Lan had not been aware that the rest of the scouts were watching him, Tuck, and Fedor, but the moment he got up and reached for Kalira's saddle-blanket, the scouts started moving.
"Load and ride," Fedor said shortly, as he and his Companion came back to themselves. "The Karsites are moving faster than we thought they would. Our job is to get Lan here to a point where he can hold them back until the rest of the army conies up."
Me? They're depending on me?
Although he had been told that something of the sort might happen, the words still put a chill down his back and a lump of cold fear in his stomach. They are all expecting me to do what no one else can. He froze for a moment, but no one else even paused in what they were doing.
In fact, if anything, they put a bit more speed on.
His fingers fumbled with the buckle on Kalira's girth until she enclosed him in a cocoon of calm. He couldn't help but feel comforted and steadied; his hands stopped shaking, and he finished his jobs just as quickly as the rest of the scouts.
They all mounted within moments of each other. "Kill the fire," Calum ordered, and Lan, who had discovered that he could extinguish fires as easily as he started them, obeyed. The flames shrank down to nothing in a heartbeat, the coals lingered a moment, then with a metallic clinking, went black. You could put your hand right into the middle of the ashen remains now, and feel nothing more than a bit of residual warmth.
"Right," was all Calum said; he turned his horse's head up the trail, and motioned to Fedor to take the lead. Companions had infinitely better night vision than horses; Fedor and his Companion would find the trail and set the pace.
The pace—in a moment, as Lan and Kalira swung into place behind Diera and in front of Ben—was going to be grueling, at least as far as the horses were concerned. It was a good thing that there was a full moon, and that the snow reflected back so much moonlight. They alternated between a fast walk and a canter, holding the latter as long as the horses could bear up. Only when the first began to flag did they slow; interestingly, the horse that failed first was generally Calum's mount, not the shaggy little pony that Wulaf rode.
: Where are we going?: Lan asked, keeping himself low over Kalira's neck.
:A bit farther in than we'd planned to—you're going to be blocking a pass at the southern tip of that pine forest,: she replied. :On the way there is one more possible Karsite stronghold, but it's another wooden fortress; you can probably bum it out as we go by.:
True, but he wouldn't be able to do so in a way that would ensure the Karsites got out before he sent it up. That's just too bad, he told himself—or tried to. They're the enemy, after all. They've killed plenty of our people without caring what happened.
But had they? He couldn't say for certain if this particular batch of Karsites had been cold-blooded killers like those priests, or the assassin that had attacked Pol. They might just be ordinary folks, as troubled in their minds about dealing death as he was....
But if he left them in place, they would kill Valdemarans, whether or not they were troubled afterward, so he had no choice.
Far sooner than he would have liked, the time to act came upon him.
Fedor brought them all to a halt with an upraised arm, and motioned to Lan to come up beside him. "See that little dot of light?" he asked, pointing to the mountainside. Lan sighted along his arm and nodded.
"That's the last Karsite post, and it's a wooden fort." Fedor didn't bother to say anything more; Lan already knew what was needed.
Lan gritted his teeth and steeled himself against what he was about to do to those unsuspecting Karsites in what they thought was a safe shelter. Best to get this over with—
"I can't do this!" In memory, Ilea sobbed in Elenor's arms, the recollection painfully clear in Lan's mind. "Nothing I've tried is enough! I can't bring back his sight!"
Never again will I hesitate.
The dragon came up in a rush of fury, and flung itself at the proffered target. On the mountainside, a fire-lily flung open hectic petals to the moon.
His mind closed to anything other than the fires, Lan let the dragon have free play. At least they were far enough away that he couldn't hear the screams. Only when there was nothing left to burn did he haul the dragon back to its lair deep within his soul, only partly sated at best.
He opened his eyes, grateful that he could not see the place where the fires had lately raged. Calum and Fedor put their heads together for a moment, then Calum signaled to the rest of them to move forward behind Fedor. He and Wulaf headed up a trail toward the Karsite fortress to make certain that it had been cleared out.
:Steady-on love,: Kalira said soothingly. :You did just fine.: But she didn't say anything about the men in the fortress—and Lan added another load of guilt to the one he was already carrying. Striking without warning, without giving them a chance to surrender or flee... what am I becoming?
Calum and Wulaf rejoined them some while later—it wouldn't have been at all difficult to see their trail, even with only moonlight to guide them. They weren't trying to hide it, after all; this would be the trail that the rest of the army would follow. And it was no odds if Karsites followed it as well; they'd either be met by fire from the scouts, or fire from the army.
At the pace they were setting, it was unlikely that anyone would overtake them anyway.
Lan hadn't intended to sleep in the saddle, but evidently Kalira had already made up her mind about that.
He wasn't riding anymore. In fact, he couldn't remember where he'd been or why he'd been riding. He and Kalira walked slowly and dreamily, side by side but not touching, through a landscape that was too wild to be a garden, but too well-ordered to be wilderness.
Beside him moved a brightness—Kalira—and it seemed to him that she had always looked that way. He wasn't thinking much; his mind was entirely taken up with simply being.
Golden light, thick and sweet, poured down over them. There were no other people here, but this wasn't a place that needed people. The birds, animals, and plants here acted as if they had never seen a human before. And Lan himself felt so entirely swathed in peace and loving warmth that he felt no urgency about anything; for that matter, he couldn't remember if there had ever been any urgency about anything. Perhaps he had always been here, and always would be.
Then he woke, with the sunrise casting long blue shadows across the white faces of the mountains, the peace fleeing from him in a rush. He could have wept like a baby at being thrust back into this world, this horrible war—
Then, although the peace did not return, the love and warmth did, flooding from Kalira into him; and if it did not return him to peace, it did comfort him.
This looked pretty much like every other piece of country that they had passed through, but Calum reined in his horse and looked about with satisfaction.
"Good, we've beaten them here," the scout leader said. "Most of you, rest. Lan, start a fire. Tuck, come with Wulaf, Fedor, and me. Let's find a place to put our young friend."
Lan climbed down from the saddle, feeling nowhere near as tired as the rest looked. While they wearily dismounted, he cobbled together as much deadfall as he could find and set it ablaze; as they gathered around, he and Kalira brought back large branches and logs and piled them on the roaring fire. By his third trip, someone had put water on for tea and broken out the field rations.
He was happy enough to help himself to both, and it wasn't long until Calum returned.
The scout squatted down beside the fire and accepted a mug from one of the others. Lan supplied Fedor and Tuck with food and drink as the scout drained his mug in a single swallow.
"We've got a good spot for you, lad, and just in the nick of time," Calum told him, passing his mug over for a refill. "As soon as you get something into you, we'll take you up there and get you settled in. The Karsites will be here in about a candlemark, or so Fedor thinks."
Calum's casual statement chilled Lan to the bone, though he did his best not to show it. He g
ulped down his own tea, ignoring his scalded tongue, and bolted his ration bar. "I'm ready now," he said, putting on his bravest face.
:That's my Herald,: Kalira crooned as he mounted, and he felt a little glow of pleasure warming the chill of fear.
Dutifully, they followed in Fedor's wake; Calum remained behind to direct the scouts to a place where they, too, could guard the pass. Tuck started to follow, but Fedor waved him back. "We'll need you here, youngster," Fedor called over his shoulder as Lan turned to look back. "Lan's job will be simple enough and he won't need anyone to relay him orders."
Tuck nodded and dismounted, gratefully accepting a second cup of tea. Lan sighed and faced forward again. He would have liked the company.
:Oh, now, you always have me,: Kalira replied. :Besides, Tuck always feels bad when there's nothing for him to do.:
:That's true enough, love,: he replied, and Fedor motioned to him to come up beside him.
"This is a very narrow passage," Fedor said, as they rode side by side through a thick grove of pines. "You'll be able to stop them from coming through the pass directly, and we think you'll also be able to block most of the attempts to use the high passes, because you'll be able to see them from where we're putting you. And they shouldn't be able to get anywhere near you; you're going to be on a slope that had a rockslide in the last year or so, there is no kind of cover on it."
"Do you know much about what's coming?" he asked, rather shyly.
Fedor shook his head. "Only what they told me. All of the Karsite forces have consolidated for this, so I suppose this is their big push to break us. If that's true, winning here could win the war for us."
"Oh, I hope so," Lan said fervently. Fedor smiled, with understanding in his brown eyes.
"I hate this, too," Fedor said softly. "That's one reason why I asked to be a scout. Blood makes me sick."
"It does?" Lan felt immensely better to hear a senior Herald confess the same weakness he felt. "I hate killing people," he said in a rush. "I hate it! I don't care if they're our enemies!"
"And thank the gods you feel that way, Lan," Fedor said solemnly. "Anyone who doesn't is perilously near to becoming a monster. Most of these people wouldn't be fighting us if their leaders weren't forcing them, or at least telling them such lies that they're afraid we'll slaughter them if they don't get rid of us."
Lan wanted to talk more to him, but the trail narrowed at that point and he had to fall back to the rear. They came out of the pine trees onto the lower slope of the mountain, and began to climb it on a switchback path rising alternately through more trees and stretches of barren rock.
Only a goat, a mountain pony, or a Companion could have taken this route safely, and Lan's attention was entirely occupied by helping Kalira as she climbed by shifting his balance in the saddle like a tightrope walker on a rope. At times he hung over her neck, at others over to one side, or practically hanging off her tail. He kept his eyes down on the ground—and on the sheer drop-offs just beyond Kalira's hooves. The trail didn't always switch back under itself, and even when it did, the likelihood of catching themselves if they started down was minimal.
It wasn't until Fedor said, "We're here," that he looked up from the trail, and gasped at the vista that unfolded before him.
This place that Fedor and Calum had chosen for him was a little scooped-out section in the middle of the goat trail. A boulder might well have once been here, and been knocked out of place by that rockfall. He had a perfect view of the passage between two snow-covered mountains, and the zigzag valley below. A mist hung over the valley, glowing with the golden light of morning, rilling the vale to a point halfway up the peaks. It wasn't a thick mist; he could see the sparkle of a river and the forms of trees perfectly well through it. The mist was nothing more than a tenuous, gilded veil that softened the edges of what lay beyond.
A few puffy white clouds soared just above him, barely touching the mountain peaks, and somewhere in the distance, a blackbird sang. For a fleeting moment, the peace of his dream descended on him. This was so beautiful, so peaceful—his soul opened up to it.
"Dear gods," Fedor murmured. "How I hate mankind, sometimes."
Lan knew exactly what he meant by that. This peace, this loveliness, would be shattered irrevocably in a few candle-marks, and for no more reason but that one group of men desired dominance over another.
"Make yourself as comfortable as you can, Lavan," Fedor said a bit louder, shaking himself out of his melancholy. "If you look up that way, you'll see the signs that they're coming. Then—well, do what seems best to you, and what you can to hold them back." Fedor smiled weakly. "No one knows better than I how unreliable Gifts can be."
Lan was touched and terrified at the same time by the trust implied by that order. He could, if he chose, do nothing, and claim that his Gift had deserted him. Not that he would—but he could. Of course, if he didn't, more people would die, his own people—they wouldn't die at his hands, but they would die because of his neglect.
"You can depend on me, sir," he said solemnly. Fedor saluted him, and turned his Companion's head to go back down the trail.
Well, if he was going to be here a while, there was no point in sitting on a lump of ice until he became one. Once again he gathered wood, this time from among the tumbled rocks where the remains of smashed trees poked up out of the boulders, the remains of a grove of pines that had once stood here. In no time he had a fine pile of dry, seasoned wood; he made a fire, and warmed himself at it, while Kalira sidled up to the flames on the opposite side. From time to time he looked up to see if there was any sign of the enemy, but the fire had burned through the first feeding and halfway through the second before they appeared.
A moving blackness, with bright glints of metal in the midst of it, crept forward imperceptibly at the farthest range of his vision. Again, a shiver of fear crept over him. Could he do this thing? He was only one person—
:You can.: Kalira came up close to him, supporting him with her shoulder. Together they watched the enemy approach, filling the entire valley from slope to slope, announcing their presence with trumpets that frightened the blackbird into silence.
Black anger roiled sluggishly in his gut; they were a pollution, a desecration of this peaceful place. How dare they come here with their bows and swords, their warhorns and their noise? How dare they trample this pristine place, churning up the untouched snow and leaving the landscape ruined?
They poured through the valley in a sluggish stream, with no end in sight; not only were there glints from their weapons flashing among them, but bands of color from banners waving among them. And a safe distance from the front, something shining moved in the midst of them; something bright gold, reflecting the sun, that almost seemed to float on the surface of the throng, bobbing in the current of humanity.
:That's a shrine to their god,: Kalira informed him.
"Oh, really?" he responded aloud, and a spirit of angered devilment suddenly took hold of them. "Well—I think maybe they can do without it, don't you?"
A whicker and a toss of her head answered his question, and he reached out with his Gift, feeling Kalira behind him, acting as a check on his power.
The shrine couldn't be solid gold, or no one would be able to move it. There was wood, even paper, beneath that gilding—and where there was something, anything, to burn, Lan would find it.
These people bum living sacrifices to that shrine. These people sent a man that took Pol's eyes. There was less grief within him now, and more anger. Much more. He turned took a breath, and loosed the dragon within him, targeting its fury on the shrine.
For some time, the army flowed forward, and nothing outwardly happened. But Lan felt the fire catch and take hold; he held it back to let it build, and then—released it.
An entire bouquet of fire-blossoms burst forth from every opening in the shrine.
Below—pandemonium.
It looked exactly as if he had dropped a burning twig into a seething mass of ants.
The little black specks that were enemy fighters surged away from the burning shrine in all directions, as Lan fed the flames in glee. A few, brave believers or full of bravado, tried to extinguish the flames by tossing snow on them, but soon gave up as the heat from the shrine drove them out of throwing distance.
Would that give them pause? Would they decide to turn back, given the defeat of their god?
No such luck.
When the shrine was nothing but ash and puddled gold, the army of dots milled uncertainly for a little while—but the echo of shrill voices reached Lan's perch, and eventually the army crept forward again.
Damn. Lan frowned, anger still controlled, but quickening. He'd hoped to finish this bloodlessly. Well, perhaps he still could. He called up all his memories of the Dark Servants at the pass, of the attack on Pol, of Ilea's despair and Elenor's grief, and let the anger build higher still.
The dragon waited, not at all restless now, for it knew he was going to let it loose again, and this time it would have everything it wanted.
Brightly Burning v(-10 Page 40