Three Gothir scouts came riding from the east. Quing-chin ducked down below the crest until they had passed. They were talking as they rode, and laughing. Tomorrow there would be no laughter; they would be biting upon a leather strap as the whip lashed their backs.
Quing-chin carefully made his way down the slope to where his men were waiting. Tinder and brush had been packed into a net of twine, and tied to a long rope. 'Now is the time,' he said.
Shi-da stepped forward. 'May I ride the fire?' he asked.
'No.' The boy's disappointment was intense but Quing-chin walked past him, stopping before a short, bow-legged warrior. 'You have the glory, Nien,' he said. 'Remember, ride south for at least a quarter of a mile before releasing the rope. Not too fast, then double back along the line.'
'It will be done,' said the man. Swiftly they mounted and rode to the top of the gully. Quing-chin and two others leapt from their saddles and, using tinder-boxes, lit the tinder bundle tied behind Nien's pony. Flames licked up, then roared into life.
Nien kicked his horse and set off at a slow trot across the dry grass of the steppes. Fire flickered behind him, and dark oily smoke spiralled up. The wind fanned the blaze, and soon a roaring wall of flames swept towards the Gothir camp.
'Might I enquire, sir, the purpose of this mission?' asked Premian, as he and the other ten senior officers gathered in Gargan's tent.
'You may,' said the general. 'Our intelligence reports show that a Nadir uprising is planned, and it is our duty to see that it does not happen. Reports have been gathered and compiled showing that the Curved Horn tribe have been mustering for a major raid on the lands around Gulgothir. We shall crush this tribe; it will send a message to other Nadir chieftains. First, however, we shall march to the Shrine of Oshikai and dismantle it stone by stone. The bones of their hero will be crushed to powder and scattered upon the steppes.'
The veteran Marlham spoke up. 'But surely, sir, the Shrine is a holy place to all the tribes. Will this not be seen by all the leaders as provocation?'
'Indeed it will,' snarled Gargan. 'Let them know, once and for all, that they are a slave race. Would that I could bring an army of forty thousand into the steppes. By Shemak, I would slay them all!'
Premian was tempted to speak again, but Gargan had been drinking and his face was flushed, his temper short. He was leaning on the desk, the muscles of his arms sharp and powerful in the lantern light, his eyes gleaming. 'Does any man here have a problem with this mission?'
The other officers shook their heads. Gargan straightened and moved round the desk, looming over the shorter Premian. 'How about you? As I recall you have a soft spot for these scum.'
'I am a soldier, sir. It is my duty to carry out all orders given to me by a superior officer.'
'But you don't agree with them, do you?' sneered Gargan, pushing his bearded face so close to Premian's that the officer could smell the sour taste of wine upon the other's breath.
'It is not my place to disagree with policy, sir.'
'Not my place,' mimicked Gargan. 'No, sir, it is not your place. Do you know how many tribesmen there are?'
'No, sir.'
'No, sir. Neither do I, boy. Nor does any man. But they are numberless. Can you imagine what would happen if they joined together, under one leader? They would sweep over us like a tide.' He blinked and returned to his table, sitting heavily on the canvas chair which groaned under the sudden weight. 'Like a tide,' he mumbled. Sucking in a great breath, he fought to overcome the wine in his system. 'They must be humbled. Crushed. Demoralized.'
A commotion began outside, and Premian heard men shouting. With the other officers he left the tent. A wall of flame was lighting the night sky, and smoke was swirling around the camp. Horses began whinnying in fear. Premian swung his gaze around the camp. The fire would sweep right over it. 'The water wagons!' he yelled. 'Harness the wagons!' Premian began to run across the camp to where the twenty wagons had been drawn up in a square. Each carried sixteen barrels. A man ran by him in panic and Premian grabbed his shoulder. 'Fetch horses for the wagons,' he said, his voice ringing with authority.
'Yes, sir,' replied the soldier, saluting. He moved away. Premian saw a group of soldiers trying to gather their belongings from a communal tent. 'Leave them,' he shouted. 'If the wagons go up, we'll all die. You three get to the picket line. Fetch horses. The rest of you start dragging these wagons into line for harness.'
The flames were licking at the edge of the camp now. Hundreds of men were trying to beat out the fires using blankets and cloaks, but Premian saw that it was pointless. Soldiers came running back, leading frightened horses. A tent caught fire. The first of the wagons was harnessed and a soldier climbed to the driving board and lashed out with the reins. The four horses leaned in to the harnesses and the wagon lurched forward.
A second wagon followed; then a third. More men came to help. Premian ran to the nearest picket line. 'Cut the rest of the horses loose,' he told a soldier standing by. 'We'll round them up tomorrow!'
'Yes, sir,' responded the man, slashing his knife through the picket rope. Premian grabbed the reins of the nearest horse and vaulted to its bare back. The beast was panicked, and reared, but Premian was an expert horseman. Leaning forward, he patted the horse's long neck.
'Courage, my beauty,' he said. Riding back to the wagons, he saw that a further six had been harnessed and were moving east away from the line of fire. More tents were ablaze now, and smoke and cinders filled the air. To the left a man screamed as his clothes caught fire. Several soldiers threw him to the ground, covering him with blankets, smothering the flames. The heat was intense now, and it was hard to breathe. Flames were licking at the last of the wagons, but two more were harnessed.
'That's it!' yelled Premian at the struggling soldiers. 'Save yourselves!'
The men mounted the last of the horses and galloped from the burning camp. Premian turned to see other soldiers running for their lives. Several stumbled and fell, and were engulfed by flames. He swung his horse - and saw Gargan walking through the smoke. The general looked bewildered and lost. 'Bren!' he was shouting. 'Bren!'
Premian tried to steer his horse to the general, but the beast would not move towards the flames. Dragging off his shirt Premian leaned forward, looping it over the horse's eyes and tying it loosely into place. Heeling the now blind stallion forward, he rode to Gargan.
'Sir! Mount behind me!'
'I can't leave Bren. Where is he?'
'He may already be clear, sir. If we stay any longer we'll be cut off!'
Gargan swore, then reached up to take Premian's outstretched hand and, with the practised ease of a skilled horseman, he swung up behind. The young officer kicked the stallion into a gallop across the burning steppes, swerving around the walls of flame that swept towards the north-west. The heat was searing, and Premian could hardly see through the smoke as the horse thundered on, its flanks scorched.
At last they outran the fire and Premian dragged the exhausted stallion to a stop. Leaping from its back, he turned and watched the camp burn.
Gargan slid down beside him. 'You did well, boy,' he said, placing his huge hand on Premian's shoulder.
'Thank you, sir. I think we saved most of the water wagons.'
The stallion's flanks were charred and blistered, and the great beast stood shivering now. Premian led him to the east, where the main body of soldiers had gathered.
Slowly, as the fire died away in the distance, men began making their way back to the camp, searching through the wreckage. By dawn all the bodies were recovered. Twenty-six men and twelve horses had died in the flames. All the tents had been destroyed, but most of the supplies had survived; the fire had passed too quickly to burn through all the sacks of flour, salt, oats and dried meat. Of the nine water wagons left behind, six had caught fire and were now useless, though most of the barrels containing the precious water were saved. Only three had split their caulks.
As the early-morning sun rose above the
blackened earth of the camp-site, Gargan surveyed the wreckage. 'The fire was set in the south,' he told Premian. 'Find the names of the night sentries in that section. Thirty lashes per man.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Less destruction than we might have expected,' said the general.
'Yes, sir. Though more than a thousand arrows were lost, and around eighty lances. I'm sorry about your manservant. We found his body behind the tent.'
'Bren was a good man. Served me well. I took him out of the line when the rheumatic ruined his sword arm. Good man! They'll pay for his death with a hundred of their own.'
'We've also lost six water wagons, sir. With your permission I will adjust the daily ration to allow for the loss, and suspend the order that every Lancer must be clean-shaven daily.'
Gargan nodded. 'We'll not get all the horses back,' he said. 'Some of the younger ones will run clear back to Gulgothir.'
'I fear you are correct, sir,' said Premian.
'Ah, well. Some of 'our Lancers will have to be transferred to the infantry; it'll make them value their mounts more in the future.' Gargan hawked and spat. 'Send four companies through the pass. I want reports on any Nadir movements. And prisoners. Last night's attack was well executed; it reminds me of Adrius and the winter campaign, when he slowed the enemy army with fire.'
Premian was silent for a moment, but he saw that Gargan was staring at him, awaiting a response. 'Okai was Wolfshead, sir. Not Curved Horn. In fact, I don't believe we had any Curved Horn janizaries.'
'You don't know your Nadir customs, Premian. Four tribes guard the Shrine. Perhaps he is with them. I hope so. I would give my left arm to have him in my power.'
The moon was high above the Valley of Shul-sen's Tears, and Talisman, weary to the bone, took a last walk to the battlements, stepping carefully over sleeping Nadir warriors. His eyes were gritty and tired, his body aching with unaccustomed fatigue as he slowly climbed the rampart steps. The new wooden platform creaked under his feet. In the absence of nails the planks had been tied into place; but it was solid enough, and tomorrow it would be more stable yet, as Bartsai and his men continued their work upon it. The fighting platform constructed by Kzun and his Lone Wolves was nearing completion. Kzun had worked well, tirelessly. But the man worried Talisman. Often during the day he would walk from the Shrine compound and stand out on the steppes. And now he was not sleeping with his men, but outside back at the former Lone Wolves camp.
Gorkai strode up to join him. On Talisman's instructions, the former Notas had worked alongside Kzun's men throughout the day. 'What did you find out?' asked Talisman, keeping his voice low.
'He is a strange one,' said Gorkai. 'He never sleeps inside his tent; he takes his blankets out and spreads them under the stars. He has never taken a wife. And back in Curved Horn lands he lives alone, away from the tribe; he has no sword brothers.'
'Why then was he placed in command of the Tomb Guards?' asked Talisman.
'He is a ferocious fighter. Eleven duels he has fought - he has not been cut once. All his enemies are dead. His men hate him, but they respect him.'
'What is your evaluation?'
Gorkai shrugged, and scratched at the widow's peak on his brow. 'I don't like him, Talisman, but if I was faced with many enemies I would want him by my side.' Talisman sat down on the rampart wall and Gorkai looked at him closely. 'You should sleep.'
'Not yet. I have much to think on. Where is Nosta Khan?'
'In the Shrine. He casts spells there,' said Gorkai, 'but he finds nothing. I heard him curse a while back.'
Gorkai gazed along the wall. When first he had seen the Shrine he had thought it small, but now the walls -at sixty paces each - looked ridiculously long. 'Can we hold this place?' he asked suddenly.
'For a time,' said Talisman. 'Much depends on how many ladders the enemy have. If they are well equipped, they will sweep over us.'
'A thousand curses on all of them,' hissed Gorkai.
Talisman grinned. 'They will not have enough ladders. They would not have expected a siege. And there are no trees to hack down here to make them. We have close to two hundred men now, fifty per wall should they try to attack on all sides. We will hold them, Gorkai - at least for some days.'
'And then what?'
'We live or die,' answered Talisman, with a weary shrug.
Far away to the south-west the sky began to glow a dull, flickering red. 'What is that?' asked Gorkai.
'With luck it is the enemy camp burning,' said Talisman grimly. 'It will not slow them overmuch, but it will rob them of their complacency.*
'I hope many die.'
'Why do you stay?' asked Talisman.
Gorkai looked puzzled. 'What do you mean? Where else would I be? I am Wolfshead now, Talisman. You are my leader.'
'I may have led you to a path of no returning, Gorkai.'
'All paths lead to death, Talisman. But here I am at one with the Gods of Stone and Water. I am Nadir again, and that has meaning.'
'Indeed it does. And I tell you this, my friend, it will have more meaning in the years to come. When the Uniter leads his armies the world will tremble at the sound of the name Nadir.'
'That is a pleasant thought to take to my bed,' said Gorkai, with a smile.
Just then both men saw the figure of Zhusai emerge from the sleeping quarters. She was dressed only in a shift of white linen and she walked slowly, dreamily, towards the gates. Talisman ran down the steps, closely followed by Gorkai, and they caught up with her on the open steppes. Gently Talisman took her by the arm. Her eyes were wide open and unblinking. 'Where is my Lord?' she asked.
'Zhusai? What is wrong?' whispered Talisman.
'I am lost,' she said. 'Why is my spirit chained in the Dark Place?' A tear formed and fell to her cheek. Talisman took her in his arms and kissed her brow.
'Who speaks?' said Gorkai, taking Zhusai's hand.
'Do you know my Lord?' she asked him.
'Who are you?' asked Gorkai. Talisman released his hold and turned towards the warrior. Gorkai gestured him to silence and stepped before the woman. 'Tell me your name,' he said.
'I am Shul-sen, the wife of Oshikai. Can you help me?'
Gorkai took her hand and kissed it. 'What help do you require, my Lady?'
'Where is my Lord?'
'He is . . .' Gorkai fell silent and looked to Talisman.
'He is not here,' said Talisman. 'Do you recall how you came here?'
'I was blind,' she said, 'but now I can see, and hear and speak.' Slowly she looked around. 'I think I know this valley,' she said, 'but I do not remember the buildings here. I tried to leave the Dark Place, but there are demons there. My spells have no effect. The power is gone and I cannot leave.'
'And yet you have,' said Gorkai. 'You are here.'
'I do not understand,' she said. 'Am I dreaming? Someone called me, and I awoke here. These clothes are not mine. And where is my lon-tsia? Where are my rings?'
Suddenly she jerked as if struck. 'No!' she cried. 'It is drawing me back. Help me! I cannot abide the Dark Place!' Wildly she reached out, grabbing Talisman's arm, then she went limp and fell against him. Her eyelids fluttered and Zhusai looked up at Talisman. 'What is happening, Talisman?' she asked.
'What do you remember?'
'I was dreaming. You remember? The woman in the cave? She was walking hand-in-hand with a man. Then the sun died away, and walls of black rock formed around us . . . her. All light faded until the darkness was absolute. The man was gone. I. . . she . . . tried to find a door in the rock, but there was none. And there were moans and snarls coming from close by. That is all I can remember. Am I going mad, Talisman?'
'I do not think so, my Lady,' said Gorkai softly. 'Tell me, have you ever seen visions?'
'No.'
'Have you ever heard voices, though there was no-one near?'
'No. What are you saying?'
'I believe the spirit of Shul-sen is somehow drawn to you. I don't know why. But I do know you are not in
sane. I have seen spirits, and spoken with them. It was the same with my father. What we have just experienced here was no dream-walking. Your voice was different, as was your manner. You agree. Talisman?'
'This is beyond my understanding,' admitted the Nadir leader. 'What must we do?'
'I do not know what we can do,' said Gorkai. 'You told me that Oshikai is searching for his wife, and now we know that Shul-sen is also seeking him. But their world is not ours, Talisman. We cannot bring them together."
The moon vanished behind a bank of clouds, plunging the steppes to darkness. A man cried out in the distance, and Talisman saw a light hastily struck, and a lantern flickered to life outside the tent of Kzun.
Chapter Nine
The blind Nadir priest, Enshima, sat silently on the edge of the rocks overlooking the steppes below. Behind him, at the hidden spring, some two dozen refugees - mostly older women and young children - sat forlornly in the shade. He had seen the distant fire in the night, and felt the passing of souls into the Void. The priest's pale blue robes were dust-stained, and his feet were sore and bleeding from walking upon the sharp, volcanic rock that blighted this area of the mountains.
Silently Enshima offered up a prayer of thanks for the ragged band of Curved Horn who had reached the spring two days before. They had been part of a larger group attacked by Gothir Lancers, but had managed to flee to higher ground where the heavily armed horsemen could not follow. Now they were safe for the moment. Hungry, bereaved, desolated, but safe. Enshima thanked the Source for their lives.
Releasing the chains of his spirit Enshima soared high above the mountains, gazing down on the vast emptiness of the steppes. Twelve miles to the north-west he could see the tiny battlements of the Shrine, but he did not fly there. Instead he scanned the land for the two riders he knew would soon be approaching the spring.