Shadows of Prophecy

by Rachel Lee

Tess finally nodded. They were right. She’d been treating the wounded since the first casualties of Jenah’s line had begun to arrive, hours earlier. While there had been breaks in the battle, there had been no respite in the cries of those whose bodies had been broken by it. Sara and Cilla had lent their energies, but even the combined life force of three Ilduin was inadequate in the face of so much suffering, especially when Archer had forbade them to create any disturbance in the fabric of reality. In the presence of the enemy, and doubtless the presence of the greater Enemy, any such display would attract piercing and potentially disastrous attention.

  “Yes,” Tess said. “I must eat, at least. And we must ensure that the wounded are fed and have water. And they must have blankets, all of them.”

  “I will see to it,” Sara said. “Tom can help me. You rest. At least for an hour or two. Trust someone else to carry this burden for a while.”

  Tess nodded and rose, stretching her back, looking at the red-tinged clouds on the western horizon and back down at the red-spattered ground around her. Sara’s Ilduin healing power might not rival hers, but Jenah’s men spoke of her in reverent terms. She had cared for his wounded, often on her own, with healing herbs and caring touches. She knew what to do.

  Otteda appeared at her side almost immediately, for he was never far from her. “You have worked wonders, Lady.”

  “And too many will still die,” Tess said, exhaustion weighting every word. “Let us first go to Lord Archer, to tell him where I will be.”

  Otteda studied her face for a moment. “As you wish, Lady, though I can send a runner to tell him for you.”

  “That is very kind, Rearmark, but the walk will do me good. Doubtless there is news of the battle.”

  “Ratha’s men held off the enemy until sunset,” Otteda said. “The Bozandari withdrew at dusk rather than fight in the dark. Ratha’s men are retiring to the main line now. So far, Lord Archer’s plan is working.”

  “Why do I think you are attempting to keep me from visiting the command tent?” Tess asked, the faintest hint of a laugh in her words.

  “My men and I have sworn ourselves to your protection,” Otteda replied. “If in that we must protect you from yourself, then so be it.”

  “I have entirely too many keepers,” Tess said.

  “Or perhaps too few, judging by the manner in which you punish yourself, Lady.”

  She looked up at him, remembering the conversation with Tom after the battle near the sea. “You overheard.”

  “Yes, Lady. Perhaps it is not my place to speak.”

  “If you judge that to be so, then speak not,” Tess replied, her voice betraying an anger she did not feel. She took a breath. “I am sorry.”

  “Think nothing of it, Lady,” Otteda said, smiling. “I have heard far worse from far lesser men. And forgive my blunt words, for I am no prophet like Tom. I am merely a soldier, with a soldier’s grasp of thought.”

  “Why do I fear I am to be chastised?” Tess asked.

  “Because you are, Lady,” Otteda said. “No one leaves the field of battle without guilt. You punish yourself as if you and you alone bear the sin of war. Not just this war, but of war itself. Do you think I hear not in the night the cries of those I have slain? Do you think the men you treated today feel not the shame of their wounds and of having yielded their place in the ranks? Do Jenah and Ratha and Lord Archer not carry the weight of their decisions upon their shoulders, decisions which they know will send men to their deaths?”

  “Of course,” Tess replied. “But…”

  “There is no ‘but,’ Lady Tess,” Otteda said, stepping in front of her, blocking her path. “We all ache for the wounded and grieve for the dead, none more so than those who have wounded and killed, or caused men to be wounded and killed. Your duty weighs heavy enough without adding to that the weight of guilt and, dare I say it, self pity.

  “You have been a soldier, Lady, perhaps in a way and in a world I cannot understand, but a soldier regardless. And now you must behave as a soldier behaves. You must care for your body, as any soldier must care for his body. You must eat, and rest, as any soldier must eat and rest. We who serve beside you deserve no less.”

  “Ruck up, suck up and press on,” Tess said, the words coming from a memory unbidden. And yet she knew they were true in her old life and no less true in this one. “You are right, Rearmark. In my quest to be selfless I have been selfish above all. I trust you will not let me repeat that mistake.”

  “Be assured that I will not,” Otteda said. “For now, let us feed you and find you a place to rest. I will wake you at moonrise for the commanders’ conference.”

  “Lead the way, my friend,” Tess said.

  Otteda smiled and ushered her toward the mess area.

  Overmark Thul saw a movement in the darkness and held up his hand to halt his column. The movement materialized in the form of a man from his scout force, panting as he ran back to the main body.

  “I think we have found a safe route, Overmark,” the man said. He lifted an exhausted arm to point. “At the crest of that hill, you will see a gap in the mountains. The path bends to the west at first, but then back east. From the bend, I could see the plains beyond. It should lead us into the right rear of the enemy’s line.”

  “You have done well, soldier,” Thul said, patting the man’s shoulder. “Perhaps this endless night will bring us to victory. Go forward now, with your company, and make certain the way is clear. I have no wish to walk into an ambush in this darkness.”

  “Yes, sir,” the man said.

  As the man jogged back up the hill, Thul passed the word down the column to the rest of his men. To the east, the moon was just creeping over the horizon. While only a half-moon, its pale light would at least ease his men’s fears. He guessed that he had but four or five hours at most to get through these hills and form up his brigade in assault order. There was no time to waste.

  He lifted his arm and pointed it forward, his tired legs rebelling as he willed them into motion. If his scout was right, there was perhaps one last steep climb before they began to descend. His legs could manage one more climb. He would accept nothing less.

  Archer scratched at the stubble on his chin as Jenah and Ratha joined him in the command tent with Sara, Tom, Tess and now Otteda. Jenah had looked upon the Bozandari guards with dark skepticism at first but seemed to be adapting to the notion that they were committed to Tess and to the Anari cause. But this was the first time Otteda had joined their command conference, at Tess’s insistence, and even Archer felt a prickle of tension at the back of his neck.

  Or perhaps it was simple exhaustion. He had slept but three hours in the past two days, and while the gods had both blessed and cursed him to walk the earth without aging, they had not relieved him of the demands of bodily existence. He dipped his hands into a basin of water and splashed it over his face. While that did not equal a hot meal, a bath and a night’s sleep, it would have to do.

  “We fought well yesterday,” he said. “The enemy will be much weaker at dawn than he was yesterday. But there is much hard fighting left to do.”

  “Yes, Lord,” Jenah said. “And we, too, are weaker than we were at yesterdawn. I have but nine hundred men fit for battle today.”

  “And I but two hundred more than that,” Ratha said.

  Two thousand, Archer thought. Two weeks ago, each of their columns alone had numbered that. Losses in battle, and the inevitable fatigue and injuries from their forced marches, had cut their numbers by half.

  “And Giri?” Archer said to Tess.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, her lips moving in inaudible words that he knew only her fellow Ilduin could hear. “Cilla says there are perhaps one thousand who can fight today. Giri is right now directing his men against the Bozandari patrols that have crept into the hills since sunset. And the Bozandari they have captured this night are not men of the line. They are Guard.”

  “Topmark Tuzza is not a stupid man,” Otteda said. “H
e knows that Giri’s force still lurks in the background. He is anticipating Giri’s attack. But the Guard Brigade…”

  “What?” Archer asked.

  “It is not our custom for the Guard to conduct routine patrols,” Otteda said. “Those selected and trained for the Guard are too valuable to risk thus. Giri reported that the enemy’s legion was four brigades strong, as is our standard. Three would be line brigades and the fourth the Overmark’s Guard Brigade.”

  “Yes,” Ratha said, impatience in his voice. “You told us this when Giri first made contact with them. And now?”

  “Topmark Tuzza committed one brigade in the assault on Jenah yestermorn,” Otteda said, “and a second against your lines in the afternoon. He has a third brigade from which to form patrols against Giri. And yet he sends men from the Guard. It leads me to wonder where his third brigade might be.”

  “Perhaps he is resting them for the attack in the morning,” Jenah said.

  Otteda shook his head. “If a brigade were to be rested, it would be the Guard. No, he has sent his third brigade on some other mission.” He pointed to the map. “Are there any paths through these mountains to the west?”

  “Jenah?” Archer asked. “This is the land of Gewindi-Tel. Are there paths there?”

  Jenah stood in silence, staring at the map, as if trying to picture the terrain in his mind. “Yes, Lord, there is one. But the Bozandari would have to march all night over steep terrain, and march quickly. Even Anari would be pressed to do it in less than twelve hours.”

  “We are trained for nighttime quick marches,” Otteda said. “It is common to Bozandari doctrine. ‘Steal the night and carry the day.’ Topmark Tuzza is a brave and resourceful leader. He would have known after the first attack yesterday that this valley was a death trap. He might well have given the marching orders then, before the second attack was joined. With an afternoon and a night to march, that brigade might even now be emerging from the mountains behind us, forming up, ready to fall upon our rear as Tuzza assails our front.”

  “That makes sense,” Archer said, nodding. “It is what we had planned, after all. And if we can think of it…”

  He had no need to finish the thought.

  “We have no reserves, Lord,” Ratha said. “If we turn any men to protect our rear, there will be too few to hold our front.”

  “I know,” Archer said.

  “You have one reserve, Lord,” Otteda said. “My men. We doubled our strength from those who joined us after the battle at the sea.”

  “There are still but three score of you,” Archer said. “Barely a company. How can you hold a brigade?”

  “They can,” Tom said, stepping forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “With this.”

  Sara shook her head. “Tom, you cannot kill. Your gift of prophecy counts for more than your sword.”

  “In my own hands, perhaps,” Tom said. “But it was not for me to wield this blade, my love.”

  Tess felt his thought an instant before he said it and began to shake her head.

  “Yes, Lady,” Tom said, stepping to her. “This is the Weaver’s Blade. Ask me not how I know it. Know only that I do, beyond all doubt. You must wield it, Lady Tess, and in your hands it will grow in might.”

  “No…no,” Tess said, backing away.

  “Yes, Lady,” Otteda said. “You are a soldier. If the young prophet’s words be true, and true they all have been, then now is the time for you to pledge to my men, as they have pledged to you.”

  “I cannot,” Tess said, fear etched in her face.

  “Prophecy has guided us thus far,” Archer said, taking her hand. “Prophecy commands us.”

  “Yes,” Sara said. “You know the truth of it, sister. As Cilla says, the freedom of a people is in your hands. The Anari swore themselves to you. Your guard swore themselves to you. Now you must bear their oath. I will join you, if I must.”

  “No,” Tom said. “Your place will be with Lord Archer, that he may speak with Giri. This is a battle that Lady Tess must face herself, with those pledged at her side. Thus it must be.”

  “Thus it must be,” Tess echoed softly.

  “Then let it be,” Archer said.

  He squeezed her hands gently, looking into her eyes. What evil had the First Ones wrought in their arrogance? A people who had not known war now bore its burden, and hands made to heal must now kill.

  “I am sorry, Lady,” he said. “If I could take this burden from you…”

  “If wishes were horses,” Tess said with a bitter smile. Another memory, and no better than the rest. “Wish not for what cannot be, my friend. Wish only that needs be met in the breach. We have no time for other dreams.”

  Archer felt the strength return to her hands, though a cold strength it was. “Then we must prepare.”

  Tom removed the scabbard and offered it with outstretched hands. “Your blade, Lady Tess.”

  The hilt seemed to hum with white fire as Tess touched it, and for an instant she snatched her hand away. Then, once again, she grasped it. Archer felt his throat squeeze.

  Only once before had he heard that music from a sword.

  35

  Tuzza watched as the sky began to lighten. It had been a quiet night by the standards he had come to expect in the Anari lands. His Guard patrols had found the enemy force lurking in the hills to the east, and while a few of his Guardsmen had been captured, at least now he knew whence to expect that attack.

  Overmark Thul’s brigade was poised to strike at the enemy’s rear, of that Tuzza had no doubts. Thul was his most trusted officer. If Thul had said it would be done, then it had been done.

  As Tuzza surveyed the main Anari line, he realized they had no idea of the danger that lurked behind them. Their entire force was facing forward, behind another array of their pit traps. The pits would channel Tuzza’s troops, and there was little he could do about that. His men would simply have to negotiate the gaps between the traps, as they had done yesterday, at least until he had the enemy’s full attention. Then Thul would strike.

  At least here, at the mouth of the valley, he had more room to maneuver. The shattered pieces of Gansar’s brigade had been collected into one regiment, which was attached to the second brigade. That brigade, with a fourth regiment at hand, could deploy in two waves, each consisting of two regiments abreast. Judging the enemy’s strength by eye, Tuzza reasoned that he had the prescribed numerical superiority in second brigade alone, and he also had the Guard Brigade at his disposal, should second brigade falter.

  It wasn’t an ideal plan. The enemy had chosen his ground too well to permit an ideal plan. But it made the best use of Tuzza’s forces and the options available. As the sun crept over the mountains, Tuzza turned to his bugler.

  “Sound the attack.”

  Tess heard the thin, wavering strains of the bugle call behind her, but her concentration was on the troops emerging from the hills to her front. She and Otteda had been watching them for over an hour now, first in the dim light of the waning moon and then in the rising light of the early dawn.

  “A full brigade,” Otteda said.

  “You were right,” Tess replied. “We would have been destroyed, and yet may be. I do not know how a single company can stand against them.”

  “We can but do our best, Lady,” Otteda said. “That is what duty demands. My men have faith in you.”

  “And I in them,” Tess replied. “But it will take more than faith to prevail here.”

  “Perhaps,” Otteda said. “But that is what we have.”

  Tess nodded. There was no fatalism in the Bozandari’s words. It was simply a soldier’s factual description of his situation.

  And in the time she’d spent this morning, marching and deploying with Otteda’s men, she’d come to appreciate their professionalism as men of arms. They had formed up into marching order and moved off within minutes after the command conference, moving at the double-quick for two hours, almost soundlessly, to arrive at the plain where the
path descended from the hills. With mere hand signals from Otteda, they had deployed into battle order. They had sipped water from leather skins and passed bread among themselves, then settled into concealed positions, every eye and ear alert.

  She had known men like this before, she realized. Men who understood the importance of even the tiniest details of soldiering. The Anari were brave, without doubt, and they had learned at least the basic tactics that Archer and Giri had taught them. But they were not yet soldiers like these men, soldiers who knew to inspect every boot strap, to wipe their sword hilts clean and dust their hands before taking up arms, to tighten loosened shield binders. In the chaos of battle, such details were often the difference between living and dying.

  But that was scant comfort. Tess knew the men now descending from the path were equally well trained, equally disciplined, equally professional. And while they were doubtless exhausted from their trek through the hills, they outnumbered Otteda’s men by over ten to one.

  “We cannot stand here and wait for them to form battle order,” she said. “Defense offers us no hope, for they are too many and we too few.”

  Otteda nodded. “Yes, Lady Tess. We must attack, and hope to catch them tired and ill-prepared.”

  “We must move now,” she said in agreement.

  The command to make ready was whispered down the lines. The bowmen notched their arrows, taking aim on the second rank of the enemy. Otteda lifted his sword, and the tiny force surged forward.

  As Tess lifted her sword to follow, its hum swelled, and the world around her seemed to slow. It felt as if she and her companions were running through a twisting tunnel, the edges of her vision warping and dimming, the enemy before them seemingly frozen in place. Her sword cleaved the first man as if he were made of butter, biting into the right side of his neck and emerging at his left hip. She was hardly aware of the splash of blood upon her, nor had she time to question how her sword seemed to guide her arm to every weakness, every momentary hesitation. The battle had taken on a life of its own, both around and within her.