The Second God

by Pauline M. Ross

  Sho sat beside me, head down as he concentrated on the war-beasts. Occasionally he’d look up, see how far the mist had spread and smile. On my other side, Hethryn watched the progress of the battle. From time to time, he’d ask me to communicate with Axandor or Zand, if he saw something happening that they needed to know, or with Yannassia, waiting anxiously for news at Kingswell, but mostly he was silent, just there.

  I think he didn’t like to disturb my concentration, but I had Ly’s power now to manage a hundred different threads at once. Very little needed my conscious mind. I could receive a message from Axandor through a lion rider that he could use some war-beasts for support at a certain place, and instantly a group would change direction to move there. Somehow, between Sho and me, the instruction was conveyed. It was hard work for Sho, but for me it was effortless. And always at the forefront of my mind, sustaining me more than anything else, the two shining beacons that were Arran and Ly, one so close to me, sitting in darkness, the other flying fast but far away.

  Perhaps Hethryn was silent because he could see how close we were to defeat. To the northwest, the war-beasts were making progress against one column of the golden army, but the second column had broken through and would soon join up with their fellows under the walls of the town, and the Vahsi were very close, now. The armies of Bennamore and the coast were fighting valiantly, but they were being inexorably pushed back and back. As soon as the additional troops arrived, they would be finished. And still the windstorms sprang up just where they would most hamper our troops.

  “When do we give up?” I said to Hethryn.

  “Never,” he said shortly. But his face was grim.

  “The windstorms are getting less frequent,” I said. “Maybe he’s running out of power.”

  “He has such control, though,” Hethryn said gloomily. “He can whisk the bow from an archer’s hands, or trip a single horseman, if he wants. Or he can flatten a thousand soldiers at once. And the dust he raises is such a problem.”

  It was Arran who gave me the first sign of hope. “Drina, look at the Vahsi.” There was surprise in his mind.

  I found an eagle who gave me a view. They had split into two groups, one heading to the north of the town, the other riding fast round to the south. And they were ignoring the war-beasts, skirting round them and bearing down on the golden army instead. They were with us! I shrieked with excitement, and Hethryn, who was eating his stew beside me, nearly dropped the bowl in alarm.

  “What is it? What is happening?”

  “The Vahsi are fighting for us!”

  “Really? That is very unexpected. Usually they are against everybody.”

  “Now that I think about it,” I said, “they attacked the golden army once before. Trimon complained about it. And I met some of them that night I retrieved the message from the burnt out wagons. They’ve been keeping a close eye on all this.”

  “They dislike people encroaching on their territory. The whole Karningplain is walled to keep them from harassing their farmers, and these new towns have to be walled, too. I imagine they have taken exception to the golden army thinking they own the whole plains.”

  “They’ve never bothered Bennamore much.”

  “They used to, until we built the ditch and bank along the border. But we are not really treading on their toes much. We are too far west and too forested for the big herds of kishorn they follow. The open plains are their habitat.”

  “Well, it’s time they got used to living in peaceful coexistence with their neighbours. The gods know, the Plains of Kallanash are big enough. There’s surely room for everyone.”

  “For now, perhaps, but I am not sure that is going to work for much longer,” Hethryn said seriously. “Farmers spread and spread, eating up land, and eventually the kishorn and the Vahsi will be driven out. And—”

  A shout rose from the guards at the watch post. “Reinforcements from the west! Aid from the west!”

  Hethryn frowned. “We are not expecting any more troops. I do not like this.”

  “No, it’s all right,” I said, switching quickly to an eagle’s eyes. “It’s hard to believe, but I think the Icthari have answered our call for help.”

  “That is your doing then,” he said, with a sudden grin. “You and Axandor. The treaty we have with the Icthari is all because of you.”

  “Hardly. Our father was only half Icthari himself, and the treaty has always been more hope than action.”

  “Until now. I wonder how they will get across the river? The bridge is still unusable.”

  But that didn’t slow them down in the slightest. The riders swam their horses across carrying ropes which the foot soldiers used to guide themselves across. Suddenly the balance of the battle had shifted in our favour. And still the mist rolled down the hill at my feet and crept across the battlefield.

  “You know, Drina, that mist is very weird,” Hethryn said. “I think people are getting stuck in it.”

  It was true. The mist was no more than a handspan deep, certainly not enough to provide any concealment. But it did look as if both horses and soldiers were finding it difficult to move quickly when their feet were caught in it. The archers were still a problem, but the battles with sword and spear began to slow.

  Gradually the afternoon wore away, and the fighting ground to a halt. The arrival of the Vahsi and Icthari had levelled the numbers, and Ly’s strangely sticky mist was slowing everything to the speed of a slug. Eventually, the combatants began to disengage, and the golden army inched its way back to the town to hide behind the safety of the walls again. The northern contingents had both been beaten back, and retreated onto the open plains, pursued by the war-beasts who seemed to need no rest. The Bennamorian and Port Holding armies retreated in good order to their camp, which was largely still intact. The Vahsi made a less formal camp to the east of the town, and the Icthari squatted along the river’s edge below the town gates. We had a breathing space, for a while.

  For a night and the following sun and the night after that, we saw no sign of activity from within the town, apart from the usual patrols along the walls, and the gates remained closed. During the hours of sun, small bands of our own troops moved back and forth over the battlefield, collecting the injured left behind, and later the dead, and retrieving lost weapons and helmets. It wasn’t easy, because the mist pooled in hollows and lingered on, slowing everything down.

  Yannassia fretted, sending a thousand messages from Kingswell. I had no reassurance to offer her. We had, with help, fought the golden army to a standstill, but we all knew they would be back, and next time there would be no respite, it would be a fight to the bitter end. We needed Ly and his lightning, but he was far, far away.

  At night, when Arran was asleep, I talked to Ly. He never seemed to sleep, any more than I did, so we talked of everything in the world except the war. It was the greatest comfort to me, knowing that he was alive and safe out there somewhere in the wild parts of the Clanlands, and slowly making his way to me. Even if he arrived too late to save us, even if I never saw him again, his voice brought me inestimable pleasure.

  “What happened at the blue pool? We thought you were dead. We lost the connection to you.”

  “I am not really sure. Did you see what happened? That Dain pushed me? Then you know I went into the water. I have no idea how long I was in there. It was warm, and soothing, and I felt completely well. I just drifted. Once I saw someone else in there, a woman, but I did not recognise her. And once… I suppose I was dreaming, because I thought I saw Dain in there, too, but... unreachable, as if he were dead. There were voices, sometimes, but no words I understood. But I had all the memories, like an elder, and I knew how to work the lightning and mist. I just knew. And then I was lifted out of the water, and left beside the pool. I was not even wet. And you and Arran were there again, a part of me, and I was whole. Changed, though. I am still me, but also all my ancestors at the same time. What does that make me?”

  “You are a god!” I sai
d.

  He just laughed. “No, I am still the foolish boy you saved, Princess.”

  I didn’t ask where he was, or when he would reach us. I didn’t even look through his eyes, in case it depressed me too much. It was impossible for him to reach us in time, but there was a tiny corner of my mind that whispered – perhaps he might. I didn’t want to hear the brutal truth.

  And then, on the second morning since the battle, my worst fears were confirmed. At dawn, the gates of Greenstone Ford opened, and the golden army streamed out. I had once tried to estimate how many soldiers were quartered in the town, and gave up. I could have counted them then, if I hadn’t been so horrified.

  “Gods!” Hethryn muttered, over and over.

  The Icthari were on their feet and charging forward almost before the gates were fully open. The golden army headed straight for them, not even breaking stride as they tore them to pieces. We watched in horror as the Icthari, for all their bravery, fell one by one and didn’t get up.

  When every last one was slaughtered, the golden army split into two, one contingent heading north, the other south. And behind them, the golden stream issuing from the gates was continuous.

  “Mist, Drina!” Arran yelled at me.

  I called to Ly, and pointed, but nothing happened.

  “Ly? I need the mist.”

  “No. I have another plan. Count to ten.”

  “What?”

  “Count to ten.”

  “One… two…” I couldn’t believe Ly was playing some childish game at a time like this, but his mind was relaxed and confident, and I trusted him. “… nine… ten.”

  “Perfect counting.”

  The sky darkened above me, as vast wings blotted out the sun. Churning up dust and debris, Kalmander landed precariously on a rock. Sliding from his back, with a wide grin across his face, his eyes bright blue, was Ly.

  “What the…?”

  “No time. Hethryn, what do you want destroyed?”

  “Um… the enemy?”

  “They appear to be a bit mixed up with friends at present. I will start with the town wall.”

  And raising one hand, with a crack that deafened us and echoed around the hills, he shot a bolt of vivid blue from his fingers. And a section of the wall exploded and slowly disintegrated.

  “Around the gates!” Hethryn yelled. “And in front of them. Stop any more coming out.”

  “Don’t hit anything inside the town,” I said urgently. “We don’t know where Arran is.”

  Ly nodded and settled down to fire off bolt after bolt. The entire battlefield ground to an awed halt, and from the south I heard cheering. Arran was yelping in my head, but then he suddenly went quiet. Now what? My heart turned over. Was he close enough to the gate to be in danger? Or perhaps this was the time for Trimon to get rid of his useless prisoner. Just in Ly’s moment of triumph, Arran’s struggle for survival looked as if it was coming to an end.

  I switched to Arran’s eyes just as his cell door opened, and a face appeared, lit by a torch. “If we’re quick, we can get you out of here in one piece,” the face said. The voice was familiar to me, but I couldn’t think how.

  “What the—”

  “No time! You have to come now, while they’re all busy. Come on.”

  Arran didn’t need telling twice. He followed the face, a guard, by the uniform, out of the cell and down the corridor. In the guardroom, three guards were slumped over, two on the floor and one with his head on a table, but judging by the knife protruding from his back, he wasn’t drunk.

  “No time to get you into full uniform, but if you take a jacket and helmet, and wrap yourself in a cloak, you’ll pass muster. Here, this is about your size.”

  Arran scrambled to comply. “Who are you? Are you Bennamorian?”

  “Don’t you recognise me?”

  Arran shook his head.

  I knew that face, though, now that I saw it in better light. “Lathran! It’s Lathran!”

  “Lathran? Gods, am I glad to see you! Thank you for this, I—”

  “Wait until we’re free before you thank me. Long way to go yet. But it’s chaos up there, so we might have a chance. Come on.”

  Lathran led the way, running up stairs, along passageways, as Arran puffed along behind, unfit from his long incarceration. From time to time, Lathran ducked into rooms to avoid groups of soldiers or guards moving about in haste. There was a lot of panicked shouting from the guards, and even the golden soldiers looked concerned. Every so often, a great boom sounded, followed by a loud rumble, as Ly steadily demolished the outer wall.

  Eventually they emerged at a large open square. At one side, a half-demolished archway showed where the gates had once stood, but the entrance was blocked by great mounds of rubble now, with clouds of dust rising.

  “This is no good,” Lathran said. “We can’t get out here without being seen. We’ll have to hide for a while. This way.”

  He set off at a run again, through an archway, and into a small courtyard at the foot of one of the great towers. It was empty, and Lathran pelted across it and was almost at the far side before Arran had got even half way. And that was where his luck ran out. From a door emerged the last person Arran wanted to see – Trimon, surrounded by a gaggle of his guards.

  “Hoy! You!” one of the guards shouted.

  Arran ran on, trying to increase his speed, but it was no use. The guards caught him in a few strides, and pulled off his helmet, and his blond hair was unmistakable.

  “Well, well, well. Not enjoying our hospitality, eh?” Trimon said, and then slapped him so hard that Arran’s defensive shell pinged into effect. Arran wisely said nothing. “What a troublesome guest you are, and your friends out there are not nice at all. They just don’t play fair. They’re trying to kill me, they’re destroying my nice town, and no question of negotiating or anything of the sort.”

  “Do you want to negotiate? Call your troops back, and send an envoy out.”

  “Never! They’re all savages out there, impossible to talk sense to. Not just lions, but Vahsi and some with so many feathers they look like birds. And your lot are no better. Liars and cheats, all of you. There’s no honour in any of you. What did I ever do that you dislike me so much, eh? I never knocked down walls, or killed people here, there and everywhere. I’ve treated you well, haven’t I?”

  “On the whole.”

  He cackled. “You’re funny, Arran of the minor nobility. I’ve treated you well, on the whole, I’ve kept you alive, and your witch is still trying to kill me. I thought you said she cared about you, eh?”

  “It is true, she is unaccountably fond of me.”

  “Well, let’s find out how fond of you she is, shall we? Let see which she wants most – me dead or you alive.”

  I cried out then, knowing what he was going to do. They dragged Arran to the archway at the foot of the tower, and hauled him bodily up and up, stair after stair, winding round the inside. From time to time windows gave glimpses of the demolished wall, and then the battle, still going on sporadically here and there, and then the river and the hills beyond. My hill, in particular. They were on the tower directly opposite me, and as they emerged onto the platform, I saw Arran’s blond hair blowing free.

  “I can see you,” I whispered.

  “I see you too, my darling.”

  Trimon leaned over the parapet, holding Arran’s arm, shrieking at me, and his power over the wind blew the words towards me, echoing round the hills like thunder. “Here he is, witch. So now you get to choose – if you want to kill me, you have to kill him too.”

  Ly looked at me, his mind filled with grief. “You understand what we need to do? We have to end this now.”

  I couldn’t speak, but I nodded.

  In my head, I heard his voice. “Do what you must. Goodbye, my sweet love.”

  Ly stretched out his hand to me, and, head bowed, I took it. Together we sent the tower and Trimon and Arran to oblivion.

  44: Aftermath

&n
bsp; The tower collapsed so, so slowly, sliding to earth straight downwards in a great rumble of stone. How many heartbeats did it take Arran to fall all that way? Too many. And then the gradual settling, with dust rising. I waited for his consciousness to vanish.

  Nothing happened. He was still alive. Somehow, despite the power of Ly’s lightning that had brought down the whole tower, Arran still lived.

  Ly’s eyes turned to me, filled with sudden hope.

  And a voice, surprisingly strong. “Drina? I… I seem to be buried.”

  “We must be swift,” Ly said, spinning round. “Quickly, Drina.”

  Kalmander was already settling nearby. Ly leapt onto his back, and they took off in a maelstrom of beating wings, so that Hethryn ducked.

  “What is happening?”

  “Arran is alive! We’re going to dig him out of the rubble.” I summoned Sunshine, and we glided over the battlefield, out of arrow range, but no longer concerned about windstorms. Arran may have survived, just, but Trimon must be dead.

  Ly was already scrabbling frantically at the mountain of exploded stone. Kalmander’s great claws lifted the heaviest lumps, Sunshine helped too, and Ly and I tossed aside smaller pieces. We knew exactly where he was. The pulse of his mind drew us as surely as we knew the direction of the sun with closed eyes.

  From all around us, and beyond the shattered gates, an unearthly keening arose. The golden soldiers were on their knees, wailing. They had watched their god die, and they mourned his passing with the same vehemence they applied to warcraft. I had no time to spare for their grief, for I had my own tragedy unfolding in front of me.

  “Arran? We are here. We are coming for you.”

  “So much dust.” A long pause. “Hard to breathe.”

  Other hands were helping now, not soldiers, but the ordinary people of Greenstone Ford, creeping out of their cellars and safe places to celebrate the destruction of their enemy. Lathran was there, speaking their language, organising them, explaining who we were and what we were doing. So many willing hands, but it might not be enough.