside him.

'We're doing well enough so far.'

Senta nodded. 'There are too many of them, Angel. And the Nadir are relying on the wall across the centre pa.s.s. Once the soldiers breach that...' He spread his hands.

Two Nadir women made their way across the open ground bearing bowls of clotted cheese.

They stopped before the Drenai warriors, eyes averted, and laid the bowls on the ground before them, departing as silently as they had come.

'Really welcome here, aren't we?' observed Senta.

Angel shrugged. There were more than a hundred tents dotted around the giant crater and from the high cave the two men could see Nadir children playing in the moonlight, running and sending up clouds of black, volcanic dust. To the left a line of women were moving into the deep caves carrying wooden buckets, gathering water from artesian wells deep below the mountains.

'Where tomorrow?' asked Angel, sitting down with his back to the rocks.

'The wall, I think,' said Senta. 'The other two pa.s.ses are easily defended. They'll come at the wall.' A shadow moved to the right. Senta chuckled. 'He's back, Angel.'

The gladiator swore and glanced around. A small boy of around nine years of age was squatting on his haunches watching them. 'Go away!' roared Angel, but the child ignored him. 'I hate the way he just stares,' snapped Angel. The boy was thin, almost skeletal, his clothes threadbare. He wore an old goatskin tunic from which most of the hair had long since vanished, and a pair of dark leggings, torn at the knees and frayed at the waist. His eyes were slanted and black, and they stared unblinkingly at the two men. Angel tried to ignore him. Lifting the bowl of cheese he dipped his fingers into the congealed ma.s.s and ate. 'Horse droppings would taste better than this,' he said.

'It is an acquired taste,' agreed Senta.

'd.a.m.ned if I can eat it.' He swung to the boy. 'You want some?' He did not move. Angel offered him the bowl. The child licked his lips, but remained where he was. Angel shook his head. 'What does he want?' he asked, placing the bowl on the ground.

'I've no idea - but he's obviously fascinated by you. He followed you today, mimicking your walk. Quite funny, really. I hadn't noticed it before, but you move like a sailor. You know, rolling gait.'

'Any more of my habits you'd like to criticise?'

'Too many to mention.'

Angel stood and stretched. The child immediately imitated him. 'Stop that!' said Angel, leaning forward, hands on hips. The tiny figure adopted the same stance. Senta's laughter pealed out. 'I'm going to get some sleep,' said Angel, turning his back on the boy and re-entering the cave.

Senta remained where he was, listening to the faint sounds of battle. The boy edged closer and s.n.a.t.c.hed the bowl, backing away to the shadows to eat. For a while Senta dozed, then he heard movement on the mountainside. He was instantly awake. Belash climbed to the cave mouth.

They have pulled back,' he said, squatting down beside the swordsman. 'No more now until the dawn, I think.' Senta glanced to where the boy had been, but only the empty bowl remained. 'We killed many,' said Belash, with grim satisfaction.

'Not enough. There must be more than three thousand of them.'

'Many more,' agreed Belash. 'And others are coming. It will take time to kill them all.'

'Ever the optimist.'

'You think we cannot win? You do not understand the Nadir. We are born to fight.'

'I have no doubts concerning the skills of your people, Belash. But this place is ultimately indefensible. How many fighters can you muster?'

This morning there were three hundred and seventy... three,' he said, at last.

'And tonight?'

'We lost maybe fifteen.'

'Wounded?'

'Another thirty ... but some of these can fight again.'

'How many altogether - during the last four days?'

Belash nodded glumly. 'I understand what you are saying. We can hold for maybe eight ... ten more days. But we will kill many before then.'

'That's hardly the point, my friend. We must have a secondary line of defence. Further into the mountains perhaps.'

'There is nowhere.'

'When we rode down here I saw a valley to the west. Where does it lead?'

'We cannot go there. It is a place of evil and death. I would sooner die here, cleanly and with honour.'

'Fine sentiments, I'm sure, Belash. But I'd as soon not die anywhere quite yet.'

'You do not have to stay,' pointed out Belash.

'True,' agreed Senta, 'but, as my father so often points out, stupidity does tend to run in our family.'

High above the mountains, linked to the spirit of Kesa Khan, Miriel floated beneath the stars.

Below her, on the moonlit plain were the tents of the Gothir, erected in five lines of twenty, neat and rectangular, evenly s.p.a.ced. To the south were a score of picket lines where the horses were tethered, and to the east a latrine pit, exactly thirty feet long. One hundred camp fires were burning brightly, and sentries patrolled the camp's perimeter.

'A methodical people,' pulsed the voice of Kesa Khan. 'They call themselves civilised because they can build tall castles and pitch their tents with geometrical precision, but from here you can see the reality. Ants build in the same way. Are they civilised?'

Miriel said nothing. From this great height she could see both the tiny camp of the Nadir and the might of the Gothir attackers. It was dispiriting. Kesa Khan's laughter rippled out. 'Never concern yourself with despair, Miriel. It is always the weapon of the enemy. Look at them! Even from here you can feel their vanity.'

'How can we defeat them?'