‘Just he’s been gone a lot this last week.’
Dennis looked back at the group. ‘Next time he heads out, trail him.’
The chanting began again.
‘Just what the hell are they wailing about?’ Dennis asked.
Tinuva cocked his head and listened. What little command he had of the language of the Tsurani had improved tremendously in the last 241
few weeks. Like nearly all of his race, his sense of hearing was far more acute to the finer nuances of sounds, the subtleties of pronunciation, combined as usual with a near-perfect recall.
He nodded slowly, deeply moved by what was being said, and began to whisper a translation:
‘Hear, O Hilio,
‘Hear, O Judge of the Living, for we call out to thy distant dwelling places,
‘Lost in the wilderness we call to thee,
‘Standing at the threshold of eternity, before the gods of all, we bow our heads in submission,
‘For we are but dust, and to dust we shall return.
‘We come into this world with nothing,
‘And must depart from it bearing the burden of the sins we have committed.
‘Forgive us those sins, Lord Hilio,
‘Forgive us our sins as we must forgive.’
Asayaga’s voice trailed off into silence and again he bowed low, striking his forehead upon the ground. Then the chanting began again:
‘Hear our cry from out of the wilderness, out of the strangeness of this world we call to thee,
‘For though we step across the eternity of the universe, still we are within thy sight and within thy hand.
‘Though lost in the wilderness, we shall not lose faith in thee.’
Asayaga stood up and turned to the smoking brazier. Reaching into his tunic he pulled out a small scroll of paper and reverently placed it onto the hot coals, so that the paper flared up.
‘What’s that?’ Dennis asked.
Tinuva motioned him to silence.
‘Receive our comrades who have fallen this year,’ Asayaga said, bowing to the brazier. ‘Gather them into thy gardens of paradise so that they shall know peace and comfort.’
‘Names of the fallen from his company most likely,’ Tinuva whispered. ‘Last night it was a prayer for forgiveness. They believe the smoke carries the message to the heavens, and to their god.’
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Asayaga hesitated for a moment, eyes darting over to Dennis and then he continued.
‘What is he saying?’ Dennis asked as the chant continued.
‘I’m not sure if he wants you to know.’
‘Tell me.’
‘He said: “and our foes who fight us with honour, and whom we have slain, may they know peace in the realm of their gods.”’
Dennis, startled, stared at Tinuva.
‘It’s what he said,’ Gregory interjected.
Dennis said nothing. Asayaga caught his gaze for a brief instant but then turned away. In the shadows Dennis could see the Tsurani rising one by one to stand over the brazier and then a blade would flash across a finger and a hiss of steam would rise up from the blood-offering.
And so the Day of Atonement began, and more and yet more men of the Kingdom stood silent, watching, whispering comments as to what the Tsurani were doing, and what the chanting meant.
The early morning was cold as Richard trudged up the pass. His breath formed steam before his lips as he climbed up the path from the valley below. Eventually, he reached the hut which the guards used to warm themselves while they ate.
Hanson, Richard’s companion, stamped his feet to get some life back in them, as Richard looked inside the hut. The fire was burning low, so Richard tossed a log onto it and poked it back to life. Stepping out from the shelter of the hut which housed the watchers at the pass, he said, ‘You wait here and warm up a little, and get the soup hot, while I go tell the others we’re here.’
Hanson gave him no argument, and went inside while Richard went forward to relieve Luthar and Bewin, from their position on top of the cliff that overlooked the northern pass.
Both men were huddled up, their heavy capes over their shoulders, but they were alert, turning with drawn weapons at the sound of his approach over the crunchy snow.
‘Anything?’ Richard asked.
The two stood up, stretching, Bewin absently rubbing his shoulder which had given him trouble ever since a Tsurani had put a spear through it the year before.
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‘Silent except for the wolves,’ Luthar said, yawning.
This was Richard’s first time on watch in the mountains and though he would not admit it, he was excited by the prospect and responsibility it offered. Not a word had passed between him and Hartraft, except for orders and the usual chewing-outs since the day of Jurgen’s death and he secretly hoped that this assignment of trust meant that somehow the commander was finally showing some signs of forgiveness.
The view from the cliff was magnificent, the mountain sweeping down across the open rocky slopes to the treeline more than a thousand feet below. Far beyond the trees were distant plains and in the still morning air he could see what appeared to be a herd of wild horses grazing. The next range of mountains, more than a dozen leagues away, stood out stark and clear, so close it seemed that he felt he could touch them.
All of it was snow-covered, the dawn light illuminating the mountain slope and ice-clad trees so that it seemed as if the gods had carpeted the world in diamonds and rubies.
‘Food ready?’ Corporal Bewin asked.
‘Hanson’s with me and has the pot of soup simmering.’
‘I’d prefer some ale myself,’ Luthar sighed.
‘Well, our relief will be up tonight,’ Richard answered.
‘Damn Tsurani and their holy rantings. I should have been relieved last night.’
‘They stood watch the night of Midwinter feast,’ Richard offered.
‘It wasn’t my watch then damn them. I’ve been up here four days without a drink.’
‘Stop your whining,’ Bewin replied. ‘It all works out. Let’s go get warm.’
Luthar, grumbling, carefully worked his way down the rocky outcropping to the hut hidden at the edge of the treeline behind them.
‘Keep a sharp watch, son,’ Bewin said.
Richard smiled. ‘I will.’
‘I’ll send Hanson up at noon to relieve you. Remember lad, stay low, don’t move around a lot, and keep alert. Keep watching along the flank of the mountains as well as the plains below. They could 244
try to work a few scouts over the tops of the peaks to swing in behind us.’
‘Yes, corporal.’
‘It’s hard to tell but out there, below the treeline, it looks like something beat down a trail, it could just be those wild horses, but I want you to keep a close watch on it. If you hear anything strange, see birds kicking up out of the forest, or if something just doesn’t feel right, you come back and get me.’
‘Yes, corporal.’
‘Fine, son. Now off for some soup and sleep for me.’
Richard smiled. There was almost a touch of warmth in Bewin’s voice and it did his heart good. Bewin had been the only one to take him under his wing and show him some of the tricks of survival after Jurgen’s death: the rest of the company had pretty well cut him off.
Settling down into the cleft between two boulders Richard sat on the furs vacated by Bewin and Luthar, then pulled his white cloak up over his shoulders and head. From a hundred feet away he would be all but invisible and after several minutes he actually felt comfortable, as well as excited by the responsibility given to him. All the men of Hartraft’s command, and for that matter the Tsurani as well, were now depending on him and he swelled with a touch of pride at the thought of it, standing watch while his comrades slept, or celebrated their ritual.
In the weeks they had been together in the valley he had become fascinated by the Tsurani. Having been assigned to Brother Corwin, he had spent hours helping to nu
rse the four wounded Tsurani and three Kingdom soldiers who had survived the bitter march to the valley. One from each group had died, but the boy he had argued about saving had actually managed to live, his leg now almost healed, and though Osami would walk with a limp for the rest of his life, at least he was alive.
The two had struggled to teach each other their tongues, and though the conversation carried little beyond food, the mastery of the Tsurani game of dice, and clumsy, laughing comments about some of the serving-girls, he felt he could call Osami a friend.
When the talk in the barracks at night turned to whispered 245
conversations about what was to be done regarding the Tsurani once they left the valley, he felt confused. Some of the men talked coldly of simply slaughtering the lot once they were free and clear, doing it by surprise in the night. Others declared that given all that happened perhaps an open and fair fight was best after all, and that maybe it could even be settled by a duel between Asayaga and Dennis, and then the two groups could go their separate ways. And finally there were a few who said the whole thing was crazy and once out of the valley they should just back away from each other and call it a draw. Richard whole-heartedly was behind that opinion, but given his position in the company with the death of Jurgen, he knew better than to offer any comment.
The nightmare of the moment of Jurgen’s death came back to him whenever he slept – the way Jurgen seemed to hang in the air above him, the spear covered with his heart’s blood, the eyes looking into his, his strange, detached smile as the light fled from his eyes.
And Hartraft. The way the commander looked at him, the coldness which had not broken once in the past month, that tortured him, too.
The lazy hours passed. Occasionally he would stand to stretch then sit back down. Towards mid-morning he thought he saw something moving down on the plains. He shaded his eyes, straining to see.
It almost looked like a horseman, briefly glimpsed for a moment, apparently chasing a second horse, then the trees on the lower slope, several miles away, blocked his view.
Should he call Bewin?
He decided to wait, to remain still and watch, but the long minutes passed, and he wondered if his eyes were playing tricks, that it was just two horses with no one astride the second. The two horses turned and disappeared back under the trees. With nothing to point out he knew he’d look foolish.
He settled back. Strange how this all had turned out. He had expected the war to be far different – armies arrayed, valiant lancers to the fore in full armour, trumpets blaring, banners flying, the chance to fulfil all the childhood dreams of glory.
And yet, in the past month, he had seen instead a savage murder-match in the forest, men grappling like animals in the driving rain and 246
snow, long, exhausting hours of running with terror at one’s heels, the brutal killing of the troll which squealed in terror as its life slipped away; then the final mind-numbing march up the mountain slope.
No trumpets, no mentioning of his name in a dispatch back to the King, no jovial brotherhood around the campfire. And as for the enemy, that was the boy Osami, his own age, just as frightened as he was, the two of them secretly sharing a stolen bottle of brandy, shaking dice together and gambling over a few coins which Osami treasured as if they were jewels. And then there was the boring endless tedium of inspections, bringing in firewood, or toting the kills that the hunters made back to the compound.
He heard voices behind him and looked back. He couldn’t see anything because the camp was well hidden on the reverse slope, but it sounded like Brother Corwin, – he heard a booming laugh, a snatch of a comment from Bewin rejoicing that the monk, having climbed all this way, had thought to bring along a skin filled with brandy. He started to move, then thought it best to remain diligent and to keep careful watch. Looking up at the sun, he judged that in another hour at most it would be time for his relief and then he could sit with the monk and have a sip of brandy.
Strange that Brother Corwin would come up this far, but the monk had taken to disappearing for days at a time, out to gather herbs hidden beneath the snows which might help to heal the half-dozen men down with the flux and the few wounded who were slow to mend.
An hour or more passed and Richard wondered if Bewin knew just how carefully he was doing his job, not drifting back to seek a few minutes’ warmth by the fire, but staying, instead, at his post no matter what the temptations Corwin had brought along.
Again he caught a glimpse of movement – the herd of horses which had been out in the middle of the valley had been edging closer towards the woods which flanked the slope, then shied back, breaking into a run for several hundred yards before settling back down.
‘A beautiful day, isn’t it young Richard?’
He turned. It was Brother Corwin, laboriously coming up the slope, his heavy breathing making clouds of steam before his face, 247
holding the hem of his monk’s robe up as he kicked through the icy crust of snow.
Richard smiled. If he had had any friend in this last month it had been Corwin. The monk had shown him many of his secrets of healing: how to stitch a wound, pull an arrow and to staunch bleeding, his compassion shared equally on both sides and he had praised Richard for his own gentle touch and friendliness to young Osami.
Richard half-stood but the monk motioned for him to be seated.
‘Don’t show yourself, lad, one never knows who is watching below.’
‘I haven’t seen anything this morning, Brother, other than a few horses.’
‘Still, the woods always have eyes.’
Corwin sat down by his side.
‘Why? Do you think they are down there?’
‘It’s fair to think so. They know we are here.’
‘Then why not attack us?’
‘Because as long as there are watchers up here you can give sufficient warning. Three or four archers could tie them up for hours while a messenger was sent back. This is the only pass from the northern valley. I know, I’ve walked these woods for weeks.’
‘Its so peaceful,’ Richard sighed. ‘One would almost think there is no war.’
‘Oh there is war, young Richard.’
The way he said it caused Richard to turn and look into the monk’s eyes.
And at that same instant Richard felt the blow of the dagger plunging into his side.
It struck with a violence he could never have imagined, an agonizing pain that drove the breath out of his lungs and he fell backwards, gasping.
Even as he fell back he could not believe what had just happened.
Corwin stood up, dagger in his hand and smiled.
Richard, terrified, trying to breathe and yet unable to do so, looked at him, wide-eyed.
‘Why?’ he gasped.
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There was almost a hint of sadness and pity in Corwin’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry, my son. I actually like you. Too bad, you were such a handsome young lad. Such a waste it seems.’
‘Bewin!’ He gasped the cry out, clutching his side, struggling to stand.
‘No sense in calling for him. They’re all dead.’
‘What?’
‘Poison in the brandy. Easy enough. I don’t think they even realized they were dying, just a quiet drifting off to sleep. Quite peaceful actually. Then I cut their throats to make sure.’
‘Bewin!’
A cross look clouded the rotund brother’s features. ‘They’re dead, Richard. It’s an old trick, I’ve used it a number of times.’
‘Who are you?’ Richard sobbed.
Corwin smiled again. ‘Hartraft should have figured it out. I’ve been hunting him for quite some time. Years ago I was sent to his stinking little village to kill him, his father and grandfather but couldn’t get close enough to poison their drink.’ Corwin laughed and shook his head. ‘Besides, I realized a better plan to punish the Hartraft clan.
Strange he didn’t remember me when I came across you all out in the forest, but then again I’
ve put on a few pounds since, and no longer looked like the holy relic merchant I once posed as.’
Richard leaned over, coughing, frothy droplets of blood spraying on to the snow.
‘I opened the pass the night his village fell. Just like here, poisoned the guards and stabbed the one still on watch, then sat back and watched the Tsurani storm in. Far more amusing to let one foe kill another. I followed the attack, knowing where the escape-hole was to get out of the keep. Too bad about the girl – the bolt was actually meant for Dennis, but in a way it was far more delightful in its results. It was kinder to her to kill her, rather than have her mourning her husband, and far crueller to have him watch her die, don’t you think?’
‘Who are you?’ Richard gasped again.
‘A servant of Murmandamus,’ Corwin announced coldly. ‘Long ago I was told to kill the Hartrafts. His father’s estates were a vital key in my master’s plans. Oh, I’ve stalked Dennis on and off over 249
the years, but this cursed war made it damn difficult to close in on him.’
Corwin smiled, using the hem of his robe to wipe Richard’s blood off his dagger.
‘I was back with Bovai and his attacking column when we caught a Kingdom scout who, after some persuasion, said you Marauders were nearby. My mission was to get south, but the wonderful thing about the moredhel is they think in terms of years and decades rather than days and months. So Bovai sent me out to find you, infiltrate your ranks, but to leave Hartraft alive. With final revenge so close, Bovai must be half-mad to have Dennis’s blood on his own dagger, not mine. After you’re all dead, I’ll return to my original mission.’
He laughed. ‘Actually it was quite masterful the way I ruined that trap you were setting for the Tsurani. In fact, they were about to head off in the opposite direction when I led them back to you and triggered a nice little slaughter.
‘But as for Hartraft, believe me young Richard, it would have been easy enough to poison him this last month, but Bovai wants the pleasure of that kill. Besides, I only had enough poison hidden on me for one more job, and figured I’d need that to help with my escape when the time came to lead Bovai through this pass.’