Part 27 (1/2)

The duke nodded, but could not match Sludig's excitement. As he stood with the elite of Josua's forces, what was now being called the prince's household guard-a curious phrase Isgrimnur thought, considering the prince had no house-the duke only wanted the fighting to end. He was tired of war.

As he stared out across the narrowing valley, he was struck by how the ridged hills on both sides resembled a cage of ribs, the Anitullean Road its breastbone. When Prester John had fought his way through to victory in this same Frasilis Valley more than fifty years before, it was said that so many had died that the bodies were not all buried for months. The pa.s.s and the open land to the north of the valley had been littered with bones, the sky black with carrion birds for days.

And to what purpose? Isgrimnur wondered. Isgrimnur wondered. Less than a man's lifetime has pa.s.sed and here we are again, making more feasts for the vultures. Over and over and over. I am sick with it. Less than a man's lifetime has pa.s.sed and here we are again, making more feasts for the vultures. Over and over and over. I am sick with it.

He sat uncomfortably in the saddle, looking down the length of the pa.s.s. Below him stood the waiting ranks of the prince's newest allies, their house banners bright in the noon sun, an aviary of Goose, Pheasant, Tern, and Grouse. Seriddan's neighboring barons had not been slow to follow his lead: none seemed happy with Duke Benigaris, and the resurrected Camaris was difficult to ignore.

Isgrimnur was struck by the circularity of the situation. Josua's forces were led by a man thought long-dead, and they were fighting a crucial battle in the very place where Prester John, Josua's father and Camaris' closest friend, had won his greatest triumph. It should have been a good omen, Isgrimnur thought ... but instead he felt the past reaching up to squeeze the life out of the present, as though History was some great and jealous monster that wished to force all that followed after into unhappy mimicry.

This is no life for an old man. The duke sighed. Sludig, watching raptly as the battle developed, was oblivious. The duke sighed. Sludig, watching raptly as the battle developed, was oblivious. To fight a war, you must believe it can accomplish something. We fight this one to save John's kingdom, or perhaps even to save all of mankind To fight a war, you must believe it can accomplish something. We fight this one to save John's kingdom, or perhaps even to save all of mankind... but isn't that what we always think? That all wars are useless but isn't that what we always think? That all wars are useless-except the one we're fighting now?

He fingered his reins. His back was stiff, sore already, and he had not even put it to any hard work. Kvalnir hung sheathed at his side, untouched since he had sharpened it and polished it in the sleepless hours last night.

I'm just tired, he thought. he thought. I want Elvritshalla back. I want to see my grandchildren. I want to walk with my wife by the Gratuvask when the ice is breaking up. But I can have none of those things until this d.a.m.nable fighting is over. I want Elvritshalla back. I want to see my grandchildren. I want to walk with my wife by the Gratuvask when the ice is breaking up. But I can have none of those things until this d.a.m.nable fighting is over.

And that is why we do it, he decided. Because we hope it will bring us peace. But it never, never does....

Sludig cried out. Isgrimnur looked up, startled, but his carl's shout had been one of glee.

”Look! Camaris and the hors.e.m.e.n are coming down on them!”

When it had become clear that bowshot would not dislodge Seriddan's Metessan s.h.i.+eld wall from the center of the pa.s.s, Varellan of Nabban had ordered another charge by his knights. Now that Varellan's forces had committed themselves to pus.h.i.+ng the prince's troops back down the valley, Camaris and Hotvig's Thrithings-men had come down from the hillroads and thrown themselves into the side of Varellan's larger force.

”Where is Camaris?” Sludig said. ”Ah! There! I see his helm!”

Isgrimnur could see it, too. The sea-dragon was little more than a flaming smear of gold from this distance, but its wearer stood tall in his stirrups, a visible circle of dismay spreading around him as the Nabbanai knights struggled to stay out of Thorn's black reach.

Prince Josua, who had been watching the battle from a point about a hundred cubits downslope from Isgrimnur and Sludig, now turned Vinyafod toward them. ”Sludig!” he called. ”Tell Freosel I want his troop to wait until he counts his fingers ten times after I give the sign for the rest of us to charge.”

”Yes, Highness.” Sludig wheeled his steed around and jogged toward where Freosel and the rest of Josua's household troop stood in fretting antic.i.p.ation.

The prince continued upslope until he was at Isgrimnur's side. ”Varellan's youth is finally beginning to show. He has proved himself overeager.”

”There are worse faults in a commander,” Isgrimnur replied, ”but you're right. He should have been content to hold the mouth of the pa.s.s.”

”But he thought he saw a weakness when he threw us back yesterday.” Josua squinted up at the sky. ”Now he is committed to pus.h.i.+ng us back. We are lucky. Benigaris, for all his rashness in other matters, would never have taken such a risk.”

”Then why did he take the chance of sending little brother in the first place?”

Josua shrugged. ”Who knows? Perhaps he underestimated us. Remember also that Benigaris does not rule alone in Nabban.”

Isgrimnur grunted. ”Poor Leobardis. What did he do to deserve such a wife and son?”

”Again, who knows? But perhaps there is some end that we cannot see to all this.”

The duke shrugged.

The prince was watching the flow of the battle critically, eyes shadowed in the depths of his helm. He had drawn Naidel, which lay across his saddle and knee. ”Almost time,” he said. ”Almost time.”

”They are still many more than us, Josua.” Isgrimnur pulled Kvalnir from its sheath. There remained a momentary pleasure in this: the blade had stood him well in many a contest, witnessed by the fact that he was still here, still alive, with aching back and chafing armor and doubts and all.

”But we have Camaris-and you, old friend.” Josua grinned tightly. ”We can ask for no better odds.” His gaze had not left the neck of the pa.s.s. ”May Usires the Ransomer preserve us.” The prince solemnly made the sign of the Tree on his breast, then lifted his hand. Naidel caught the sunlight, and for a moment Isgrimnur found it hard to breathe. ”To me, men!” Josua cried.

A horn sounded on the slopes above him. From the narrows of the pa.s.s, Cellian blared back an answer.

As the prince's troops and the rebel barons and their men charged up the road, Isgrimnur could not help marveling. They had become a real army at last, several thousand strong. When he remembered how it had begun, Josua and a dozen other bedraggled survivors slipping out of Naglimund through a back door, he felt heartened. Surely G.o.d the Merciful could not bring them so far only to dash their hopes!

The Metessans had held firm. Josua and his army swirled around and past them; the pikemen, freed from their deadly ch.o.r.e, dragged their wounded back down the road. The prince's forces flung themselves on Varellan's knights, whose superior numbers and heavy armor had been overwhelming even the ferocity of Camaris and the Thrithings-men.

Isgrimnur held back at first, lending aid where he could, but unwilling to throw himself into the thick, where lives seemed to be measured in instants. He spotted one of Hotvig's men unhorsed, standing over his dying steed and warding off the pike of a mounted knight. Isgrimnur rode forward, bellowing a challenge; when the Nabbanai knight heard him and turned, the Thrithings-man leapt forward and shoved his sword in beneath the man's arm where there was no s.h.i.+elding metal on his leather coat. As the knight toppled, bleeding, Isgrimnur felt a twitch of fury at his ally's dishonorable tactic, but when the rescued man shouted his thanks and legged down the slope, back into the heart of the struggle, the duke did not know any longer what to think. Should the Thrithings-man have died to preserve the lie that war could be honorable? But did another man deserve death because he believed that lie?

Slowly, as the afternoon turned, Isgrimnur found himself drawn deeper into the b.l.o.o.d.y conflict, slaying one man and driving several others back, bloodily wounded. He sustained only minor hurts himself, but only because luck was with him. He had stumbled once, and his opponent's swinging two-handed sword blow had glanced off the top of his helm; had he not fallen, it would likely have separated head from neck. Isgrimnur fought with none of his old battle rage, but fear brought out a strength he had forgotten he had. It was like the ghant nest all over again: everywhere he turned there were hard-sh.e.l.led things that wanted to kill him.

Upslope, Josua and his knights had pushed Varellan's force back almost to the outer lip of the pa.s.s. Surely, thought Isgrimnur, some of those who fought in the front line must be able to see the broad valley below, green in the sunlight-except that to look at anything except the man in front of you and his weapon was to court swift death.

The knights of Nabban bent, but did not give. If they had made a mistake in trying to push their earlier advantage, they would make no mistake now. Whatever Prince Josua wanted, it was clear that he and his army would have to take it with their own hands.

As the sun began to dip down toward the horizon, Isgrimnur momentarily found himself in a backwater of the fighting, a spot in which the struggle had ended for a time; all around the bodies of murdered men lay sprawled like the leavings of a receding tide.

Just down the hill Isgrimnur saw a gleam of gold: it was Camaris. The duke watched him in amazement. Hours since the battle had begun, and although his movements seemed a little slower, still the old knight fought on with undiminished purpose. Camaris sat upright in his saddle, his movements as regular and unexcited as those of a farmer at work in his field. The battle horn swung at his side. Thorn whistled through the air like a black scythe, and where it touched, headless bodies fell like harvested wheat.

He's not as fierce as he ever was, Isgrimnur marveled, Isgrimnur marveled, he's fiercer. He fights like a d.a.m.ned soul. What is in that man's head? What gnaws at his heart? he's fiercer. He fights like a d.a.m.ned soul. What is in that man's head? What gnaws at his heart?

Isgrimnur suddenly felt shame that he stood watching as Camaris, twenty years his senior, fought and bled. The most important battle, perhaps, that had ever been fought, and it still hung in the balance, unclaimed. He was needed. Old and tired of war he might be, but he was still an experienced blade.

He lightly dug his spurs into his mount's side, heading toward the place where Sir Camaris now kept three foot soldiers at bay. It was a spot blocked from view by a web of low trees. Even though he had little doubt that Camaris could hold out until others reached him, it might be some while before they spotted him ... and in any case, Camaris in the saddle was an inspiration to the rest of Josua's troops that would be a shame to waste behind concealing shrubbery.

Before he had gone more than a dozen cubits, Isgrimnur saw an arrow suddenly sprout from his horse's chest, just before his leg; the horse reared, shrilling with agony. Isgrimnur felt a burning pain in his own side, then a moment later he was tumbling free of his saddle. The ground rose up and hit him like a club. His horse, struggling for balance on the rocky slope, wavered above him with front legs flailing, then its shadow descended.

The last thing Isgrimnur saw and felt was a tremendous concussion of light, as though the sun had dropped from the sky to land on top of him.

14.

Empires of Dust

It was maddening. Simon was parched, his mouth dry as bone dust, and all around him echoed the sound of dripping water ... but there was no water to be found. It was as though some demon had looked into his thoughts, then plucked out his fondest desire and turned it into a cruel trick. Simon was parched, his mouth dry as bone dust, and all around him echoed the sound of dripping water ... but there was no water to be found. It was as though some demon had looked into his thoughts, then plucked out his fondest desire and turned it into a cruel trick.

He stopped, peering into the darkness. The tunnel had widened, but still led downward, and there had been no place to turn, no crossing corridors. Whatever made that dripping was now behind him, as though he had pa.s.sed it somehow in the featureless shadows.

But that can't be! The sound was before me, and now it's behind me-but it was never beside beside me. me. Simon fought to keep down his fear, which felt like a living thing inside him, all tiny clicking scales and scrabbling claws. Simon fought to keep down his fear, which felt like a living thing inside him, all tiny clicking scales and scrabbling claws.