by Simon Brown
Barys scratched his nose. 'It isn't straightforward, I'm afraid, Galen Amptra. But the crux of the matter is that Tomar II, king of Chandra, has thrown his lot behind Prince Lynan.'
Galen's jaw dropped in surprise.
'Why, Barys?' Charion asked, her voice subdued.
'It was a question of loyalty, your Majesty,' Barys replied.
Galen guffawed. 'Loyalty? He swore an oath to Queen Areava to serve the crown of Grenda Lear—'
'He swore an oath to Queen Usharna,' Barys interrupted. 'And to serve the best interests of the Kingdom. He believes he is best fulfilling that oath by supporting Lynan in his struggle against his sister.'
Galen's mouth opened and shut like a fish gasping for air.
'What is to happen to us?' Charion asked.
'You are to head for Kendra immediately. You have safe passage for three days and three nights.'
'And what happens to Prince Lynan?'
'He is now under my master's protection,' Barys said.
'We could end it all now,' Charion said urgently, leaning forward over her saddle towards Barys. 'Kill Lynan and the war is over.'
Barys shook his head. 'Civil war is never resolved so simply.' He retrieved a sealed letter from inside his coat and handed it to Charion. 'For Areava, from Tomar, explaining his decision.'
'No amount of explanation will rid him of his guilt,' Galen said.
'King Tomar feels many things about his decision, but guilt is not one of them.'
'This is a tragedy, Barys,' Charion said. 'This is a bloody tragedy.'
'I won't disagree with her Majesty,' Barys replied, 'but the tragedy started in the royal palace in Kendra and with the Rosethemes, not in Sparro and not with Tomar.'
'But—!' Galen started, and again Barys spoke over him.
'You only have three days and three nights. I would make use of it, starting now.'
CHAPTER 29
It was as if a god had marked the division between desert and pasture, between the land of the Saranah and the province of Aman, it was so clear. To the west of Makon the ground was yellow with salt bush and sand, the blue sky as hard as diamond, while to the east the ground was plush with grass and the sky was cut by distant, snow-capped mountains. The Chett army moved quickly to the east, unburdened by loot or guilt, the ruin of a whole people behind them. Makon could not begin to calculate how many Saranah had been killed, but was sure it would be easier to count the survivors than the slain. The Saranah had paid for their attack on the Oceans of Grass with virtual extinction.
And now it was the turn of Aman.
Eynon reined up next to him. 'No word from our scouts?'
Makon shook his head. 'This border does not seem to be guarded.'
'Why should they guard against the Saranah?' Eynon sneered. 'You don't post spears against your pet.'
'I think the way is clear to the first town.'
'Cleybin, wasn't it?' He searched his memory for the information the Saranah merchant had revealed before he died.
'Market town for trade with the Saranah.'
'Well, Aman will no longer need it then.'
'And after Cleybin?'
Eynon pointed to the mountains. 'Straight to them. Pila is up there somewhere.'
'It will be winter soon.'
'Then we had better get a move on. Remember, Makon, mobility is the key. As long as we keep ahead of the news of our arrival, we will always have the advantage. Aman is not expecting an attack from the west, and many of their warriors will be in the east to fight Lynan. Once we take Pila we can set down for winter, if need be.' He nodded to the long and winding column passing them, Chetts from a dozen different clans now working together as a single force, proud of their achievements and determined to do more. Makon could see in every face the determination to see through to the end this expedition of revenge. 'They will have earned a rest by then.'
The scouts reached Cleybin just after dark and carefully led the Chett column to it. For the last two leagues they dismounted, keeping one hand resting gently on their horses' noses, speaking to them softly, eyes and ears wide open for any hint of detection.
Like many small border towns, Cleybin comprised one main street ending in a market square, not much more than a cleared and levelled space, bordered by two-storey houses and stores and behind them warehouses and sheds. At the other end of the main street was a small garrison with maybe twenty soldiers to keep the local peace and act as tax collectors. In total, Cleybin was made up of about a hundred dwellings and four or five hundred people. The Chetts flowed around the town like floodwaters around a levee, cutting it off completely. Most continued on in the dark, heading east, but Makon, his Red Hands and another five hundred Chetts stayed behind, resting until just before dawn.
At first light Makon and the Red Hands, starting from the market, galloped down the main street, shouting their war cry and throwing brands onto roofs and barns and animal pens. At the end of the street fifty of them dismounted and charged the garrison, overwhelming it before any of the soldiers could react. The residents of the town ran out of their homes screaming. Chett archers waited on the outskirts, shooting down anyone who tried to put out the fires, letting everyone else go. In an hour Cleybin was no more. Every structure was burned to the ground, and all its citizens scattered.
Almost a season had passed since Amemun's last message, and Lingdar was worried. Amemun knew how important knowledge was to the functioning of King Marin's secretariat; after all, he had established the . office. For a while after the start of the Saranah incursion into the Oceans of Grass a report would come every ten days, delivered by a runner all the way from the desert. The report might be nothing more than a short note, but often comprised detailed maps of the southern part of the plains, and precise records of numbers and clans of slain enemies. All good grist for the mill, all typical of Amemun's thoroughness and insatiable thirst for knowledge.
It was possible one or two of the reports could have been delayed, but not those for a whole season. Something was wrong. The trouble was, without information coming from the Saranah, Lingdar did not know what was wrong.
For the hundredth time she read the last letter she had received from Amemun. It was the usual summary of battles and skirmishes, but there was one sentence in the second paragraph which Lingdar came back to again and again. 'The weather has been kind to us.' This was Amemun's code that the Chetts had not yet taken the bait the Saranah offered. Marin's plan to draw the Chetts away from the eastern provinces was not working, a conclusion supported by the fact that the latest news from Kendra was about the fall of Daavis and the province of Hume. Indeed, Amemun's reports indicated that the Saranah were raiding deeper into the Oceans of Grass than Amemun or Marin ever believed they would and without meeting any organised resistance whatsoever.
So what changed, old teacher? Lingdar wondered to herself. Why did your reports stop altogether?
She feared the worst, but Marin refused to countenance that Amemun could come to harm. Amemun had been a constant in the king's life since he was only a boy, had been his family's closest advisor and confidant. Amemun was so tied up with Marin's dynasty and plans that the king could not conceive of a world without him.
But a whole season! Something was wrong.
And now her office was receiving no reports from the southern desert either, despite all her well-paid informants among Dekelon's people. It had been the information fed to her office from those informants that had allowed Amemun to approach Dekelon about the plan to raid the Oceans of Grass with any confidence of success. It had taken Amemun and Lingdar years to build up the nest of spies among the Saranah. Had they all been found out? Had Dekelon turned on Amemun?
She needed information. She needed knowledge. She was not getting either, and that worried her.
Just then a messenger came from the king, asking her to attend him immediately and to bring her maps of the west. Lingdar piled several scrolls into the arms of one of her clerks and hurried to Ma
rin's chambers. There they found the king sitting stone faced behind his large work desk.
'A map of the southern desert,' Marin said gruffly. 'Now.'
Lingdar nodded, selected the appropriate scrolls from among the bundle carried by the clerk and laid them out on the desk. They were still incomplete, but Amemun's reports had filled in much that had previously been blank; the maps now revealed a strip of land from Aman's borders all the way to the Oceans of Grass, showing Saranah settlements and trade routes along the way. Marin stood, leaned over the map and scrutinised it carefully for a long while. Eventually he said: 'You would have told me had any word come from Amemun?'
'Of course, your Majesty. Right away.'
'Even if the news was bad?'
'Especially if the news was bad.'
Marin grunted, turned back to studying the map.
Lingdar cleared her throat. 'Your Majesty, what have you heard?'
'That's just it. Nothing.' He pointed at a town called Cleybin. 'I have a garrison there. It has not reported for five days.' He pointed to a crossroads about a day's ride east of Cleybin. 'I have another garrison here. The army office has not heard from it in four days.'
'And I have heard nothing from my agents among the Saranah for even longer,' Lingdar said slowly.
'So, nothing from Amemun for a season,' Marin said, pointing to the Oceans of Grass. 'Nothing from your contacts in the desert. For five days nothing from Cleybin. For four days nothing from the crossroads east of Cleybin.'
'Have you asked someone from the army office to report to you?'
'They will be here presently.'
Lingdar cleared her throat. 'Just so I know we are having similar thoughts on this, the evidence indicates something moving towards Pila.'
'Rapidly moving towards Pila,' Marin corrected.
'Something that has overwhelmed Dekelon's force operating on the plains.'
'Something that has overwhelmed the entire Saranah nation.'
'Cherts.' Lingdar said the word like a curse.
'An army of Chetts.'
At that moment a young clerk arrived from the army office. He apologised that none of his superiors could come, but they were currently engaged on urgent matters—
'To do with the lack of communication with their units west of the mountains,' Marin finished for him.
The clerk's mouth dropped open.
'Don't worry, lad, I'm not a mind-reader. Tell me what you can.'
'The last message was from the garrison guarding the far side of the East Road Pass. That was two days ago. They have a cage of carrier pigeons only recently delivered. They do not reply to any requests for information. The garrison on this side of the pass has been alerted, and reinforcements are on their way.'
'Reinforcements? What reinforcements?'
'The relieving garrison, your Majesty. The army office is letting them go five days earlier than they would normally.'
'When were they going to tell me about this?' Marin demanded.
The clerk spread his arms. 'Today, your Majesty. They just wanted to be certain of their facts, that's all.'
'Lord of the Mountain! When it is too late to do anything they will tell me!' Marin cried. 'Go back to your office, boy, and tell them I said they have to send an army to reinforce the garrison on this side of the pass. Do you understand?'
The clerk nodded and ran off.
'Will they arrive in time?' Lingdar asked.
Marin suddenly looked exhausted. 'It means we've lost Amemun, doesn't it?'
'I don't think we can say that yet, your Majesty.'
'Speak honestly. You knew him as well as I. If there was any way he could have warned us, he would have found it.'
Lingdar nodded. 'I'm sorry.'
'You tried to warn me half a season ago. It's my fault. I should have listened to you then.' He straightened himself. 'And to answer your question, I don't know if the army will arrive in time, but at least it will be heading in the right direction.'
Lingdar was not sure what to say. Only a short while ago she had been worried about the lack of communication from Amemun and her agents in the desert, but the worry had been confined, abstracted. Now the consequences of whatever had happened west of the mountains were real and immediate. Pila itself was in danger, for the first time since its ancient war against Kendra before there was ever a Grenda Lear, It was unimaginable, but the fear was real enough and threatened to paralyse her. She did not want to move, did not want time to start again.
'I'll need your most accurate maps of the province between Pila and the East Road Pass.'
Lingdar roused herself from her lethargy. Instructions. She needed a goal, something to keep her mind occupied. 'Yes, your Majesty,' she said. 'I will see to it personally.'
It was their second night in the pass. Makon and Wennem huddled together under a blanket in a vain attempt to keep out the cold.
'At least it isn't snowing,' Wennem said.
'I wish it was,' Makon said. He looked up into the sky. 'When the nights are this clear all the heat in the land disappears.'
'Well, we're halfway across the mountains if the scouts are to be believed,' Wennem said comfortingly. 'And then on to Pila.'
Makon could see the whites of her eyes, and they seemed lit with an unnatural glee.
'Will taking Pila help revenge your family?'
'They were revenged when we destroyed the Saranah. Now I want revenge for my sake.'
Her words made Makon shiver worse than the cold. There has to be an end to it sooner or later,' he said softly, and almost immediately felt Wennem stiffen beside him. 'For your sake.'
For a long moment she said nothing, but then she eased back against him. 'I know that. But not yet, Makon. After we take Pila I will be content to let go of my family's ghosts.'
'And if we don't take Pila?'
'What are you saying?'
'I mean, what if—for whatever reason—we fail to take Pila? What will you do for revenge then?'
Wennem shrugged.
'I'm asking because a time will come, maybe sooner than you think, when you will have to decide what to do with your life. For the moment it is bent on revenge, but when there is nothing left to revenge yourself against, what will you do? Live in rage for the rest of your years?'
'No,' she answered quickly, but even she heard the uncertainty in her voice. 'Why do you ask these questions? Why do you want to upset me?'
Makon tried to find the words he wanted to say, but his mind refused to think. Inside, he groaned in frustration. 'I don't want to upset you,' was all that would come out, and it sounded like a declaration. And then, from nowhere, came, 'I want to protect you.'
CHAPTER 30
The autumn sun, still with some of its summer strength, was high in the sky. Kendra shimmered, golden, on its harbour. Pennants flew above towers and from ship masts. The effort needed for the war had slowed down business, but the markets still bustled with people.
Kendra persevered. So far.
Standing on the south gallery of the palace, Areava looked out over her royal city with pride and love and a terrible sadness. She shivered despite the heat of the sun on her skin. She could not help feeling both she and her city were in their last autumn, and that a cold and terrible winter was about to descend on them, a winter without end.
Orkid stood behind her, ashen-faced. The news from Chandra had been almost as great a blow as losing Sendarus and Areava's baby. It was a fundamental wrong, something so unnatural it was hard to believe let alone accept. It was as if the Kingdom was being dismembered the way a calf is dismembered for a feast. Why had destiny turned against Grenda Lear? In all the years he had spent working for Grenda Lear he had come to believe that the whole point of history had been the creation and growing power of the Kingdom, that the
Kingdom had become as unassailable and unchangeable as history itself.
'Your Majesty, the council must meet urgently.'
'Yes,' she said, her voice distant.
/> 'The Great Army is almost complete. It must march at the earliest opportunity, before Lynan can consolidate his position in Chandra.'
'Yes.'
'I will instruct Harnan to issue the summons immediately.'
'And send Dejanus.'
'Your Majesty?'
'Dejanus must leave for the army now. This morning. Order a pinnace from the navy to take him. That will get him to the hosting by tomorrow evening.'
There was no answer from Orkid. She turned to face him. He looked like someone on the verge of making a terrible decision. 'Is there a problem?'
He half shrugged. 'I'm not sure…'
Areava's eyes narrowed. 'Do you think sending Dejanus to command the army is a mistake?'
The question seemed to resolve him.
'No,' he said firmly.
'How long before my people know, do you think?'
'The message came from a carrier pigeon. Only you and I know about it, but as soon as the first merchant ship returning from Sparro arrives word will spread like…' He stopped himself from finishing.
'Like fire, Orkid. Yes. And as destructive.'
'I am sorry, your Majesty.'
'Orkid, tell me, was there any reason for us to suspect that Tomar would forswear? Were there signs we missed? Hints or suggestions in his letters to our court?'
Orkid shook his head. 'If so, none that I caught or understood.'
She massaged her forehead with one hand. 'I do not think Usharna would be in this position. I do not think she would have let things get so out of hand that one of her most trusted rulers would turn on her like this. What have I done wrong, Orkid?'
Orkid shook his head in protest. 'Nothing, your Majesty! The guilt is not yours, but King Tomar's. He has betrayed you. He has betrayed Grenda Lear.'
'Why?' Areava cried. 'Why has he betrayed Grenda Lear?'
Orkid could not reply. He bowed his head in silence.
'Summon the council,' she ordered, cold and angry. 'And get Dejanus to his army.'