The Bloodstained God (Book 2)

by Tim Stead

  It was a foolish thing to say, Skal knew, but he understood it. Even if Hestia and Terresh managed to pull together all the remaining troops in Telas there would be no more than four thousand, and Seth Yarra would muster ten thousand plus the force returning from the north. It was possible that she could take Telas Alt and hold it, but it would probably be with no more than three thousand, and it all likelihood they would struggle to hold the city with so few. Even Skal had counted on some reinforcement with his three thousand thrown into the pot and the hope that Seth Yarra would not strip every place of its garrison to retake the city.

  “What is the point in dying?” Passerina asked.

  “And what the point in living if we do not do our duty?” Hestia replied. “We are not Avilian, or Berashi. We are Telans, proud Telans, and we will fight the invader on our own soil until either they are gone or we are dead.”

  “You are determined to sacrifice yourselves?”

  “We will do what is right,” Hestia insisted.

  “A pity you did not think that way at the start of this war,” the sparrow snapped. She was angry, but Skal did not think she was angry at Hestia alone. Some of it turned in upon herself. Her remark was enough to flush the queen’s skin and turn Terresh’s eyes down to the table. Yet she seemed to regret the remark almost as soon as it had passed her lips, for she did not dwell on the subject. She took a draught of water from a cup and turned to Skal.

  “And what do you really hope to gain by taking Telas Alt?”

  “Well,” he began, “as I have said…”

  “Yes, it will hearten the Telans, but is that worth the risk of the three thousand lives in your charge?”

  She was accusing him of hunting glory. He saw that. The worst of it was that she was half right. But had he allowed that to cloud his judgement? He needed to do great deeds if he was to elevate his blood still further, things that would be noticed and rewarded. Taking Telas Alt was such a deed. But he knew full well that if he lost his command, if the regiment was wiped out he would get no thanks from Quinnial even if he survived.

  “We know that Narak’s allies in the south have burned the Seth Yarra ships,” he said. He saw them nod. “So it may be that it will be a while before more men can be brought to reinforce them. Seth Yarra has taken its army north, and I do not doubt that Narak has plans for them. If they are beaten then all their forces will be the eight thousand sent against us and the ten thousand that remain in Telas.”

  “Too many for us,” Passerina said.

  “Yes, but they will be forced to pursue us. They cannot permit five or six thousand men to wander unchecked in their rear, and if we take Telas Alt they will besiege it with the majority of their force.”

  “I agree.”

  “It has not escaped any of us that Narak still holds the army four days march north of the gate.”

  “It has not.”

  “Why?”

  “Narak has not confided in me,” Passerina admitted.

  “They are in the perfect position to strike through the gate. If we take Telas Alt and all Seth Yarra’s force is placed around us then we are the anvil and the army is the hammer. Narak will crush them.”

  Terresh and Hestia looked at each other. Tragil nodded. “It makes sense,” the Berashi colonel said. “But I do not see how he will defeat them at the White Road. I do not even see how he can hold them. The better move would have been to attack their rear once they had passed the wall.”

  “Perhaps, but then he would have had more Seth Yarra at his back, and the same problem to the north. If they had forced their way past Cain’s regiment then they would have had a free run into Berash.”

  “You think he planned this?” Passerina was disbelieving.

  “No. Not even Narak could plan this, but I think he is looking for an opportunity, and we can give it to him.”

  Passerina nodded. “You make a good case, Lord Skal, but I will not move before speaking to Narak, and I will go within the hour. I should be back before morning. You will wait for me.”

  The council of war broke up. Tragil made his way back to the wall, Passerina went to the tent that they had set aside for her use, and Skal found himself in the company of Terresh and Hestia. It was Hestia who spoke to him.

  “You spoke well, Lord Skal. You have a head for strategy.”

  “I thank you for the compliment,” he replied.

  “What you said was greatly to our benefit,” she continued. “It will not be forgotten.”

  “I spoke only what I believed to be the case, Queen Hestia. If there is advantage in it for you, then I am glad, for there is advantage in it for me, also.”

  “If we live, Lord Skal” she said. “If we live though it.”

  52. Waiting for the Wind

  Narak was surprised to see her. The wind was still stubbornly in the north and the Seth Yarra, so his wolves showed him, were still camped, though he believed from what he saw that they would move at dawn the next day. He had been standing there for hours, waiting for a change. There was nothing else that mattered to him. Yet here was Pascha, suddenly emerging from a flock of sparrows that blew across the open tops.

  “Narak, we must speak.” It was the first thing she said, but he was distracted, listening to the chanting mages, trying to discern the tiniest shift in the wind.

  “You have not lost my reserve?” he asked.

  “No. We won easily,” she replied, clearly resenting the question.

  “Good. Then wait a while. I think I sense a shift in the wind.”

  “This is urgent, Narak. The matter I bring to you is most urgent.”

  “Not as urgent as the wind.” But he turned his eyes from the north and looked at her. “What is this about?” he asked.

  She glanced at the mages. They seemed quite absorbed in their chanting, but she did not want them to overhear. “In private,” she said.

  Narak looked north again, raised his head as though scenting the wind, looking for a hint of salt sea where there was only ice and pine. “The tent,” he said.

  They went to the tent and ducked inside. It was large enough, and smoky with the fire that burned in the centre, but it was hardly luxurious. There were a few blankets on the floor, a jug of water and sacks of various foodstuffs. Narak took a seat on the floor and picked at a strip of dried meat.

  “Now speak,” he said.

  “Skal wants to take Telas Alt,” she said.

  “Your numbers?”

  “Three thousand of the Seventh Friend, two thousand Telans, and there may be more rallying to Hestia’s flag.”

  Narak smiled. “Poor Terresh,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Even the king does not know that he is not the king.”

  “The matter, Narak. What of Telas Alt?”

  “I can see why Hestia would want this, but why does Skal want Telas Alt?”

  Pascha explained his reasoning, concluding with his image of the city besieged, the hammer and the anvil.

  “It is clever,” Narak acknowledged. “The plan is sound, if a little risky, but I have already called the army north. If Skal marches on Telas Alt he will do so unsupported. Will he wait?”

  “I have told him to wait on your decision.”

  “Then we will wait,” Narak said. “We will wait for the wind. If the wind favours us I may yet send the army to support Skal’s attack, and we can finally undo all that Telan treachery has lost us.”

  “How long must we wait?”

  “Two days, perhaps three. In that time we will have won or lost.”

  They went outside again. It was cold with the wind in the north, but Narak did not feel it. He scented the wind again and found only snow and ice with a dressing of pine, a pure north wind. There was still time, though. There had to be time.

  He waited. The mages chanted and somewhere below them in the great forest Captain Henn’s men waited. Fate itself waited for the wind.

  53. Maverick

  She had been gone two days and th
ere was no word. Skal did not understand the delay, and he was worried. Passerina had promised to return the day following her departure, but she had not. Time rolled on and any news that he had concerning Seth Yarra movements became steadily more out of date. The world was becoming less certain by the hour.

  What he had seen as a clear opportunity to destroy the enemy once and for all was gradually fading. In another two days it would have passed. By that time the Seth Yarra force marching from the north would be in a position to intercept their dash for Telas Alt, and the last thing Skal wanted was to face a superior force in the field when so much was at stake. He could lose everything. He knew they would not fight shy of a battle. It was not the Seth Yarra way.

  So they had two days.

  The decision was his. He knew that. Hestia and Terresh were ready to march at a moment’s notice. Telas Alt was their capital city and they longed to take it back.

  Another hundred men had drifted in to join their force and more, he knew, were on the way, not that a couple of hundred made a difference.

  He also knew that the sooner they left the greater their chance of success would be.

  It was different from battle. In battle you made decisions on the spur of the moment, and right or wrong you did your best. Here he sat and pondered. One hour he was sure that they should march without delay, and the next he was equally certain that they should hold back. Who could guess what Narak’s plans might be?

  Over time his vacillation tended towards the side of action. Doing nothing had never been a favoured path with Skal. He always wanted to be doing, going forwards towards a goal. He had been told that it was a weakness in his strategic thinking, but it was an instinct he had always trusted.

  He reasoned that he could retreat if called upon to do so, but that to lose the opportunity by waiting would be negligent. If he left the next day he would still have a window of time in which he could retreat, and he preserved the opportunity for one more day.

  He called a council of war with Hestia, Terresh and Tragil. They met in the same tent they had met two days earlier, and sat in the same seats. Skal didn’t know any other way of saying what he had to say, so he plunged straight in. Passerina had failed to return, the opportunity was slipping away, and if they did not act within two days it would be gone altogether. He laid it out before them as clearly as it stood in his own mind.

  “If we leave tomorrow we still have the opportunity to withdraw for the first day of our journey,” he finished. “We can return to the safely of Fal Verdan.”

  “You will not,” Tragil said. “Once you march you are committed.”

  Terresh nodded. Hestia spoke. “There is no safety for us here anyway,” she said. “We will not retreat behind a Berashi wall. Once we start for Telas Alt we will not turn back.”

  “Even if Passerina desires it?”

  She glanced at the king. “Even then,” she said.

  “And will you abandon them and come running back?” Tragil asked.

  Skal looked at him for a moment without speaking, He was aware that Hestia and Terresh were watching him, waiting for his words. “I will not,” he said. It was true. Everything in him said that he must not abandon an ally, and how different was that inner voice from the bitter whining that had counselled him to sabotage Quinnial’s happiness, to belittle those around him. Had he changed so much? That old Skal would not have hesitated to abandon the Telans to preserve his own advantage. After all, what was really in it for him if he disobeyed Passerina and risked the lives of the men of his regiment? Disgrace, perhaps. But also Glory, he thought.

  Hestia smiled at him. “You should have been a Telan,” she said.

  Skal didn’t like that very much. “Are you suggesting that honour is the sole preserve of Telans?” he demanded.

  “Not in the least,” Hestia smiled back. “Just that our people have a history of – how can I say this? – independent thought.”

  “You mean they do not obey orders? Well that is fair enough.”

  Hestia laughed at that, but Terresh did not. It seemed that the king did not appreciate the maverick nature of his subjects.

  “So we march to regain Telas Alt?” he asked.

  “In the morning,” Skal said. “If Passerina has not come, we will march.”

  The decision was made. A small part of Skal hoped that the sparrow would come, and that she would either bless or forbid the venture. He knew that he would be happier with her bow alongside them and her gifts at their disposal, but a greater part of him hungered for adventure, to be out in the land doing great deeds, driving the enemy from the six kingdoms, winning glory and renown.

  For a moment he thought of Latter Fetch, of Sara who now lived there, of Tilian Henn, his one time servant who now rode under the Wolf’s orders and wore the rank of captain. It was true what the sages said. Death and promotion are both swift in war, and one often leads to the other.

  54. A Burning Wind

  The wind changed on the third day. Pascha had long since moved herself down to Cain Arbak’s camp with the first regiment of the Seventh Friend all around her. There was less wind, it was warmer, and the company was considerably more talkative. She had rapidly tired of chanting mages and a silent, obsessed Narak.

  Down in the camp there were many people that she knew, old companions from the first battle of Fal Verdan, the wolves, as they styled themselves. She also found that she liked Sheyani, Cain’s Durander princess, though now only in blood. She and Cain were now part of Wolfguard, though they had never been there. Pascha found herself trying to describe the place, but anything she said made it seem dark and forbidding, when she found it anything but.

  The previous night she had dined with Cain, Sheyani and a major whose name would not stick in her memory for some reason. She was forced to address the man as ‘major’, time after time rather than repeatedly asking his name.

  It had been a good meal, though wine had been somewhat in short supply. Cain was keenly aware that the Seth Yarra army was only a couple of days march away, and he had spent the day inspecting his defences in painstaking detail. He declined to cloud his mind with drink. Her initial dislike for the man, because he was the one who had ended Perlaine’s life, had mellowed into an unspoken admiration. He was dedicated. Not only was he dedicated to his tasks as a commander, which was evident in his attention to detail, his constant sounding of the men under his command and the effort he put into ensuring their wellbeing, but he was also dedicated to Sheyani. He always listened to her, asked her advice, explained his own thoughts to her, and was glad to have her by his side whatever he was about.

  Sheyani in her turn seemed to be learning her husband’s trade. Listening to her discussing some point of defence with Cain was an education in itself. Pascha had never been a student of war, but now she was learning quickly.

  The one thing that struck her most was the colonel’s dedication to victory. He was single minded in his pursuit of it. It seemed that there was nothing he would not consider if it gave him some advantage, and in a small way she felt sympathy for his enemy. Yet Cain was a compassionate commander. Even if the bulk of that compassion was spent on his own men a portion of it was reserved for the enemy. She heard him tell his men more than once that their goal was victory, and not the destruction of Seth Yarra. Where killing was necessary it must be done, and done quickly and well, but when victory was achieved the killing stops.

  The morning came quickly for Pascha. She was half asleep in her tent, aware of the slightest hint of light outside, the first pale of dawn, when she was summoned to wakefulness by someone slapping on the tent canvas outside.

  “Deus!” a voice shouted. “The wind!” She did not recognise the voice, and by the time she stepped out of the tent the man had gone. The wind, though, was pushing down the pass, flapping tents and making the fires roar, driving up from the Great Forest full of the smells of earth and trees.

  A west wind.

  In a moment she was up on top of the pass where
Narak and the mages had set their camp, and Narak was smiling. One of the mages, she did not know them by name, was speaking to him and looking pleased with himself.

  “… and the wind will hold?” Narak asked. “You are sure?”

  “For a week at the least,” the mage replied. “I think that we can hold it for ten days, or even twelve.”

  Narak saw her.

  “Now we will see,” he said.

  “Are you sure about this?” she asked. “You cannot want to do it.”

  “Think of the alternative,” he said. “I must. I must”

  He closed his eyes, and she could see that he was speaking to the wolves. She had never been able to see it before, but now it was like ripples in the Sirash, and like arrows flying outwards, arrows of thought. The sight fascinated her. She was changing so much, seeing so much that she had never seen, and yet she was afraid to speak of it. When would it end?