Come Armageddon

by Anne Perry

  The messenger’s face was sheened in sweat. “No ... no one like that.” He was trembling a little. His face was pinched and white. “Another soldier, almost beautiful, fair-skinned and tall. He moves with grace and there is nothing brutal about him. He speaks softly, and no one has ever known him raise his hand against anyone. I don’t know why he is a general at all—he is far more like a courtier. He frightens me only because Tiyo-Mah listens to him all the time, and those I thought to be good men become evil in his presence.”

  “Ulciber,” she answered him. “You are right. He cannot act for himself, but he corrupts others. Who else? You said three. If it is not the golden dwarf, then who is it?” She asked because although she believed it must be Yaltabaoth, she had not thought there was yet enough despair in the world for him to do his work. Perhaps it was a measure of the scale of destruction in the desert that he had now appeared.

  The messenger shook his head. “I haven’t seen him, I’ve only heard. He is leading the armies south already. They say he is lean and dark with black hair that is ragged like something torn or unravelled, and that he wears black and his face is like the end of all hope.” He shook his head, embarrassed for his words but unable to take them back.

  “You speak accurately,” Tathea assured him. She had not seen Yaltabaoth since that terrible battle on the Western Shore, but she had never lost from her mind the sight of him, or the sound of his war cry on the wind. She looked at Sadokhar, who had seen him enter the portal. The others knew nothing of his nature except what was printed on his countenance, but they also made no mockery of the messenger’s words, and she saw the flicker of gratitude in the young man’s eyes.

  After he had gone, they turned to her. It was Sadokhar who spoke. “Where is Azrub? Is it possible he is there, but no one saw him?”

  “Can it be that he has no part in war?” Ishrafeli asked, frowning. “But what is Ulciber doing there? He is the Lord of Corruption—what is there left to corrupt in Tiyo-Mah?”

  “He won’t corrupt her,” Tathea replied. “He will advise her how to corrupt others. She is brilliant, but he is better than any mortal could imagine.”

  Sardriel frowned, his face tense. “But where is Azrub?” he persisted. “If he is not in Shinabar, then he is somewhere else. Would Asmodeus concentrate all his forces in one place?”

  Ishrafeli’s eyes were dark, his mouth tight. “No. Shinabar alone would never be enough for him. He hungers for the whole world. Irria-Kand has already fallen to the barbarians. Perhaps in their place on the eastern rim, they were bound to be the first. Shinabar may be next, or it may be Camassia. But one of the Lords of Sin will be sent here, surely? Caeva is mostly forest, and individual settlements. He may bother with them, or he may simply allow them to be separated off, and wither away. We knew Tirilis has long been his.”

  He looked directly at Tathea. “I know Iszamber prophesied long ago that the Island at the Edge of the World would stand after all the other nations had fallen, because of the light of faith, but Asmodeus will have heard the prophecy too ...”

  She nodded. “I know. He won’t let us be. Of course he won’t. It is possible that is where Azrub is ...” It hurt even to say the words aloud that he should set his strange, impossibly heavy feet on the soil of the land she had loved so dearly. The Island, in its wild, sea-swept beauty, would be the ultimate prize, because it had nurtured the truth.

  For a long moment silence held the room, then Ishrafeli spoke.

  “They will not remain together for long. At least one of them will come here. Perhaps Ulciber again? This is the beginning of the end. Asmodeus is grasping the whole earth. We must do what we can to defend it all.” He hesitated before he said the words, even though by now they all knew what they must be. “We also cannot remain together.”

  “Someone must go to Shinabar,” Sadokhar said softly. “Tornagrain and I will. We are used to war, and to the creatures of hell. We are best suited to face the Lords of the Undead.”

  Ishrafeli glanced from one to the other of them. “Agreed,” he said with a slight inclination of his head. He looked to Sardriel.

  “I will search for Azrub,” Sardriel answered. “I will begin westward. There is nothing left to the east for them to destroy.” His voice was level and precise as always, but there was a tightness in his body, and his hands were shaking. In that moment Tathea realised how profoundly he felt the loss of Irria-Kand, and his own failure, though there was nothing he could have done, and all of them here knew that.

  Again Ishrafeli nodded. “Good.” His voice was rough with emotion. “Send messages if you can, although we none of us know where we shall be.” He turned to Ardesir. “Tomorrow we shall consider what we can do here. One of the Lords of Sin will come. This is too great a task for Balour. Asmodeus will never leave the City to such a creature. He is only preparing the way.” He looked at each of them in turn. “We shall not sit together like this again ... until it is before the face of God.” He smiled at them, passion in his eyes. “Let us eat together, and then pray. Remember what it is we fight for, and that whatever the forces against us, God is for us and will never leave us alone. We are His children, and are greater than the darkness.”

  Tathea rose to prepare the food. No one came to help her, and she returned with bread, cheese, fruit and wine. They ate in silence. Everything that needed to be said had already been spoken between them, and it seemed right that now they were left with their thoughts.

  Afterwards, when the last of the wine had been drained, they stood in a circle and repeated the covenants they had first made in Tyro Vawr, in the beginning, then with solemn prayer bade each other farewell and took their leave, Sardriel westward, Tornagrain and Sadokhar south, Ardesir into the City.

  For Tathea to part again with Sadokhar, even seeing Tornagrain go, was hard. In these few days she had known a different man, and come to love Tornagrain with the bond born at least in part from the knowledge that he was the next warrior chosen by God to fight beside them. But it was that same knowledge which now made it necessary they separate. The war was greater than any of them, and they could be together in spirit only if they gave to it the best and the dearest they possessed. To withhold anything would be to betray the light, and in the end lose each other in the way which could never be undone.

  She went to bed and clung to Ishrafeli silently, feeling his arms around her, the strength of his own need, and pain, knowing that he understood it just as she did. All the knowledge of eternity did nothing to ease this wound now, only to make it as inevitable as the movement of the stars. It was part of the laws by which all things exist, and which bound even God, otherwise there could be neither light nor darkness, heaven or hell.

  The call for more men went out through the whole of Camassia. New soldiers were recruited by the score, the hundred, even the thousand. A hysteria gripped the land. Tathea, Ishrafeli and Ardesir scoured the streets for word of Ulciber, and heard none.

  Everywhere in the City and around it the movements of men, armaments, food and horses, increased. Roads were blocked by wagons. The sound of marching feet echoed in the streets and there was hardly a woman anywhere who was not hiding tears as fathers, husbands, brothers and sons put on whatever armour they could find, and went to answer the call.

  Ardesir moved among the manufacturers and financiers, arranging agreements, all the time listening for Azrub, and learning nothing.

  Ishrafeli was in one of the nearby towns, seeking news and trying to secure the water supplies from accidental damage, remembering that whatever the war on the frontiers, those left behind still needed to survive. More than that, supply lines must be kept whole and there must be places where the injured could be cared for. Someone had to till the land, reap the harvest and store the grain, or the army could not be provided for either.

  Five hundred years ago Tathea had been in the streets to watch the Emperor Isadorus ride by in triumph with armies from half the world paying tribute. He knew war; he had been a victorious
general at the height of the Empire’s power. Never before or since had it had quite that glory. Now she stood in the crowds again as a new army marched past and she felt the reverberation of thousands of feet in unison.

  The thin, miserable figure of Balour, Lord of the Undead, was taking the salute as the army marched past him. They were disciplined because they were Camassian, and it was part of their blood and their heritage, but untrained, not like the legionaries of old. These were men taken from their homes, their farms, their workshops, and thrown without preparation into camps and given only the briefest of instruction before they were sent out to meet the severest need, wherever the barbarian invasion had done the most damage. The military was not their career; it was the last attempt to save their nation from being submerged beneath a tide of destruction. They were an army of last resort.

  Tathea looked at their faces and tried to imagine each one as someone’s husband or son. Yesterday, or the day before, they had been individual, sleeping in their own beds, with family around them, driven by the necessities of life, but answerable only to those. Today they were anonymous, one among thousands, even moving their feet in unison, and to order, never mind the rest of their comings and goings, their will to act, their speech, the multitude of choices one makes every day. They would taste fear, loneliness, anger, physical exhaustion and pain; at its worst, terror, mutilation and death. What would it make of them?

  After the conscripted troops came the élite, the professional army, led by the general who would be in command of the entire battlefield from east to west. The crowd stared. They were entirely women and children and a few elderly men now past fighting even a rearguard action. Had the best not come last they might not have waited, but this was what would put heart and hope into them, the courage to keep up the struggle.

  Tathea turned as they all did, and saw the magnificent red roan horse prancing, too full of fire to walk sedately, as might a lesser beast. On his back rode the commanding general, the sun gleaming on the metal studs of his armour and on the sword at his side. His helmet was crested in scarlet, like those of the old legionaries, and his red cloak billowed around him.

  But it was his face which transfixed her with a sickening lurch of memory older than life. Cassiodorus! Suddenly she was back in a prison cell and that same face was staring insolently at her, the brutal mouth, the bold, searing eyes that looked inside her, stripping her soul bare. She had outwitted him then, and he had sworn never to forget her.

  Now, out of all the women milling at the pavement’s edge, his eyes found her and held. His smile widened, triumphant. She saw his tongue come out and very slowly lick his lips, while never for an instant moving his gaze from hers.

  She felt cold and sick, as if he had somehow violated her. All the years since then ceased to have reality; they were back in Parfyrion, eternity before and around them, locked in an enmity that would never cease until one of them no longer existed.

  She turned away. If Cassiodorus were leading the Imperial armies it could only be to the destruction of their souls, because that was all Asmodeus wanted. In spite of his arrogance, Cassiodorus was his servant. Then her work was not in the City any longer, it was wherever the battle was being fought—and that question was now answered. She must go after the army, watch and wait, learn Asmodeus’ tactics and guard her own weapons. Now was the time to tell herself over and over again that God asked of no one more than they could give. No matter how impossible a thing may seem, God knows the end from the beginning, and His ways are certain.

  At the house Tathea found Ardesir and told him what she had seen, and how she had no choice now but to follow Cassiodorus.

  “You can’t go alone!” he said in alarm.

  “Ishrafeli is not back,” she answered quietly. “I can’t wait. The army moves out tonight.” In a way she was almost glad there could be no goodbyes. She was even glad Ishrafeli could not come with her. He would be her hostage to fortune. She was not sure she was strong enough to see him threatened, hurt, and still be true to her purpose. Better that she was not put to such a test. Perhaps that was the mercy of God, Who knew her strength and her weaknesses perfectly, that He did not give her that last burden to bear.

  “I’ll come with you,” Ardesir said without hesitation. “You will need me.”

  She could not deny it, and it was too late for pretence. She accepted and they made their preparations, packing only a few extra, heavier clothes for when they were further north—breeches and jerkins, and stronger leather boots.

  Tathea left Ishrafeli a letter to explain what she had done. The necessity of it he would understand. It would be harder for him than for her. She had made the decision. It was he who would return, expecting to find her, and discover he had been robbed of the parting, even though he must surely have known one day it would come, but he might not have foreseen it so soon.

  She left the letter where he could not miss it, propped up on the bed by the pillow. She walked around the room slowly, looking at things for what she knew could be the last time, things Ishrafeli would see when he returned: the way the light fell on the round surface of the bowl, a worn patch on the tiles of the floor just inside the doorway, the smooth wood of the table. She touched the door above the handle almost as if she could feel his fingers there when he would come in, and find her already gone.

  It was time to leave. She would not look at the bed again, where she had lain in his arms so often. But it made no difference: it was as if she could reach out now and touch him; his presence was as real to her senses as to her mind and heart. She expected to hear him speak, to feel his hand on hers, the warmth of him.

  But this is what war was, the real war—parting, giving up what is so dear it is woven into your life and tearing it out leaves agony behind. The world was to be won or lost. How could the price be less than everything?

  Ishrafeli knew that, he had always known, it was only a case of remembering again. She could not be less than that now.

  “Please, Father, look after him!” she said aloud, then added in a whisper, “And if it be possible—bring him back to me!” Then she turned and went out, closing the door and walking away.

  Ardesir was waiting for her. It was time to go forward. “Don’t think, or you’ll never have the strength,” she said in her mind. “There’s no choice ... just do it!”

  Chapter XVI

  AS WITH ANY ARMY, there were camp followers, and it was easy for Tathea and Ardesir to join them and mingle invisibly with the other medical assistants, and with the wagon masters, and armourers who moved in the wake of the legions.

  Three days out from the City and moving rapidly north, Cassiodorus gathered the men for a great rallying speech. They filled a wide, natural amphitheatre in the shallow hills, and he stood on a slightly rocky ledge ten or a dozen feet up, surveying the thousands of men before him. He was a magnificent figure, light glistening on his armour and catching his hair like an aureole. Behind him, to the west, the sky flared gold and violet above the scarlet orb of the sun. The breeze carried the scent of summer grass.

  Every face was turned towards him as he began to speak.

  “This is a war no one can escape!” His voice echoed around the huge space but every word was clear. “We march against the forces of violence and madness which would destroy everything millennia of civilisation have created. We stand together, every man loyal to those beside him, obedient to the one call that is to all of us.” He raised his arm high, fist clenched and there was a shudder of anticipation throughout the massed assembly. “We fight for the survival of the world!” He punched the air. “Survival!”

  “Survival!” the army reverberated back to him from a hundred thousand throats.

  “You don’t know yet what you face!” he went on. “You are civilised men, decent, with homes and families, farms and shops. You plough, you sow and you reap.” Suddenly his visage darkened. “You are going to face barbarians who are more bestial than any animal you have imagined!” He slashed
his arm across the air. “Men who create nothing, build nothing, sow nothing. They take what they want, and destroy what they don’t. They have no morality, only appetite!”

  The hush of fear settled over the crowd. No one fidgeted any more.

  Tathea stared at Cassiodorus’ face, and beside her Ardesir shivered and moved closer to her.

  “Be proud of your courage!” Cassiodorus cried loudly. “You are the forces who will save the world! Later generations will look back on this time and wish they could have been part of the greatest war that was ever fought! They will envy you, at the same moment as they know that they might not have been equal to such a test. It is a great thing you do, not only for your country, but for all mankind!” He smiled, this time hesitating long enough for a reaction.

  He received it. Somewhere one man cheered, then a score, then everyone. A wave of sound rose into the air, gathering volume until it was like the roar of the sea.

  Cassiodorus held up both his arms, but it was minutes before the sound subsided.

  “Brave men! It is my honour to lead you.” His face darkened. “But you do not yet know what it is you face, because you have met nothing like the barbarian, even in your dreams. You imagine something like yourselves, only perhaps different to look at—wild-haired, dressed in skins and speaking an alien tongue. But you still imagine a human being, with a life and hopes and dreams.” Without warning his voice rose to a roar. “He is not!” Then dropped till every man strained to hear him, and the vast space was filled with a rustling stillness.

  “Dreams are a human thing.” His voice vibrated with passion. “Ideals are what make you a man, and not an animal.” Again he slashed his arm in the air. “The barbarian is not a man! He looks like one, he apes your appearance, but judge him by what he does! See the devastation! See the ruin and the pain, see the tortured corpses of your own people littering the villages and fields where he has passed.”