He was reluctant to move. An extraordinary tranquillity permeated every limb with its weight and warmth, and he knew that it would leave him as soon as he stirred. And overriding this limpid peace was a profound emotion he slowly recognised as gratitude. It had no discernible recipient, not even the Talisman; but that troubled him not a whit. The feeling itself was beyond analysis or justification.
Eventually he stretched out and touched the Talisman. Nothing. No acute vision, no shimmering wall. Had he fallen asleep and had a dream? No, what had just happened still thrilled in his heart and tingled in every vein. He had been touched by something full of intense life, not spun from dreams. He sighed. The impact of that touch was fading now and soon enough he might be left with insubstantial memories, open to doubt.
He picked up the pebble to put it away in his pocket and stopped, frozen in disbelief. The black surface of the rock where the Talisman had rested glistened in the sun. Water was welling out from the seamless slab, until it trickled down in a tiny rivulet to pool in the hollow below. Mixed with his elation, he now felt some of his fear return and he was still motionless, grappling with this impossible sight, when he heard a sharp drawn breath behind him.
Piddur had crawled up the rocks to his side and was staring wide-eyed at the astonishing spring. Without looking away for an instant, the Sarab began a low breathy chant, the long cadences recognisable to Rasscu as verses from the Book of the Heart, although his own command of Sarai was insufficient for him to understand all the ancient words. Ending the chant on a long drawn out note, Piddur stood up with sudden vigour and called out in a strong voice to his companions, who started up in alarm, fumbling for their weapons. Still drunk with exhaustion and sleep and unable to make any sense of Piddur's visible elation, they stumbled up the outcrop to discover the reason for his insistent summons.
They were struck dumb. Not one of them dared to touch the miraculous liquid, although the Tesserit knew that some of them had been carrying empty water-skins for a full day now. Wordlessly Piddur stepped forward, knelt and touched his forehead to Rasscu's feet, followed by the rest of the band.
"True were the dreams of the Council," Piddur reminded his companions, "that springs would break forth upon the Harb at the Rahidor's passing."
“Yes, truth," the others responded, glad to find some point of reference for grasping the event. Still none made a move towards the crystal pool below them.
"The water is the gift of the Talisman," Rasscu said calmly, wanting to quench the hero-worship which the Sarai seized on so fervently. "The spring is flowing from the place where it rested." Then he added, as the awed Sarai still hung back, "It is the Talisman's gift to us, for us to drink. Come, my friends, I will be first to show you that it is no vision and that drinking is no sacrilege."
The cold liquid turned to fire in his throat. One mouthful was sufficient. Thirst, hunger, fatigue, all were swept away and he felt his body blazing with energy. Watching with curiosity as his companions drank, he observed the same reaction in them all. The water-skins were each filled in turn, and it was clear that while they held this precious drink, no other sustenance would be needed.
"Shall we hide the spring?"
The words came from the youngest of the Sarai and six pairs of eyes turned questioningly towards the Tesserit, the implications clear to them all. Without water their enemies would die.
"Let no man deny water to beast or enemy," Piddur broke in, "You know the law."
"The enemies take our own water away from Sarai families," the young man replied fiercely. "They are outside the law."
"You forget." Rasscu spoke before Piddur could retort. "No water belongs to us. This spring was created this very hour out of the dry rock by the Talisman of Obedience. We can safely leave it in the keeping of its creator."
**
It had been a costly time for the Sarai since the council had declared Rasscu as the Rahidor nine months ago. That very same day he had sensed the presence of a Spinner with an army force somewhere on the plateau and he and Remakkib had set off with a hastily gathered force to counter the threat.
The army soon discovered that the Harb was virtually without water or inhabitants. And when the new invaders spread out to search, the Sarai, without waiting for their leaders, ambushed and annihilated any isolated groups. Small patrols repeatedly failed to return, until soon no detachments of less than a hundred men were being sent out.
Yet the army gradually won its share of success. Shellimil the Spinner had contrived the near-impossible feat of gaining access to the plateau, using some secret means to deceive the Sarai guards. And once the army had gained a foothold, it was the Spinner again who was able to direct the searchers towards the hidden bhereths that lay within a few days of the plateau rim, and one by one the Sarai had to evacuate them and leave their precious water to the invaders.
Had they poisoned the water-caves the army’s advance would have been halted at once. But water on the Harb was governed by laws beyond the rules of war and what the soldiers found was pure and clean.
By the time that Rasscu and Remakkib had reached the invasion area at the southern edge of the Harb, four bhereths had been abandoned. At only one of them had the inhabitants been surprised and lost lives in the fierce fighting which ensued. Coming on the bhereth at night in overwhelming numbers, the troops had met ferocious resistance, and in their anger and fear they had cut down men, women and children indiscriminately. Even so some of the bhereth family had slipped away and survived to tell the tale, and the resulting mood among the Sarai was savage.
They had struck swiftly. Leaving Remakkib on the plateau with the main force, Rasscu had descended to the grasslands by another of the Sarai's secret exits and destroyed the army's lightly guarded supply base. So confused and terrified were the garrison at being attacked from the rear that the three hundred raiders had put to flight ten times their number in a matter of minutes. They had smashed every water-container large or small in the camp and transformed all the supply wagons into a gigantic bonfire, before withdrawing to the Harb.
Remakkib meanwhile had wiped out a large army patrol and then retaken one of the lost bhereths. They had approached the next bhereth with their forces reunited, only to be greeted by silence. The place was deserted. So it was with the other two. They had raced on to the plateau rim in time to see the last army units withdrawing hastily down the canyon which gave access to the lands below. The only invasion in living memory had been repelled and the Sarai celebrated accordingly, holding impromptu festival in honour of the new Rahidor. Even Remakkib, his normally grave face relaxed and cheerful, had laughed when Rasscu voiced his foreboding of further danger.
When the Tesserit pointed out that the army had refrained from poisoning the water-caves, as if they expected to return, his words were met with astonishment. How could he imagine such a crime, even from Empire carrion? He had bowed to their experience, but in the end his instincts had proved correct. His instincts and a piece of Idressin’s rare advice.
From the start the tutor had insisted that Rasscu should not only be seen to make his own decisions, he should actually make them too. Then two months after the army’s withdrawal he had suddenly told the Tesserit he was leaving. A temporary problem, he hoped: a friend was in trouble and Idressin was the only one who could help.
“For once I’ll give you some advice.” The tutor’s voice was serious. “Empty the southern bhereths two hundred miles from the rim and cut off the water channels to them. You’re right, the army will soon be back, stronger than ever, so do it now. Without water they’ll be pinned to the plateau rim until you’re ready to sweep them away.” He smiled. “The Sarai will resist the idea fiercely, but being called the Rahidor’s got to be good for something.”
His face lost its levity. “Don’t forget, Rass, you’re the real target. This is not about the army defeating the Sarai - who wants a big heap of useless stones? That Spinner you sensed right at the start, remember? Doesn't matter whether i
t's the Prentex or another of his kind, he’ll have just one thing on his mind: you, or rather you and the Talisman. It’s a bad time for me to be away, but use the Harb’s own defences and you’ll be safe.”
With that he had gone, heading north for Dendria. The same day Rasscu had put the plan to the Sarai council and had started the long struggle to overcome their objections. Where would the southern families go? Did the Rahidor realise what an immense task it was to close such remote water-channels? And how long it would take to have any effect, to say nothing of the possible damage to the system which might take years to repair? And so on.
Slowly the Sarai’s reluctance was worn down by the Tesserit’s patient insistence. Too slowly. They were still arguing when the army suddenly returned and the Spinner used his powers again to open the Harb's defences. Once they had gained the plateau rim, the advance paused while an unending tide of reinforcements had positioned twenty thousand men and an enormous quantity of supplies on the grasslands at the canyon mouth. Impressive fortifications had been erected to protect the bridgehead on the plateau and the encampment below, while cavalry patrolled the foot of the cliffs for forty miles in each direction. This time the invaders did not intend to be dislodged.
So the battle for the plateau had begun again, similar to before, but now the army spread out in a series of strikes in all directions, which put ten bhereth water-caves in their hands within the first two weeks. Even more disturbing, they had taken hostages. The speed of the advance had caught several bhereths unawares, and a couple of hundred women and children were now in army hands. Mostly children. Sarai women often fought alongside the men and died with them.
The remaining southern bhereths were swiftly evacuated, leaving the hastily regrouped Sarai forces to face the invaders across the empty waste. Two advancing army columns were ambushed and wiped out to a man. But when the Sarai came up to the first of the bhereths they intended to retake, they found one of the captured women sitting alone in full view on the open Harb. She had a message for them from the army.
There were eighteen children in the bhereth. At the first sign of a Sarai attack the children would be killed, all of them. The words were spoken in a flat voice, devoid of all emotion: the messenger knew exactly what she was saying. With men or women held captive, the Sarai might well have pressed the attack: death was no stranger on the Harb. But children were in the trust of all Sarai, not just of their own families, and after a brief argument the attackers withdrew.
"We must take the risk. We must clear these bodraks out of every bhereth, Rahidor, and eradicate this plague from the face of the Harb," one hot-headed young section leader had urged at a command meeting some days later.
"No," Remakkib had cut in before Rasscu had the chance to reply. "None of us want the deaths of children on our hearts. But it is more than that, it is foolish to carry on fighting the way they expect. We are few and their numbers are without limit. Every day the scouts tell us more arrive at the camps below and for every man we kill two more are sent up onto the Harb. As in the past, we must use the Harb itself to aid us. But first we must understand what is happening here." He turned to the Tesserit. "How are they finding the hidden bhereths with such accuracy? We have talked of this before and we know these are no chance successes."
"The answer’s simple enough, though you may not welcome it," Rasscu replied. “The priest of the Ajeddak Stone is the key to this. He used the Stone’s magic to find a way onto the Harb and it’s the priest who can sense the people in the bhereths and locate them.”
“He is here? With the army?”
“He’s in charge.”
“That vulture Abbar’s in command,” growled a fierce-eyed elder, headman of the Bastinto tribe. Most of the captured bhereths were Bastinto, and Resek was ashamed and bitter. “Every bodrak taken has confirmed it. This foolish talk of…”
Remakkib quietly put a hand on his arm and the old man subsided.
“Abbar may be in command,” Rasscu admitted gently. “But the Spinner is behind this invasion. He doesn’t reveal himself, but I know he’s there, hidden safely in the heart of the army’s main base.”
Remakkib gave an exclamation of disgust. “That is evil news. Our people are all revealed to this magician, while he is concealed from us.”
"Are we doomed then to be driven from bhereth after bhereth until all are lost? Is there no way to counter this creature?" It was Resek the Bastinto headman again and his question was fired straight at the Rahidor.
Rasscu was silent for a moment. "The Talisman still sleeps,” he at last replied, “and we have no command over its actions. So we have no other choice; we must deal with the situation ourselves." After another silence he continued, "We can’t wait for them to nibble away the whole Harb, piece by piece. I must remove the threat of this Spinner, whatever it takes. Without him the invasion will falter and break."
“Why you?” Remakkib asked bluntly.
“Because it’s me he wants above all, me and the Talisman. We have to lure him out from the protection of the army and I’m the only bait that will bring him.”
“And when he comes out, how are we going to ambush this sorcerer-priest if he can sense our presence?” Remakkib countered doubtfully.
“There are other kinds of trap,” came the reply. Rasscu did not explain that the night before he had seen in a dream exactly what he must do. In the night he had been convinced; now in the daylight he looked round the faces of the men who would die if he had been mistaken and he shrank from telling of the dream. To the Sarai dreams were harbingers of certainty and he wanted volunteers who accepted the possibility of failure.
Briefly he outlined his intentions. He would set up a meeting with the Spinner at Driman Isbult, a remote well in the southern Harb. He himself would go with just six companions, knowing full well that the enemy would have a much larger force hidden near the meeting place. Once the Spinner had sighted him, he would make off to the west with his little band before they could be encircled. He had no doubt the Spinner would lead the pursuit: he would trust no one else with so important a capture.
“There is no way west. Only the Dost el Hakla,” Resek said flatly, and received a confirming nod from the Tesserit. No one spoke. The implications of the plan were now clear to them all.
“A dead Rahidor is of no use to his people.” Remakkib’s voice was uncharacteristically soft. He respected Rasscu’s right to die for his adopted people - any Sarai would do the same - but there was more at stake here. “The Dost el Hakla is certain death. Even Barrada turned aside and would not enter it.”
“Nevertheless that’s the way I shall go. We have only to lead them in far enough and the Harb will do the rest. Come, Remakkib, we know what we’re facing, they don’t. Who do you think will survive? Fifty sweating lowlanders from Karkor or seven of us? When they turn back, they’ll be far spent. Patrol the edge of the Quarter and you’ll take the survivors without a fight.”
They had talked on, until it was clear that no better plan could be put forward. So Rasscu had arranged his meeting and the enemy had reacted exactly as he expected. Two weeks ago when he had allowed his hand-picked band to be trapped against the forbidding southern ramparts of the Dost el Hakla, the Spinner and his force of two hundred soldiers had been hot on his heels.
**
As the sun of their fifteenth day in this infernal furnace mounted overhead, Rasscu reflected how simple the plan had seemed. Head straight into the Dead Quarter and keep going until the enemy realised their mistake and turned back or died. Only they hadn’t turned back and only some of them had died. Instead the Spinner had outwitted him by exhibiting a ruthlessness he had not anticipated. The Sarai scouts who waited behind from time to time to watch their pursuers reported that after the first seven days the enemy were sending men back: men without packs. No rations, no water bottles. They were being robbed of the means to live so that the pursuit could continue.
After the morning remembrance the Sarai remained only long
enough to construct one of the small cairns they had been leaving to make it look as though they were using a travelled route. Then reinvigorated by the draughts from the spring, they moved swiftly away and within minutes their black robes had vanished into the maze of black rocks.
Some hours later, when the sun was still high, a figure in a tattered brown uniform staggered up to the little cairn and stood swaying as he gazed at it dully. At last he roused himself to signal his find to those behind, but as he turned, a glint among the nearby rocks caught his attention. He tottered painfully towards it and found himself looking down in stupefaction at a pool of crystal clear water.
Sergeant Rozta had been proud to be picked for this mission. After fifteen years' service, the last five in the famous Assault Battalion of Abbar’s Third Corps, he knew he was as tough and intelligent as any soldier in the army, and the campaign to overrun the Sarai plateau had seemed the ideal opportunity to demonstrate the fact to his superiors. He had suffered some doubts at first when he had seen the evident poverty of the people they were displacing: the tales of gold and loot were patent lies to encourage the troops. But later when he had been in a column ambushed by a party of Crows his professionalism had reasserted itself; due entirely to his courage and skill thirty two men had fought their way out of the trap and survived. After that he was a marked man, a natural choice for this special 'pursuit job', and he had been among the first volunteers to be accepted.
The Tears of Sisme Page 87