“The Acharites will not answer to your command, Caelum,” Zared said, fighting back the urge to gag with the pain that had now grasped his entire torso in hot pincers. He swallowed, his voice hoarse with the effort. “They will only ever respond to my voice.”
“I am the StarSon,” Caelum said, leaning forward. “They have no choice!”
“Strip them of choice, Caelum, and you strip them of the willingness to obey. You should know that. Or wasn’t it in the text books on the art of wise governance that my brother showered you with?”
Caelum sat back, his face expressionless. “Get him out,” he said, and two guards reached down and hauled Zared to his feet.
Again he shamed himself by crying out, and from somewhere within the fog of his own agony he heard Leagh echo his pain.
They threw him in a rough pen made of wickerwork wound between uprights of slender timber. As a prison it was not very substantial, but it was ringed with guards, all standing facing inwards with swords drawn, so Zared sank to the dirt in the freezing night air and concentrated only on drawing breath.
“Zared?” A whisper. Herme. “Zared, oh gods! How badly are you wounded?”
Zared did not have the strength to reply. He vaguely heard other voices murmuring about him, Theod and several of his commanders, but then there was a movement, and he felt Herme and the others step back.
“Zared.” A soft voice. Leagh.
He reached within himself for the strength required to open his eyes and stare at her. She was on her knees beside him, her hair tumbling loose about her shoulders, her face lined with horror for his pain. She reached out a trembling hand, terrified to even touch him, then snatched it back.
“I did not think you would betray me,” he said. “I misread you.”
She began to cry, silently, hopelessly. “Zared…I…I came…I came only to beg Caelum to talk with you. I could not,” she paused and gulped, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand, “I could not bear to see Tencendor riven apart like this. I thought Caelum and Askam would listen to me of all people! I only wanted to make him see reason, see that he ought to talk with you.”
“Instead you have seen your husband riven apart,” he said. “See?”
He reached out and wiped his fingers down her cheek, leaving bloody trails. “See?”
Leagh began to shake uncontrollably. The blood had smeared the corner of her mouth, and she could taste its coppery bitterness. “Instead, Caelum took what I told him and sent the Strike Force to tear you apart as you met the Norsmen! Oh gods, Zared, I did not mean for this to happen. Not to you!”
He stared at her tears and shaking shoulders, and reached out a hand. “Leagh. Leagh…I do not know what to do.”
She grabbed at his hand, clasping it between both of her own. He could feel her entire body shaking through the contact.
“Leagh. I do not know how I can bear this pain any longer.”
67
Caelum’s Judgment
Caelum slumped wearily in a chair in his tent. He had won his encounter with Zared, but felt little satisfaction from it.
Gods, what should he do with the man? Four thousand had died screaming in the burning disaster of Kastaleon – but could he blame Zared for that? No. He should have sent in a scouting party first. That disaster was as much of his making as it was of Zared’s.
“Of course,” Caelum said wryly into the empty tent, “Zared made the fatal mistake of assuming he was up against a capable commander.”
By rights, Zared was a traitor. By rights, he should hang from the gallows in the morning – along with Herme and Theod.
But could Tencendor risk losing one more man when it faced such devastation from the Star Gate?
Axis had spoken in his mind earlier. The Star Gate was warded, but no-one knew if it would hold. Axis had shared the sight of the Demons bulging behind the ward; Caelum had been appalled.
Tencendor could not afford civil war now. Every effort had to be concentrated on holding the Star Gate. Axis had asked for his help, and within a day Caelum intended to lead the combined force as hard as he could for the Ancient Barrows. He did not know what it could do against these Demons, or what part it could play in holding the warding, but an army surely could not hurt.
Caelum dropped his head into one hand, trying to rub the tiredness out of his eyes. How could everything go so wrong in only a few short months? Zared initiating rebellion, Demons threatening through the Star Gate, Drago escaping and haunting his dreams with promises of revenge, and RiverStar lying cold and bloodied on the floor of her chamber.
“Oh gods!” Caelum whispered, wishing he had not thought of her. “RiverStar!”
And he bowed his head and wept.
Askam stood tense and furious, unable to believe what he’d just witnessed. He had spent the night organising Caelum’s force to be ready to march east towards the Ancient Barrows, and was now trying to get Zared’s men to obey as well.
Trying.
Gods! Why would they not listen to him?
“Lads,” he tried. “Has not Caelum granted you your lives? Is it too much to ask that you now serve him?”
The soldiers standing before him stared insolently.
“Damn you!” Askam said, tiredness and frustration breaking his temper. “Obey me or –”
“Or what, my Lord?” asked the soldier standing before him. All Zared’s commanders were penned and guarded. Only the common soldiers faced him now – surely their lives in exchange for obeying their true lord was a fair enough deal?
“Or what?” the man repeated. “Imprison us? You’d need all the cattle yards in Tencendor to do that. Set your men against ours, perhaps? Then you’d lose half your force by daybreak. Prince Askam, we owe our loyalty to one man only. The King of Achar. Zared.”
“And if we discover him dead at dawn,” shouted a voice further back in the throng of men crowding before Askam, “then by the gods you’ll not be long to follow him into the AfterLife!”
Askam paled, with anger rather than fear. “Your self-styled King has no kingdom, no power, and lies in a cattle pen himself. You have no choice but –”
“We have every choice,” said the soldier, very calmly, and at a motion of his hand the crowd behind him swelled and surged forwards.
“Zared!” they cried. “King Zared!”
The noise jerked Caelum out of his fitful slumber.
“What’s that noise?” he said, rising from his chair as a captain burst into the tent.
“My Lord StarSon! Mutiny! Zared’s men have rebelled!”
“Then get Zared in here…fast!”
Damn, he thought as the captain ran from the tent. I should have foreseen this.
The tent was surrounded by shouting, milling men – Zared’s men as well as Caelum’s Norsmen – by the time several guards dragged Zared forward. Leagh, dishevelled and tear-streaked, followed as close as she could, Herme and Theod under escort directly behind.
Zared looked barely alive. The guards sat him in a chair and he slumped forward, only Leagh’s quick hands saving him from falling straight out again.
“Stars!” muttered Caelum. He knelt by Zared’s side, took a fistful of his hair in his hand, and pulled his head up.
Zared stared at him with sunken, pain-filled eyes. His skin was grey, covered with a sickly sheen. His flesh was cool to the touch.
“Get a surgeon in here, now!” Caelum said, and a soldier ran from the tent.
Caelum turned back to Zared. “Zared, do you still have your senses about you?”
Zared managed a weak smile. “I thought you thought I’d lost them a long time ago.”
Some of the lines about Caelum’s eyes relaxed in relief. If he could still joke then there was life in him yet.
The surgeon arrived, and Caelum stepped aside to let the man examine Zared; none of Caelum’s powers could aid healing. The surgeon pulled away the rough bandage that Leagh had wound about Zared’s torso and probed, none too gently.
> Zared yelped in pain, and Leagh grabbed at his hands, lest he interfere with the surgeon.
“Shush, my darling,” she whispered, but Zared turned his head aside.
Leagh’s eyes clouded with pain. She had thought only to be doing the right thing. She had thought that Caelum would surely listen to her plea for a negotiated settlement. But no, he had used the information she’d brought to try and kill Zared. And now Zared thought her the betrayer.
Perhaps he was right.
“The wound is deep, and has caused some serious internal lacerations,” the surgeon said. “But the blade was clean, and I do not think the wound will putrefy. Here, I will stitch it, and bind it, and as long as he does not engage in too much strenuous activity over the next week or so, he will probably heal, although this side will likely always be stiff.”
He reached down into a sack he’d brought with him and pulled out a pouch of instruments. Chatting away, apparently completely oblivious to the tensions within the tent, he stitched Zared’s wound up in several layers, starting with the deep muscle and working back to the skin.
Zared grunted at the first touch of the needle and forceps, and then winced at each successive jab that slid toughened catgut through his flesh, but he managed to endure the ordeal with little fuss.
“Are you sure…?” Leagh asked as the surgeon bound Zared’s side tightly.
He shrugged. “One can never tell with wounds of this type. But if he’s survived the past few hours, and there appears to be no serious internal bleeding – although the blood he’s lost externally will seriously weaken him – well…I make no promises, but if I were you I’d place no orders for widow’s weeds, either.”
Leagh thanked him, then shot a furious look at Caelum and at Askam, who’d walked into the tent while Zared’s wound was being stitched.
The surgeon packed up his pouch and left, to Zared’s murmured thanks.
There was a small silence, then Caelum sat down in his chair, and looked at Askam and Zared.
“This stupidity has gone far enough,” he said. “I am sickened by the death and by the futility. Tencendor now faces annihilation through the Star Gate, and yet my two most senior princes fight over taxes and petty circlets of power. I have had enough!”
He took a deep breath. “You two will put these problems behind you. I need you, Tencendor needs you – both of you – to face the Demons who threaten through the Star Gate. Do you understand me?”
His furious eyes swept the tent. Zared, and then Askam, nodded.
“Your differences are laughable compared to what the entire realm faces. Zared, are you prepared to accept my command? I need a united force against these Demons. Zared,” Caelum’s voice softened, “only one man can command.”
“I need reassurances,” Zared said weakly. He cleared his throat, then went on in a stronger voice. “I need to know that you are prepared to sit down and discuss not only my grievances, but the grievances of the Acharites as a whole.”
“And what of my grievances?” Askam said, stepping forward. “What of this?” He flapped his empty sleeve. “What of my palace and my rights and my castle and my lands that have been usurped? Caelum, I demand this man’s head!”
“No!” Leagh cried.
“Whore!” Askam hissed, and she recoiled.
“If she has betrayed you, then it was through my trickery,” Zared said quietly. “Take your venom out on me, Askam, not your sister.”
Leagh shot him a grateful look, but he still refused to meet her eyes, and her face fell.
“Enough!” Caelum barked. “Zared, I am prepared to sit down and discuss all grievances, but only after we have defeated the Demons.”
“And Theod and Herme,” Zared said. “What of them? And my other commanders? Caelum, they have only followed my orders. Again, I say to you what I just said to Askam. Take your venom out on me, not them.”
“And will they follow my orders?” Caelum asked.
“If I ask them,” Zared said quietly, meeting Caelum’s eyes.
Caelum’s jaw tightened. If Zared asked them. Well, it was enough. He nodded.
“When this is all over,” he said, “when we have won against these Demons, then perchance we will have time and energy for these petty quarrels. But not now, not now. Do you understand me?”
Grudgingly, and staring at each other, Zared and Askam nodded.
“Good,” Caelum said. “Then I expect all of you to work under my command. Tomorrow you ride for the Ancient Barrows.”
68
Towards the Star Gate
They left at dawn the next day.
Both commands, now uneasily united, had endured forced marches in preceding days that had driven most men and horses near to exhaustion. Now again they marched.
They had no choice.
If Zared had been fully fit, keeping the peace might have been an impossible task. But he was so weak, and still in so much pain, that he quietly accepted what Caelum said and passed on the orders to his command.
His own command was not quite so compliant. Indeed, it was hard reconciling two forces of over ten thousand each to the fact that if on one day they had fought as foes, the next they had to march as comrades. Caelum had little choice save to keep the two forces apart as much as possible. That meant that Zared’s men led the column, the Strike Force wheeling overhead lest they decide on some mischief, while Caelum’s ground forces and the Norsmen marched behind.
Caelum had briefly toyed with the idea of having Zared’s force march behind his. Briefly. He hoped he could trust the man; in fact, he was sure that he could. But Zared’s thousands were a little too volatile for his liking, and he far preferred to have them before him than behind him.
They’d pulled out taking only the minimum necessary for survival. Tents, spare supplies and blankets were left in sad piles on the western Arcness plains. Men could sleep wrapped in saddle blankets, the Icarii in their wings. All could survive on two simple meals a day for the time it would take them to reach the Barrows.
It is Gorgrael all over again, Caelum thought, remembering back to his infancy and the battles against the Destroyer’s forces. Again as the winter snows threaten we march to a war.
It seemed as if the forty years of peace had never been.
Zared sat on his horse at the head of his army. It meant that he proved the point at which the easterly wind broke its force, but that wind also somehow kept him in his saddle. He was still in some pain, but not so weak as he had been. The surgeon had given him wads of stringy vegetable matter, impregnated with drugs, to chew, and they both helped to dull the pain and give him strength. Slightly behind him, astride the bay mare she’d taken from the palace stables, rode his wife.
All Leagh wanted to do was take Zared in her arms and rock and soothe him, but how could she do that in front of twenty thousand men? And Zared would not allow it anyway.
His stiff back was punishment enough for her naive stupidity.
She should have ridden to her husband instead. Then at least the Norsmen may have had no warning. Then at least a birdman would not have dropped from the sky to plunge his dagger into her husband’s body.
“I will not leave you now,” she whispered, and the wind snatched her words away. “Not ever again.”
The column marched on.
They marched through the day until the evening air had settled and cooled about them. Then Caelum sent word to the front that they were to halt and settle as best they could among the grasses and gorse bushes of the Arcness plains.
Gustus rushed forward to help Zared from his horse, reaching him before Leagh had a chance to dismount herself. When she reached Zared, she saw that his clothes were stained with pink discharge and that his eyes were bright with fever.
She said nothing, but she cleaned his wound, rebound it, made him eat and drink something, and only opened her mouth to protest when he rose.
“I must speak with my commanders,” he said roughly, and left her alone by their horses and
the piles of tack.
She blinked back tears, wrapped herself as best she could in a saddle blanket, and waited.
They rode for the next five days. Due east, then angling south-east. Dawn to dusk. Nothing for it but to follow the man in front, and to hope that he knew where he went.
At night, when men still found time from their tiredness to talk, they wondered.
On the sixth night out, Zared stood talking quietly with Herme, Theod, Gustus and Killingrew.
“Sire,” Killingrew said, “the men want to know what they march to meet.” None of Zared’s command had ceased to call him sire. Caelum was angry about it, but he could not stop the freedom of men’s mouths.
Damn Caelum, Zared thought, for not telling them. The problem of the Demons was to be kept a SunSoar mystery, apparently. At the least, it was to be kept from the human races. The Icarii knew, and apparently so did the Avar, but Caelum expected the Acharites to march to what might well be their deaths with no knowledge of why.
And what could men do against Demons? And Demons such as these? Zared wondered at the benefits of marching the only army in Tencendor straight into the jaws of interstellar Demons.
Zared grew more disturbed by the minute. He looked at Killingrew. “Do you know what we march to meet, Killingrew?”
Killingrew looked at Herme, then nodded unhappily. “Aye, sire. Most of the commanders do.”
“And what is your advice then?”
Killingrew took a deep breath. “Sire, the men need to be told.”
“I agree. I do not like this forced march into obvious horror without telling them.” Zared stepped back so he could the more easily look about the camp. His wound had healed over well the past few days, although it plainly still troubled him.
“Look,” he said. “Men mutter about their camp fires. Do they discuss their wives and sweethearts back home? No, I think not. Dammit, Caelum is going to have more than Demons to worry about if he doesn’t rectify the situation.”
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