The Price of Wisdom

by Shannah Jay

  'Save your energy,' Quedras told his lieutenants, fixing a particularly stern gaze upon Purvlin, who could be rash at times. 'Stay up here. Let them come to you.'

  While the forces of evil were building up below, Herra walked along the Terraces. Scouts were keeping watch from the heights and reports were coming in of the huge numbers approaching from the south, but her face was serene and her demeanour relaxed. In each sector, she appointed her own chantors, people with good strong voices who could lead the singing, boost morale, help keep people's minds on success.

  'It won’t be force of arms that wins the day for us,' she told the groups who gathered at each of her stops. 'It’ll be the goodness within us and the joy that is the expression of that goodness. The Serpent cannot abide the feel of our joy.'

  She remained cheerful, enjoyed a few jokes, as she always did, and sent one man back to the Healers to deal with the ulcers that were getting worse by the hour in the pool of acid panic inside his stomach.

  'That can wait. I don't want to let you down, lady,' he said, kneeling before her. 'Let me stay and fight. What does my stomach matter?'

  'You won’t let anyone down, my friend. It won't take the Healer long to tend to you and then you may rejoin your companions for the battle.'

  He stood up, gaping at her. 'I'd forgotten,' he said in tones of surprise. 'I'd forgotten how quickly a Healer can make you better.'

  People lined up as Herra left each sector, lined up simply to touch her hand or even her garments.

  They all knew she’d prophesied her own death during the coming battle, though she’d refused to speak of it since. None of them could imagine a world without her. Herra of Tenebrak had been alive for over two hundred and sixty years, since the time of their grandfathers' grandfathers and for the last hundred and fifty years she’d been there trying to guide people towards goodness. If she died, it would leave the most dreadful aching emptiness in their world, an emptiness that no one else could possibly fill. But there were no words to speak their pain, nothing but their soft touches and hurried nods as she left.

  Herra moved around the Terraces from early in the morning until late at night. By the time she’d finished, she’d visited every single group of people. She hadn’t scolded them for touching her or for weeping as she passed, though she normally grew annoyed when people treated her as a god-given icon. She’d merely smiled her golden tender smile which left behind it a sense of joy and of balance.

  Because of her efforts every single group had been given a better morale boost than all the formal training or preparations for the coming struggle could have given them. Quedras acknowledged it with a wry grin, Querilla commented on it to Quinna in a low voice, and even the Hashite Assassins admitted it.

  And yet, between them all lay the chill knowledge that this might be Herra's last day of life.

  In the late evening, Herra led her Kindred in a very special Gathering that set rumbles of anger shivering beneath the valley floor. She ignored that sign of the Serpent utterly and stood like a beacon of light at the centre of their concentric circles as they meshed into mental union.

  The glow of golden light shone along the terraces with a soft comforting warmth that seemed to wash joy everywhere. Everywhere but to the huddles of men far below.

  ***

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  In the dark hour just before dawn, those who’d kept watch through the night sent word that Sen-Sether's army was getting ready to attack. People tumbled out of their makeshift beds, at first running to and fro in panic, then settling down as the chantors called them to sing a morning chorus together.

  After that, folk seized their weapons and waited. Cold rations were available from the night before for those who felt hungry. But most were far too apprehensive to eat.

  Herra stood alone outside her tent, waiting, patient, lost in a simple relaxation pattern. She smiled at Davred and Katia as they came up to her and she touched their cheeks in a fleeting blessing. 'Joy!' she murmured. 'Whatever happens, it’s a joy to fight for goodness, an even greater joy to vanquish evil.'

  'And our greatest joy has been to know you,' Davred said, then fell silent. What were words when weighed against the loss of her?

  Herra just smiled and made a shooing gesture with one hand.

  Davred hugged Katia, waved to his sons, to whom he’d said a proper farewell the previous night, and then left his wife, too. Neither of them voiced their fears for each other. They knew each other's thoughts without the need for speech. When they were close together the mindlink was strong, and growing stronger.

  Accompanied by Soo, Katia strode along to the far end of the second Terrace, where it widened out in a flat platform. There she would do whatever she could to aid and encourage the people around her, and to heal key fighters, if necessary. Soo had insisted on playing her part, though her skills at fighting were very rudimentary.

  Meera, Met and Kerem had chosen to stay together and serve the Healers and the wounded in any way they could, since Davred said they should keep out of the fighting for political reasons. But when they discussed this, they decided that they couldn’t stand aside from those who’d welcomed them to the planet, some of whom had become good friends. They would, they must help in some way.

  A few paces away from Herra's still figure, Alaran and Erlic clasped hands briefly, then strode off to their respective positions. Alaran was to stay in the centre, Erlic at the rear. He would be the first point of contact with the deleff, who had gathered silently in a fan shape around the entrance to Therak Bowl. No one knew exactly how these deleff would act, but Erlic suspected that they were there in case of a retreat.

  His mother still insisted that the real battle was to be fought there and Herra hadn’t contradicted her. It would be a desperate last stand, if so. They might get a few dozen people away through the portal, but not more - and there were thousands standing ready to fight against the Serpent.

  Slowly the valley below the Hapslith Terraces filled with a black mass that moved around as busily as insects building a mud tower. The front ranks formed themselves into several distinct groups.

  'Spearheads,' said Quedras. 'They'll make the first attack. Test us out. Spread the word to the archers to concentrate their fire on the men at the front of those. We must kill them as quickly as possible to slow the others down.'

  Behind the spearheads, Those of the Serpent seemed as numberless as the waves of the ocean. Rank upon rank of tiny figures, with a thick band of black-clad figures at the front, from whom emanated a sense of hatred so strong it almost seemed to rise up above them in a haziness that had a life of its own.

  Something else emanated from the men, too, and it took Herra a while to understand what it was that was disturbing her equilibrium, tugging at her like dirty fingers. 'Pain,' she whispered, suddenly understanding. 'Those poor souls are filled with pain.'

  Cheral appeared beside her, holding out a mug of hotbrew.

  Herra took it with a smile. She didn't need or want it, but it would help Cheral to fuss over her.

  'Are you all right?' Cheral asked bluntly. 'How do you feel?'

  'Strange,' Herra admitted, sipping the steaming liquid. 'Unreal, almost. As if I'm floating, not quite of this world.'

  Cheral hesitated, then asked softly, 'Are you sure?'

  Herra nodded. 'Oh, yes. I can feel death hovering. But it's the natural end of a long life. What is there to fear about that?'

  Cheral's eyes filled with tears, then she shook her head and forced herself to stop weeping. Two final pearls of moisture rolled down her cheeks as she just stood there, looking at Herra. 'I can't come to terms with it,' she admitted. 'We've been together for so long.'

  'And shall be together again one day.' Herra patted her gently and smiled. 'You'll be needed here on Sunrise afterwards, though, you and your sharp tongue and your practical skills.' Then she gave in to temptation and hugged Cheral close. 'You’ve been a joy to me, Cheral, and a true sister.'

  Wh
en they pulled apart, both of them had control of themselves again.

  'I'd better go and get my frying pan, then,' Cheral said gruffly.

  'Cooking?' Herra teased.

  'No. It's still my favourite weapon. Nothing else feels right in my hand. I couldn't stab someone, but I can clang them on the head.'

  Herra stood for a moment watching Cheral walk away, then turned round to study their enemies again, as so many others were doing from the Terraces.

  In front of the dark ranks was planted a whole row of triangular banners, black with golden serpents that seemed to writhe upon them, even though the air was still. Herra addressed the Serpent's hovering presence. 'You shall not rise for long,' she promised it.

  The air below her shivered with dark ripples that dimmed the sunlight. There was a noise of voices chanting, not musically, just deeply growled words, then men in black robes began to walk along in front of their men, exhorting them. The lines began to sway to and fro in time to the chanting.

  'We must stop that,' Herra said suddenly. 'It builds up their power.' She turned to the man nearest to her. 'Go and ask Quedras if he can disrupt these ceremonies.'

  But before her messenger could even move, a group of Hashites swooped down of their own volition, riding very fast nerids that had been hidden behind some tents. The insults they howled broke the spell immediately. They loosed a hail of arrows and retreated before Those of the Serpent could retaliate. Hashite mercenaries were famous for their speed, though they usually fought only in small groups when one landowner fell into dispute with another. Even that sort of dispute had once been unknown in the Twelve Claims, and the Rank of Mercenaries had been very small, but under the Serpent's rule disputes had increased, and been settled by force more often than not, to the Sisters'

  distress, so the Mercenaries had multiplied, too.

  The men below dragged their wounded out of the way, making no attempt to care for them, then

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  formed themselves into wedges again and began chanting and moving forward in step.

  'Sal-va-tors! Sal-va-tors!' alternated with 'Serpent, save your Servants! Serpent, save your Servants!'

  Everyone's attention was on them, so that the other groups of dark-clad men who rode swiftly up the side slopes from their hiding places were half-way up the hill towards the first terrace before anyone realised fully what was happening and took action to counter the charge.

  Quedras's roar of, 'Kill those men, you fools!' suddenly jerked people into attention, and then the battle began in earnest.

  At first, it was crude cut and thrust, with the most experienced fighters of each side making a start.

  A few people fell, others were wounded. It was a time of testing, almost as if Those of the Serpent wanted to find out whether the Kindred's army really would fight.

  It was almost as if the defenders were finding out the same thing about themselves.

  'Brother look down! '

  'Sal-va-tors!'

  Cries echoed and re-echoed.

  To one side, Sen-Sether sat motionless on his riding nerid, a slight smile curving his thin lips. He watched the defenders pause to tend their wounded and his smile grew. 'They are fools.'

  Then, as more and more people started dying, there was a rumbling sound below the ground and a loud chorus of calls from the ranks of Initiates. 'The Serpent. The Serpent rises.'

  The rumbling noise grew louder and the earth began to shudder beneath everyone's feet.

  People in the Kindred's ranks began to panic. 'The Serpent!' they called. 'What shall we do?'

  That was when Alaran started to sing Herra's Joy.

  At first his voice was heard only by those nearest to the centre, where he’d been placed for just this purpose, but groups nearby began to take up the refrain, urged on by their chantors. Like a refreshing breeze the melody spread up and down the terraces and the ground on the slopes stopped rumbling and shaking.

  When the singing ended, there was a respite as the Kindred's forces faced again the dreadful fact that the battle had started, and began to heft their weapons and encourage one another. Those who’d not been able to face any actual fighting hurried to and fro tending the wounded, bringing water to the fighters, passing more supplies of arrows to those with bows, any task that needed doing, whatever the danger.

  Then the fighting erupted again. The black-clad figures started marching up the hill in their wedges, looking fierce and well-trained. The defenders fought them in ragged lines and began to fall back little by little under the weight of such overwhelming numbers, such crushing force, and above all, such hatred. Things began to look very bleak for the defenders.

  When next the ground rumbled with the Serpent's call, however, the rock in front of one wedge shivered and fractured, disrupting the rhythms of the black-clad feet. Men shouted in panic as they slipped and slid, as cracks opened up in the ground. All the fighting wedges came to a halt, milling around in confusion.

  'That's Quequere!' someone called and people near the disturbance cheered loudly.

  The ground heaved again further down the hill, and bellies shivered with that deep fearsome growl that promised only death and pain. A dark shape rose from it, rose, then sank again. The ground became very still for a moment, then the cracks that Quequere had made mysteriously filled in again, and there was a cold shivering sensation that ran along below the ground and made the defenders call out in fright.

  'Now it really begins,' said Sen-Sether in grim satisfaction. 'Start the calling again. Set the rest of them moving.'

  The army of the Serpent moved forward in lines behind the wedges, chanting, 'Serpent, save your Servants! Serpent, save your Servants!' in a deep-throated chorus that went on and on.

  Not only were there far more attackers than defenders, but men were still pouring down from the distant hills and marching along the valley floor. They filled it with a mass of dark bodies which more than replaced those now climbing the uneven rocky slope to the first terrace.

  'Curse the devils!' Quinna muttered. 'I never realised there were so many of 'em.'

  'They've scoured the Twelve Claims,' Kensin said quietly. 'But I doubt all of them are committed to the Serpent.'

  Quinna hefted Bold Lady to and fro, studying the vast army below them. Her face became very stubborn. 'Well, I'll take a few with me before they kill me.' At her side Nim growled. It had been hard to restrain the great cliff cat from rushing down to join in the mêlée. She seemed to understand clearly that the men clambering up towards them were enemies.

  'I, too, shall take a few with me.' Kensin lifted his bow and sighted on the leading man in the nearest wedge. The arrow sang true and the man fell.

  'Good shot!' Quinna called. 'Keep it up, Kensie boy. I think I'll move down a bit now and let Nim have a nibble at them.' She grinned at him, trying to hide her fear for him. Like all the others, the two of them had said their goodbyes this morning. Suddenly a thought struck her. and she began to call out, Brother, look down! '

  All around her people took up the call. ' Brother, look down! Brother, look down! ' As Quinna cheered and ran down the terrace to meet the attackers, others from the Sandrims followed her, calling on Quequere in the pauses between the calls to the Brother of the World.

  The attackers hesitated at the sight of the great cliff cat and arrows began to hiss in Nim's direction.

  When one lodged in her paw, she tore it out with a growl and began to swerve to and fro. She moved so fast she’d pounced on the nearest group of men before the archers could change their direction.

  And then they dared not shoot for fear of hitting their own.

  Nim left a bloody trail through the wedge of men and Quinna led the defenders into it behind her.

  But then she called Nim back before they got too deep in the enemies' ranks.

  Standing panting behind a rock, Quinna called a Healer over to tend to Nim.

  'Heal an animal!'

  Quinna grabbed the woma
n's arm and drew her closer. 'This animal, yes. She's worth a dozen fighters to our side. And she's my friend!'

  Nim was soon healed.

  All that morning the fighting waged on in a fragmented pattern. Those of the Serpent would advance, kill as many as they could and then retreat again, leaving the fresher men to fill their places in

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  the next charge. And each time they left fewer defenders behind them. The Sister Healers couldn’t use their skills on so many wounded, could only bandage the wounds and send the worst cases to the rear.

  Waves of chanting and growling noise battered upwards. The Serpent half rose, then sank into the ground again.

  From time to time, when things grew particularly bad, Quequere would cause little patches of disruption in the Serpent's subterranean heaving and tossing. This obviously puzzled Those of the Serpent as much as it heartened the defenders. But Quequere was just one creature battling the might of massed evil, and he could do no more than harry the Serpent occasionally.

  'They're gaining,' Quedras said during a lull. 'We'll soon have to abandon the lowest terrace. Spread the word to be ready to retreat.'

  When the next black wave poured up the slope, the defenders retreated carefully. At one moment there was a hiatus, as a group was trapped by a rapid pincer movement by Those of the Serpent.

  Within seconds they seemed confused, as if mesmerised by the deep voices chanting, 'Serpent, save your Servants' around them.

  Alaran sprang down from the second terrace and led a rescue party towards them, singing.

  That was the first time the invisible battle became visible. Darkness veiled the attackers and their prisoners. Light seemed to gather around Alaran's figure.

  The darkness and the light met and stayed still. Everyone nearby had stopped moving. There was a pulsing feeling to the darkness. Very slowly it began to creep forward.

  With a muttered curse, Petur grabbed Taslyn's hand, for they’d been kept together in reserve, bickering and snapping as the battle raged below them. They raced down the terraces together, slipping and sliding, sending showers of stones and dust around them. When they reached Alaran, they each grasped one of his hands and lent their voices to the singing.