In the Realm of the Wolf (37 page)

“I think you could call it a kind of death.”

Dardalion felt cold as he looked into the shaman’s malevolent eyes. “What is it that you are not telling me, Kesa Khan? What secret strategies have yet to be unveiled?”

“Do not be impatient, priest. All will be revealed. Everything is in a delicate state of balance. We cannot win here by might or guile; we must rely on the intangibles. Your friend Waylander, for example. He now hunts Zhu Chao, but can he enter his palace, fight his way through a hundred guards, and overcome the sorcery at Zhu Chao’s command? Who knows? Can we hold here? And if not, can we find a way to escape? Or should we use the power of the crystal?”

“You know the answer to the last question, shaman—no. Else you would have come here years ago. No one knows what destroyed the Elders, save that there are areas of great desolation where once there were mighty cities. Everything we know of them speaks of corruption and greed, enormous evil and terrible weapons. Even the wickedness within you recoils at their misdeeds. Is it not so?”

Kesa Khan nodded. “I have walked the paths of time, priest. I know what destroyed them. And yes, I wish to see no return to their foul ways. They raped the land and lived like kings while fouling the rivers and lakes, the forests—aye, even the air they breathed. They knew everything and understood nothing. And they were destroyed for it.”

“But their legacy lives on here,” said Dardalion softly.

“And in other secret places yet to be found.”

Dardalion knelt by the fire, adding several logs to the blaze. “Whatever else, we must destroy the crystal. Zhu Chao must not possess it.”

Kesa Khan nodded. “When the time comes, we will seek it out.”

“Why not now?”

“Trust me, Dardalion. I am far older than you, and I have walked paths that would burn your soul to ashes. Now is not the time.”

“What would you have me do?”

“Find a quiet place and send out your spirit to seek Waylander.
Cloak him—as you did once before—protect him from the sorcery of Zhu Chao. Give him his chance to kill the beast.”

On the highest tower Vishna sat on the ramparts with Ekodas beside him. The forked-bearded Gothir nobleman sighed. “My brothers could be down there,” he said.

“Let us pray that is not the case,” said Ekodas.

“I think we were wrong,” said Vishna softly, “and you were right This is no way to serve the Source. I killed two men in that charge yesterday. I know they were evil, I felt it radiating from them, but I was lessened by the deed. I can no longer believe the Source wishes us to kill.”

Reaching out, Ekodas laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I do not know what the Source requires, Vishna. I only know that yesterday we protected a column of women and children. I do not regret that, but I regret bitterly that it was necessary to kill.”

“But why are we here?” cried Vishna. “To ensure the birth of a child who will ultimately destroy all that my family has spent generations building? It is madness!”

Ekodas shrugged. “Let us hope there is some greater purpose. But I believe it will be enough to thwart the Brotherhood.”

Vishna shook his head. “There are only eleven of us left. You think we can achieve some great victory?”

“Perhaps. Why don’t you seek out Dardalion? Pray together. It will help.”

“No, it won’t. Not this time, Brother,” said Vishna sadly. “I have followed him all my adult life, and I have known the great joy of comradeship—with him, with you all. I never doubted until now. But this is a problem I must solve alone.”

“For what it is worth, my friend, I think it is better to be unsure. It seems to me that most of the problems of this world have been caused by men who were too sure, men who always knew what was right. The Brotherhood chose a path of pain and suffering. Not their own, of course. They rode into that valley to butcher women and babes. Remember that!”

Vishna nodded. “You are probably right, Ekodas. But what
will happen when one of my brothers climbs this wall, sword in hand? What do I do? He is obeying the orders of his emperor, as all good soldiers must. Do I kill him? Do I hurl him to his death?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Ekodas. “But there are enough real perils facing us without creating more.”

“I wish to be alone, my friend. Do not be insulted, I beseech you.”

“I am not insulted, Vishna. May your deliberations bring you peace.”

Turning, Ekodas ducked under the crumbling lintel and descended the undulating stairs. He came out into a narrow corridor leading to a long hall. Within it fat Merlon was helping the Nadir women prepare food for the warriors. Ekodas saw Shia kneading dough close by. She looked up and smiled at him.

“How are you, lady?” he asked.

“I am well, prayer man. Your arrival was a surprise most pleasant.”

“I did not think we would be in time. We first journeyed west into Vagria and then south to avoid the besiegers. The ride was long.”

“And now you are here. With me.”

“I was sorry to hear of your brother’s death,” he said swiftly as she rose from the table.

“Why? Did you know him?”

“No, but it must have caused you pain. For that I am sorry.”

Leaving the table, she moved in close to him. “There is a little pain, but it is my own. Yet I am also proud, for the man he slew was the same knight who killed our father. That is a blessing for which I thank the gods. But Belash is now in the Hall of Heroes. He has many beautiful maidens around him, and his cup is full of fine wine. Rich meats are cooking, and he has a hundred ponies to ride when he wishes. My pain is only that I will not see him again. But I am happy for him.”

Ekodas could think of no reply, and so he bowed and backed away. “You look like a man now,” said Shia approvingly. “And you fight like a warrior. I watched you kill three and maim a fourth.”

He winced and walked swiftly from the hall. But she followed him out onto the lower rampart above the courtyard. The stars were bright, and he drew in several deep, cool breaths.

“Did I insult you?” she asked.

“No. It is … just … that I do not like to kill. It does not please me to hear that I maimed a man.”

“Do not concern yourself. I cut his throat.”

“That is hardly an uplifting thought.”

“They are our enemies,” she said, speaking as if to a simpleton. “What else would you do with them?”

“I have no answers, Shia. Only questions that no one can answer.”

“I could answer them,” she assured him brightly.

He sat back on the rampart wall and looked into her moonlit face. “You are so confident. Why is that?”

“I know what I know, Ekodas. Ask me one of your questions.”

“I hate to kill, I know that. So why, during yesterday’s battle, did I feel exultant with each sword stroke?”

“I thought your questions would be hard,” she chided. “Spirit and flesh, Ekodas. The spirit is immortal. It loves the light; it worships beauty of thought and deed. And it has eternity to enjoy, time to contemplate. But the flesh is dark. For the flesh knows it has not long to live. Against the time of the spirit the life of the flesh is like a lightning flash. So it has little time to know pleasure, to taste the richness of life, lust, greed, gain. It wants to experience everything, and it cares for nothing save existence. What you felt was the surging joy of the flesh. Nothing more. And certainly nothing to cause you self-loathing.” She chuckled, a rich, throaty sound that touched him like fire in the blood.

“What is so amusing?”

“You should feel sorry for the part of you that is flesh, Ekodas. For what do you offer him in his brief existence? Rich food? No. Strong wines? Dances? Lust in the firelight?” She laughed again. “No wonder he takes such pleasure in combat, eh?”

“You are a provocative woman,” he scolded.

“Thank you. Do I arouse you?”

“Yes.”

“But you fight it?”

“I must. It is the way I have chosen to live.”

“Do you believe the spirit is eternal?”

“Of course.”

“Then do not be selfish, Ekodas. Does the flesh not deserve a day in the sun? Look at my lips. Are they not full and pleasing? And is my body not firm where it should be yet soft where it needs to be?”

His throat was dry, and he realized she had moved in very close. He stood and reached out, holding her at arm’s length. “Why do you torment me, lady? You know that I cannot give you what you desire.”

“Would you if you could?”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“We have our own priests,” she said. “Kesa Khan is one. He also forbears from lovemaking, but it is a choice. He does not condemn it as wrong. Do you believe the gods created us?”

“The Source, yes.”

“And did they—he, if you like—not create men and women to desire one another?”

“I know where this is leading, but let me say this: there are many ways to serve the Source. Some men marry and beget children. Others choose different paths. What you said about the flesh has great merit, but in subjugating the desires of the flesh the spirit becomes stronger. I can, in my spirit form, fly through the air. I can read minds. I can heal the sick, removing cancerous growths. You understand? I can do these things because the Source has blessed me and because I abstain from earthly pleasures.”

“Have you ever had a woman?” she countered.

“No.”

“How does your Source feel about killing?”

He smiled ruefully. “His priests are pledged to love all living things and harm none.”

“So you have chosen to break one of his commandments?”

“I believe that we have.”

“Is lovemaking a greater sin than killing?”

“Of course not.”

“And you still have your talents?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Think on that, Ekodas,” she said with a sweet smile. Then, spinning on her heel, she returned to the hall.

The deaths of Belash and Anshi Chen created a void in the battle leadership of the Nadir, and the mood in the fortress was sullen and fatalistic. Nadir wars were fought on horseback on the open steppes, and despite the transient security offered by the warped citadel, they were ill at ease manning the crooked battlements of Kar-Barzac.

They viewed the silver knights with disquiet and rarely spoke to Senta or Miriel. But Angel was different. His transparent hostility toward them made him a force they could understand and feel at ease with. No patronizing comments, no condescension. Mutual dislike and respect became the twin ties that allowed the remaining warriors to form a bond with the former gladiator.

He organized them into defense groups along the main wall, ordering them to gather rocks and broken masonry to hurl down on an advancing enemy. He chose leaders, issued orders, and lifted their spirits with casual insults and coarse humor. And his open contempt for the Gothir soldiers helped the tribesmen overcome their own fears.

As the sun rose on the third day of the siege, he gathered a small group of leaders around him and squatted down among them on the battlements. “Now, none of you beggars have ever seen a siege, so let me make it plain for you. They will carry forward stripped tree trunks as scaling ladders and lean them against the walls. Then they will climb the broken branches. Do not make the mistake of trying to push the ladders
away
from the wall. The weight of wood and armed men will make that impossible. Slide them left or right. Use the butt end of your spears or loop ropes over the top of the trunks. Unbalance them. Now, we have around three hundred men to defend these walls, but we need a reserve force ready to run and block any gaps that appear in the line. You, Subai!” he said, pointing to a short, wide-shouldered tribesman with a jagged scar on his right cheek. “Pick forty
men and hold back from the battle. Wait in the courtyard, watching the battlements. If our line breaks anywhere, reinforce it.”

“It will be as you order,” grunted the tribesman.

“Make sure it is or I’ll rip out your arm and beat you to death with the wet end.” The warriors smiled. Angel rose. “Now, follow me to the gate.” The gates had long since rotted, but the Nadir had managed to lower the portcullis, almost two tons of rusted iron, to block the entrance. Carts and wagons had been overturned at the base, and thirty bowmen stood by. Angel moved to the archway. “They will attempt to lift the portcullis. They will fail, for it is wedged above. But it is badly rusted, and they will bring up saws and hammers to force an opening. You, what’s your name again?”

“How many times must you ask, ugly one?” countered the Nadir, a hook-nosed, swarthy man taller than the average tribesman. Angel guessed he was a half-breed.

“All you beggars look alike to me,” said Angel. “So tell me again.”

“Orsa Khan.”

“Well, Orsa Khan, I want you to command this defense. When they break through, as they will eventually, set fire to the carts. And hold them back to allow the men on the walls to retreat to the keep.”

“They will not break through while I live,” promised Orsa.

“That’s the spirit, boy!” said Angel. “Now, are there any questions?”

“What else do we need to ask?” put in Borsai, a young warrior of sixteen, still beardless. “They come; we kill them until they go away. Is that not so?”

“Sounds like a good strategy to me,” Angel agreed. “Now, when some of them reach the ramparts, as they will, don’t stab for their heads. Slash your blades at their hands as they reach for a hold. They’ll be wearing gauntlets, but good iron will cut through those. Then, when they fall, they’ll probably take two or three others with them. And that’s a fair drop, my boys. They won’t get up again.”

Leaving the warriors to their duties, Angel toured the walls. According to the Thirty, the Gothir would attack first by the
main gate of the southern wall, a direct frontal assault to overwhelm the defenders. Therefore, they had concentrated their manpower here, leaving only fifty warriors spread thin around the other walls. Angel had wanted to arm some of the younger women, but the Nadir would have none of that plan. War was for men, he was told. He did not argue. They would change their minds soon enough.

Striding across the courtyard, he saw Senta and Miriel walking out toward him. Anger touched him then, for he could see by their closeness, the way she leaned in to him, that they had become lovers. The knowledge tasted of bile in his mouth, but he forced a smile. “Going to be a cold day,” he said, indicating the gathering snow clouds above the mountains.