Shadows of Prophecy Page 19

  Tess shivered and pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders as she sat on a cheerless rocky slope, a hard piece of biscuit in her hand, a skin of water beside her. Nearby, Tom slept deeply. If he heard the song, it did not wake him.

  But she could hear the song and sense the promises within it, though she knew she could not hear as clearly as the Anari, for whom the song was meant.

  She had heard the Anari speak many times of the living rock, but only now did she fully grasp just how alive the rock was. Older than old, with a different sense of time, it nonetheless grasped the importance of this small period in the river of years, and sought to reassure those who had clambered its slopes and carved its boulders with love.

  “Lady Tess,” a voice hissed from the darkness, and Tess twisted to look.

  With nothing but starlight to see by, she made out the familiar shape of Ratha approaching quietly. “Ratha.” She, too, whispered, aware of how far a sound could carry at night…although it was perhaps possible that the singing of the mountains would prevent such.

  He crept forward, allowed to pass by the two men who had been set to watch over her and Tom, and sat cross-legged beside her on the hard rock. “Where is Lord Archer?”

  “He went off a short while ago to look into something. He should be back soon.”

  Ratha nodded and lowered his head. Tess could feel a change in him, a deep change. It was as if an anger that had burned in him for so long had gone out, leaving only determination in its place. “Was your retreat useful?” she asked finally.

  He lifted his head, and in the starlight she caught a glimpse of the gleam of white teeth. “Aye. I wonder if we all have caves within us where we dare not look for fear we will learn of the ugliness within us.”

  Tess thought about it. “I am certain we do, Ratha. All of us. Mine, however, seems to have been lost with my memory.”

  Another flash of a smile. “Perhaps you have none. For in you I have sensed a core of pure white steel.”

  Tess immediately grew uncomfortable. “Put me on no pedestals, Ratha Monabi. I am flawed, like everyone else.”

  “That is not what I mean. Besides, my Lady, our flaws are gifts that make us interesting and keep us from boredom.”

  “Then what do you mean?”

  “That I sense you have already been tempered like the finest sword from the forge. You will know what you must do when the time is ripe, and you will do it unflinchingly. And the shadow will hold no sway over you.”

  Tess again pulled the blanket closer around her and suppressed a shiver that came not from the cold. “I wish I could be certain.”

  “You will be when you need to be.” He sighed and pulled a biscuit from his own pack, biting into it with a crack. “This biscuit could cost a man his teeth.”

  “I pour water on mine.”

  He nodded. “I have tried that. I would rather risk my teeth.”

  A small quiet laugh escaped her.

  “Do you hear the mountains?” he asked her curiously.

  “Aye. Not completely, but I hear them. I hear they will protect the Anari this night.”

  Ratha lifted his head higher and looked at the towering peaks above them, many mantled in snow. “This is a great magick. A great moment. Our history does not record that the mountains ever sang.”

  “But I thought you could hear the rocks.”

  “Small rocks, yes. It is what my Tel does best. We seek out stones by their song. But never before have all the mountains sung like this. We are truly protected. If any Bozandari scout comes near, he is likely to find his way shut off. Or twisted. Worse, he may find a rock slide waiting for him.”

  Tess looked at the mountains with renewed respect and in doing so felt the tingle of their magick along her nerve-endings. Holding her hands up as she felt them begin to burn a little, she saw little blue crackles of light around them.

  “What did you do?” Ratha breathed, staring at her hands.

  “I don’t know. I was thinking of the magick in the mountains and then…” Her voice trailed off as the song of the mountains seemed to grow louder in her ears and something deep within her shifted. Then the blue lightning faded from around her hands. A moment later, the world returned to normal.

  “It was the mountains,” Ratha said. “Did you not hear?”

  “I heard something.”

  “The mountains recognized you. They welcomed you.”

  Tess looked at her hands, then up at the peaks. “Why?”

  “I have no answer. But it seems they know you. And the blue fire…sometimes one sees it when two rocks strike. It is the life force of the mountains. And it touched your hands.”

  Tess sat on long into the night, staring at the mountains, wondering what had just been done to her.

  And why.

  24

  By the end of the third day of the march, they were poised to attack the Bozandari camp. They spent another cold, fireless night, while just over the hilltops they could see the glow of the enemy’s campfires.

  The Anari army had been split into three wings, leagues apart, each with a designated role in the attack. Jenah’s wing had gone west, blocking the passes that might offer both reinforcement and escape for the Bozandari below. Giri’s wing was to the east, ready to fall upon the camp beneath them at first light. Archer’s wing would wait until the Bozandari were engaged with Giri, then strike their flank and rear.

  Men and women who had never fought, and whose training had been all too brief, fingered their weapons nervously and wondered what the morrow would bring. Most did not fear death; there were far worse things to fear. But all were edgy and scared.

  The scouts ranged round them, alert to any movement from the enemy, to any encroachment by Bozandari scouts, but none came. It seemed the enemy was confident in his safety and numbers, and unafraid that anyone might trouble him.

  “Such confidence,” Archer muttered, “serves them ill.”

  Tess, who straddled her horse beside him and looked through the trees at the brightly lit camp below, nodded. She dreaded the coming day, even though her heart told her that some battles must be fought.

  Archer turned to her. In the dim light, his face appeared carved from wood. “Can you sense your sisters?”

  “Aye. I feel them strongly. The bond is there. They, too, are ready for the morn.”

  “Good.” He waved a hand toward the encampment below, so brightly lit with fires it was doubtful a man there would have been able to see shadows moving in the night. “What can you sense of them?”

  Tess was at first surprised by the request; never had he asked such a thing of her. Then she remembered he was accustomed to the Ilduin of the past, Ilduin who could with their powers create a whole new race of beings. Why would he not think she would be able to search among the army below for information?

  She looked at him for a long time, however, reluctant to use her abilities to spy, even if she could, yet struggling with the notion that it was necessary. She wondered what it must be like to have lived so long alone, every friend you might ever have dying, while you remained young. Eternal life must be a curse.

  “Tess?”

  She closed her eyes and averted her head. Maybe she could sense something from below. Almost as soon as she mentally envisioned the camp, she felt as if she were walking among the tents and shoddily built shelters, watching cold men gather around their fires, seeking heat and drinking ale to stave off the cold.

  She saw men gambling with chicken knuckles and silver coins changing hands. She saw prostitutes plying their wares and laughing with an edge when a soldier approached. She saw officers in their cups, gathered together around maps they no longer looked at, talking of home and the next time they would be allowed to leave this godforsaken frontier. She heard ugly things said about the Anari, and obscene things said about Anari women.

  She heard one man brag about what he liked to do to young Anari boys.

  At that her eyes snapped open, and her heart grew hard.
“They are drinking and gaming,” she told Archer. “Cold and miserable, and speaking the unspeakable.”

  “In short,” he said, his voice as hard as stone, “soldiers passing the time, expecting no trouble.”

  She gave a jerky nod, not caring if he could see it.

  “We’ll take care of them at first light,” he said, as if sensing her disgust.

  “Aye,” she answered quietly. “Aye.” But the men below them were not all scum, she realized. Many were there for want of other choices. Many didn’t care for what they were forced to do.

  “The Bozandari,” she said suddenly.

  “Aye?” His voice gently questioned.

  “They are not all scum.”

  “No, they are not,” he agreed. He sidled his horse closer to her, until their knees touched, and he put his arm around her shoulders. “I am sorry, Tess, that you must be part of these things. I know how they offend my soul. I can only imagine how they must appall the soul of an Ilduin.”

  His touch was comforting, and she wanted to lean into it, to rely on his strength for just a few minutes, to feel the warmth of another human body close by.

  But she dare not let herself give in to such things. Not with this man who seemed to be a primary player in the problems that had led the world to this pass. Not with this man whose own brother was the ultimate evil they would face.

  A movement in the trees caught her eyes, and she drew a quick breath and stiffened.

  “What is it?” he asked, his voice low.

  “Something moves.”

  She cocked her head toward where she had seen the motion, and he followed with his eyes. Again a bush seemed to stir.

  Then, causing her to gasp and hold her breath, the snow wolf emerged from the brush and trees, looking at her with those solemn golden eyes.

  And this time she knew him, knew that somehow he was her totem, her protector, her friend.

  For long moments they stared into each other’s gaze, while Archer remained stock-still beside her. Then, regally, the wolf stretched out his front paws and bowed.

  Tess drew another quick breath of amazement. She wanted to dismount and go to the creature, to touch him and rub his ears. But before she could make a move, he turned and melted back into the forest. Seconds later she heard him howl, then heard the answering howls of his pack, an eerie harmony she would never forget.

  Then understanding struck her.

  “Now,” she said, turning quickly to Archer. “We must attack now.”

  “At night?” He didn’t look as if he cared for the idea at all.

  “Most of the men down there are drunk. Now.”

  “We could lose our forces to accidents,” he argued. “The terrain is rough, and they won’t be able to see except by starlight.”

  “Now,” she repeated, certainty settling over her like a warm cloak. “The Anari see stone as brightly as you see fire. Now.”

  * * * *

  Cilla and Sara had both answered Tess’s call and passed along the order. The army’s movements began slowly, stealthily, working upward along protective ridges and down the far sides toward the camp. Everyone was as alert as they possibly could be, but no warning cries rang out, and no troops gathered in the camps below to meet the onslaught.

  With little more than the faint crunching of boots on talus and the whisper of disturbed brush, Giri’s column began to descend toward the camp.

  As they moved, the fires in the camp began to burn down. Men were falling asleep from their drink and fatigue. If guards had been posted, they were nowhere to be seen.

  “It seems,” Archer remarked to Tess, “that Bozandar thinks the Anari are no threat at all.”

  “Have they ever been before?”

  He did not answer the question, for the answer was obvious. He and Tess stayed toward the rear of their advancing column, for the sounds of horses could not be silenced. When it was time, they would move forward.

  To the eye, it seemed that a river of shadow was pouring down the ridge. Nothing caught the starlight to gleam and announce the presence of soldiers. Instead, night covered them with its sheltering cloak, and the mountains gave them cover.

  Giri looked to his right and left. They were formed up, in position, as ready as they could be. Many of these, his brothers and cousins, would not see first light. But more of the Bozandari would fall. And when Archer and his column rode down upon their rear…the trap would be complete.

  He offered a soft prayer, gathering his courage and hoping to share that courage with those to either side. They in turn would pass their courage on to the others. Or so Giri hoped. Finally, he nodded silently, opening his eyes to take a final scan of the terrain his column would cross en route to the camp. Level ground, denuded of the rocks that the mountains had given, made smooth for the Bozandari…and the attacking Anari.

  Giri lifted his sword, taking a final glance up and down the line, making sure his lieutenants had duplicated his signal, making sure his men were ready to move. Giri’s muscles tensed, legs preparing for the exertion, until he felt the comfortable burn that said his body was prepared.

  “Anari…onward!”

  Foremark Leesen Tantor woke at the first thin wavering cries of the Anari attack. Cursing himself for having slept, he crawled out of his tent, struggling into one boot before giving up on the other in the rush to grab his sword, helm and shield. The rest would have to wait.

  Why, on this of all nights, had he allowed himself the luxury of sleep? For the past three months he had forced himself to check the lines on an hourly basis, even as his superiors dismissed his actions as alarmist. The Anari would never dare attack, his superiors had said. The Anari were a race of cows. The Anari lacked the will, the moral courage, to rise up. They were created to be slaves, as if the gods had recognized that the Bozandari would need a race of servants to take care of them.

  Foolishness, Tantor had thought. Foolish delusions, borne of arrogance and laziness. Again and again, his instructors at the academy had hammered home the lesson: base your plans not upon your hopes nor upon your fears, but upon your enemy’s capabilities. Perhaps his overmark had slept through those classes. Or perhaps years in the field had dimmed his memory. It mattered not, for on this night, the overmark would doubtless learn the lesson again…if he lived through it.

  The time for recriminations would come later. For now, Tantor had work to do. He fought the temptation to rush into the line to the west, whence the Anari were coming. To wade into the battle would merely surrender the most important duty of a Bozandari officer: leadership. No, his first task was to assess the situation and then to organize his men. Bozandari tactics, honed over decades of campaigning, valued organization over brute force. It was organization that distinguished an army from a mob. And even if this army had been surprised through the arrogance of its leaders, if Tantor had anything to say in the matter, it would fight as an army and not a mob.

  Judging from the sound, the battle lay solely along the western perimeter. That made sense. The Anari had no standing army, and it was unlikely that they could muster sufficient numbers for a pincer attack. Given their state of training, a single rush from one side would be the most manageable maneuver. That left the passes to the east and north open, should it come to that, though Tantor had no doubt that the camp could hold. Once leadership replaced the drunken brawl that now prevailed, the Bozandari army would once again demonstrate why no Bozandari encampment had fallen in six generations.

  “Rouse!” Tantor yelled, kicking over tents with his one booted foot. He ignored the discomfort of rock pricking his other, naked, sole. “Rouse and form on me!”

  Many of his men were sound asleep and awoke only when his boot thudded into their sides. Others were in drunken stupors, useless in this battle, to be disciplined in the morning when order returned. He would not forget those who had neglected their duties, regardless of their positions in the chain of command.

  In just a few minutes he had formed as many of his men
as were fit for battle, barely half his company, but they would have to do. He had used the time to gain a better sense of the dimensions of the battle. The Anari were pressing forward over a front of perhaps five hundred paces. Although the Anari had no standing army or tactical doctrine, Tantor estimated their number based on Bozandari doctrine: a four-company attack, each in three ranks of forty, likely with at least one and probably two lines in reserve…perhaps fifteen hundred attackers in total.

  It was a larger force than the Bozandari had yet encountered in Anari lands, but if even half of the three thousand men in the encampment were battle worthy, the Bozandari had equal numbers, plus superior training, experience and leadership. Standard battle drill called for one force to resist the enemy at his front and thus force him to commit his reserves. Then a second force would strike at an exposed flank or, if none were available, strike en masse at the weakest point of the enemy line. Tantor’s men, part of the legionary guard, would be in that counterattack force.

  Once his men were formed up, he marshaled them into formation with the other three companies of the guard and presented his report to his still groggy overmark.

  “Second Company, presented for duty with seventy strong, sir.” First and Third companies were also forming up in about the same strength. The Guard Regiment was not at full strength, but they were all men who could be relied on in a fight.

  “Yes, Tantor. Fine.”

  Tantor studied his overmark’s face. The man was not in command of himself and had no grasp of the situation. Doubtless he had spent the night drinking and gaming again, as the smell of ale was thick on his breath.

  “Sir, the enemy attack in the west only. So far, our lines hold, though from the sounds of battle we are sore pressed. I suggest the guard counterattack by the right flank. This will protect our trains and the passes, turn the enemy and set him in flight.”

  The overmark gave him a dark, barely focused glare. “Are you assuming command of my regiment, Foremark Tantor?”