Shadows of Destiny Page 7

  He drew his steed to a skittering halt in the square before the temple. “I will find your sisters,” he said as he slid down from the saddle, then set Tess on her own feet.

  “I summoned Sara already. She says Cilla is still with Ratha, but she will call for her to come.”

  “Then Cilla will find her way back swiftly.” For a moment he looked deep into her eyes while giving a squeeze to her upper arms. “Fight hard, my lady. I will seek what help I may find.”

  Inside the temple, Tess found no comfort, but then comfort had been a stranger to her since wakening alone in this land. Nor had the temple itself ever offered her anything beyond grief and warnings of her destiny.

  Still, thinking the early Ilduin who had directed and supervised the construction of this place might have had protection in mind as well as teaching, she sought the very center of it, the very heart of the temple. There she sat on the stone floor and waited.

  Whether her fear and anger had driven him back, or whether the temple provided psychic shelter, Tess could no longer feel the oily, icy touch in her mind, nor hear the snatches of music that had heralded it.

  She closed her eyes, chilled to the bone from her time outside, although the winter’s fury seemed unable to penetrate these walls. The music, she thought. The music. Had it been meant to enchant her? To open a way to her deepest mind? Or had it been something other?

  It had certainly been beautiful. As beautiful as the singing of Anahar. Hadn’t Archer once said that his brother had been fair and beautiful, and had used that beauty to bring about strife?

  Her mind whirled in circles, unable to settle on any particular thing, almost as if she feared that if her thoughts slowed he might find his way in again. Where was Sara? And why could she not warm up, even when every part of her was burrowed into her cloak?

  She thought of a fire, thought how nice it would be to be sitting before one right now. The flames seemed to dance before her eyes, and almost as if by magic, she felt the heat of them stinging her cold cheeks.

  Her eyes popped open and she gasped. Before her, on the stone floor with no fuel to feed it, a fire burned, emitting heat. Did she need only to visualize something to have it occur? The thought terrified her.

  But then she saw Sara sitting across from her on the other side of the fire. How long had she been distracted? How had Sara come without being heard?

  Fearing that she was imagining everything, she opened her mouth to speak Sara’s name, when a chant began to emerge from the shadows around the fire. Tess’s head snapped up, and all of a sudden she saw the clan mothers, every one of them, in a circle around the fire and the two Ilduin. Their hands were joined as if to make an unbroken ring, and they intoned a prayer that sounded as if it were as old as time, chanting words Tess could not understand.

  Sara smiled at her. “Cilla is on her way. She will be here soon. Archer said the Enemy is assaulting you.”

  Tess nodded jerkily. She felt stiff, as if she had been sitting here for hours, not just minutes. But given what she saw around her, she must have dozed off…or gone somewhere else for a time. Some place she could not now remember. Too much time had elapsed.

  She drew a frightened breath. Was she still losing her memory? Was she about to forget these past months as she had forgotten her earlier life? The terror that pierced her then had no equal.

  How could she go forward if she could not trust her mind not to forget?

  All of sudden, Sara slipped into her mind. He is attacking you now, sister. He seeks to make you doubt yourself.

  He was certainly succeeding, Tess thought.

  If you doubt yourself, he will find you easier prey. Seek your strength.

  What strength? She felt cold, frightened and very much alone, as alone and frightened as when she had wakened among the gore of the slaughtered caravan.

  Still she felt no touch in her mind. That was a good thing, because if there was anything she was certain of, it was that the Enemy wouldn’t be able to reside within her mind without being detected. His presence was too alien to be missed, as recognizable as a fingerprint.

  A fingerprint? Where had that come from?

  For an instant she feared she might simply dissolve into hopeless tears, unable to cope any longer with the weight of things forgotten and the weight of things to come.

  But then her spine stiffened, and she drove away the despairing thoughts. Those, she thought angrily, would only serve him.

  A whisper passed through the room, and the circle of clan mothers parted, allowing Cilla to enter. She looked cold and windblown, but in her hands she carried a tray of food.

  “I am sorry that I was delayed, sister, but tradition dictated that Ratha and I feast in Giri’s honor,” she said, placing the tray between Sara and Tess. Then she squeezed Tess’s shoulder. “I ate quickly and brought the rest for you. Eat and rest, sister. You are guarded now.”

  Tess looked around at the ring of aged faces, at her two Ilduin sisters, and finally understood.

  She was not alone.

  Chapter Nine

  Archer joined Jenah and Tuzza in the large tent that served as a temporary headquarters for both armies. As it was set on neutral ground between the two camps, no one could see a purpose in raising a building here yet, because they were planning to march very soon. The work on a camp and buildings for the Bozandari had been born of an effort to establish a sense of purpose and permanence for the erstwhile captives, and to help build relationships between them and the Anari.

  So far there had been few problems. It had helped greatly when the Anari army had sprouted banners sporting the white wolf as well. Just as helpful had been the amazing gifts of the Anari stoneworkers who assisted their former foes in building the camp.

  But now the real dangers approached, ones that might not be so easily solved. Would Tuzza’s men be able to stand against another Bozandari legion if necessary? Or would they lay down their swords?

  No one could say for certain, oaths aside. All had sworn fealty to Tess, but that did not necessarily mean they would kill their own comrades-in-arms.

  Tuzza grew more uneasy about the difficulties ahead with each passing day. So did Jenah, who often had a nightmare vision of the Bozandari troops laying down their weapons, leaving the Anari who marched beside them to be slaughtered and taken into slavery. Both men were wary, even as the friendship between them appeared to grow.

  Archer was acutely aware of the tensions, though he seldom mentioned them. “Time,” he had said to both Jenah and Tuzza. “Time is needed. This is all new to our peoples. We must gently carry them along with us for as long as we possibly can.”

  But tonight, as he stood at the fore of the tent beside Tuzza and Jenah, he noted that the Anari and Bozandari officers stood apart from one another, almost as if there were an invisible wall between them. Denza Grundan, the quarter-Anari soldier who had recently been promoted to rearmark, alone stood between them like a bridge. Archer was relieved to note that neither side seemed bothered by his presence so near them.

  When everyone had settled, Tuzza stepped to the fore and held up his hand. “The time approaches,” he said. “We have received word from both Anari and Bozandari scouts.” He paused then, weighing the import of his words. He paused to choose more carefully. “Let me say that otherwise. Our scouts have returned with information.”

  Throughout the tent, heads nodded, noting the distinction he was making. Faces, however, offered no clue as to what lay behind them.

  “A legion has marched into Anari lands presumably to rescue us.” This with a nod toward the Bozandari officers. “We must go forth to meet them, but we must try at all costs to meet them peacefully.”

  Murmurs of agreement from the light-skinned officers, no sound whatever from the dark-hued faces of the Anari.

  Jenah stepped forward then and looked directly at his fellow Anari. “The same applies to us all. We must win allies, not alienate them. All of us face a threat bigger than our past problems. We face a
threat to our entire world, as my lord Annuvil can well tell you.”

  “Annuvil…” The whisper passed among the Bozandari who had not yet heard Archer’s true identity. The Anari, who had long known, remained stoic. Archer, however, did not speak. Standing with his arms folded, he merely lowered his head and looked downward.

  Finally, someone called out, “Where is the lady? It is to her that we have sworn our fealty.”

  Only then did Archer lift his head. “She is at the temple,” he said heavily. “The Enemy assaults her. Thus, her sister Ilduin stand guard at her side, as do the clan mothers.”

  The silence grew profound at that, and men shifted uneasily.

  Archer tilted his head a little to one side and scanned all the faces before him with his gray eyes. “I am sorry,” he said, “that it has come to this. And yet, awful though the days ahead may be, none of you ever would have been born had not we Firstborn made so many mistakes. Learn from our sins. Do not repeat them.”

  After a few moments during which men murmured and then stilled, Tuzza spoke again. “From the banners our scouts have observed, it is my cousin Alezzi who comes to us. He is a good man, my cousin, and close to my heart. If for no other reason, we must do all we can to avoid a clash. I will speak with him.”

  A Bozandari officer called out, “Are you certain you can persuade him to join us, Topmark?”

  “I must,” Tuzza answered simply. “I must. Still, we have but tomorrow to complete our exercise, and not even all of the one day. We do not want to fight, but we will have to when we find Ardred’s force, if not before. Anari and Bozandari must be able to fight together, or his army will defeat us in detail.”

  “And this will be difficult,” Jenah said, continuing their prepared remarks. “We Anari prefer night action. It caused confusion among you, which multiplied our numbers.”

  “The Anari never had even a full legion arrayed against us. And the column that harassed us on our march was less than one thousand strong,” Tuzza said. Murmurs of surprise spread through the Bozandari officers, but he silenced them with an upraised hand. “It is true. The harassing column steered us into that canyon, where we could not deploy our full strength and would be forced to frontally assault their prepared defenses.”

  The memory of that bitter defeat darkened their faces. Archer could see that this could quickly transform into something else: resentment of the Anari who had defeated them, and the commander who had led them into that defeat.

  “However, remember that the Anari had many advantages in that campaign,” Archer said.

  “This is true,” Jenah said. “We had Ilduin to help our communications, and we were fighting in our own lands, among the rocky hills and mountains. It was not difficult to find terrain that favored us, and Topmark Tuzza had few choices as to his route of advance. While we will still have Ilduin among us in the next campaign, our Enemy will as well. And we will not be fighting in Anari lands, but in the open spaces of the Deder desert. That which we have done before will not avail us twice.”

  This seemed to mollify the Bozandari somewhat.

  “Our tactics are also different,” Tuzza continued. “The Anari threshing lines are better suited for attacking an enemy. They maneuver more quickly than we do, but the threshing line also gives way to exhaustion more quickly. Our tactics are more stable in defense, and if we are less mobile in attack, we can sustain the action longer.”

  “Thus,” Jenah said, “our exercises will seek to take advantage of our differences. We will cooperate as hammer and anvil. The Bozandari, more stable and resilient, will be the anvil. Anari mobility will provide the hammer.”

  “Is that not the role of cavalry?” Grundan asked.

  “Aye, Rearmark,” Tuzza said, “if we had it. We do not. What few horses we have must be used in draft. But our Anari brothers can move as swiftly on foot as mounted cavalry.” He pointed to the map they would use for the exercise. “The Bozandari must fix the Enemy in place, and apply constant pressure to maintain his focus and wear down his strength. The Anari must strike him from the rear, crushing him against us. This makes the best use of our respective strengths.”

  “This plan of battle calls for great coordination,” Archer said, seeing the doubts reflected in the officers of both armies. “Each arm must trust the other. The Anari must trust the Bozandari to be strong and steady in their role as anvil. The Bozandari must trust that the Anari hammer will strike, at the right time and with sufficient force to shatter the Enemy before the Enemy’s pressure is too much to bear.”

  “And,” Jenah said, “we must train to strike at dusk, rather than at dawn. The Bozandari will deploy and move to contact in the final hour of daylight, while the Anari deliver our blow in darkness.”

  Tuzza again held up a hand to quiet the murmuring among his officers. “I am well aware that we are used to giving battle in the morning, when our men are more rested. We must change our habits, pausing on the march so that our men have time to rest and eat. This will be difficult, but we will have many days to practice the new ways along the road to Bozandar.”

  “In this way,” Archer concluded, “we will strike the Enemy when he is tired, ready to make camp and prepare his supper. We preserve the greatest strengths of each of our proud traditions, and forge a new tradition.”

  Archer lifted his mug, and Tuzza and Jenah did likewise. Their officers took their lead.

  “To the Snow Wolves!” Archer said.

  “To the Snow Wolves!” the men replied.

  Ras Lutte watched his men drill with a growing sense of dismay. Lord Ardred’s army—a collection of brigands, thieves and rogues—was proving to be a much greater challenge than any he had faced in the service of Bozandar. Ardred could control them as a hive, but Lutte knew that no mere swarm would survive in battle against even a small force of well-trained men. That had been made clear in Lorense, when scores of Lantav Glassidor’s men had fallen to Ardred’s brother and two Anari slaves.

  Lutte would have much preferred a proper army, comprised of trained, disciplined men who would stand by one another and continue to perform their duties under the harshest of conditions. But men built of such stern stuff were far more difficult for Ardred to bend to his will.

  Thus Lutte found himself at the helm of what was little better than a mob. His officers were a mixed bag, a handful of other Bozandari who had fallen from favor like himself and the rest nothing more than the strongest and the cruelest, those willing to murder rivals and control their men by force of terror. Such men enjoyed giving orders, but were ill-suited to taking them.

  Worse, men like these were the least affected by the witchcraft of Ardred’s enslaved Ilduin. Lutte could hope for little more than to point these men in the direction of an enemy, fire their hearts with the prospect of looted treasure, and release them as one would a pack of wild and hungry dogs.

  No, he could count on one hand the number of officers he could rely on to rally their men after a local defeat, or reform them as they plundered an enemy camp, and offer a cohesive unit that was prepared to return to action. Men he had in abundance, for there were many who had bristled under Bozandari or any other rule. But men without leaders were little more than grist to be ground down and scattered in the winds of battle.

  Given the force at his disposal, Lutte’s options were limited. He could not hope to conduct complex maneuvers, and most of his units were little more than arrows in a quiver. He could aim them, draw the bow and loose them. After that, he must consider them spent. The handful of comparatively reliable units he would keep in the rear, both to preserve his greatest strength and to act as a bulwark against those in front who might otherwise flee.

  Battle, he decided, would be much like a hand pushing forward piles of sand, with his more skilled officers the fingers and the rest a mass to be pressed forward against the desired target. Some of that sand would inevitably slip through those fingers, and Lutte knew he must discount his numbers accordingly. Once the sand had worn down
the Enemy’s line, Lutte would look for opportunities to use the fingers to punch through and deliver the critical blows.

  These were hardly the elegant, precise tactics he had learned in the academy. They were little more than the application of brute force. He would have to depend on Ardred and his witches to sustain the army’s mettle, and his own observation and timing to transform the crude cudgel into a dagger to the Enemy’s heart.

  It was not a proper way to make war. Lutte saw little hope that his men could withstand a determined assault by Bozandari legions, let alone deliver a riposte that would deliver into Lutte’s hand the imperial scepter his lord had promised. For that to happen, the Bozandari must be divided, scattered, their allegiances torn, their officers pitted against one another.

  Certainly there were rivalries aplenty among both the imperial court and the officer corps. The task of fueling those rivalries fell upon Ardred’s spies and minions in Bozandar. If they were equal to that challenge, then Lutte would be equal to the challenge on the battlefield.

  And he would be Emperor of Bozandar.

  Chapter Ten

  Ratha carefully rolled Giri’s sword in the bedroll Giri had carried on campaign, and tucked it within his own pack. He could not have said why, save that it felt as if the sword were his last connection to his brother. He felt a presence behind him, and turned to see Tom standing in the doorway.

  “Welcome back,” Tom said quietly.

  “And my blessings on your marriage,” Ratha replied. “I am sorry that I could not share more at the wedding.”

  Tom extended his hand, and Ratha grasped it. “There is nothing to forgive, my friend. Sara and I were honored that you interrupted telzehten to attend. She and Cilla are with Tess at the temple now. Archer and Jenah are preparing for tomorrow’s maneuvers, and Erkiah seems to need more rest with each passing day.”