Men examined their weapons and fidgeted. Now the valley was being buried in dust. Danaer put his distance-trained vision to work. Under the cloud there were horses, many of them army blacks with a scattering of roans and a few of the reddish-colored steeds the Clarique favored. With them were men and women warriors, pretending to be in headlong flight. Green
banners fluttered, the tattered standards of Clarique which had survived the debacle at Jlandla Hill.
Ti-Mori! Rejoining her countrymen at last! Like a shamming golhi-pup which dragged its leg ...
A great noise washed up from the valley's entrance, and still greater quantities of dust. A furious rearguard action was taking place, to make the pretense seem more real. As it reached the farthest end west in the pass, Ti-Mori's ragged banner was planted defiantly and moved no more. The she-wolf turned to face the Markuand.
Behind her, through the tongue of the pass, more riders now rushed to her support. The Royal Commander's infantry, bearing their own standard.
All along the two ridges, the fighting groups now raised their flags. Branra's blood-red pennant floated over Danaer's units, and to his right rose the black flag of Gordt te Raa's realm, marking the position of Lasiimte Kandra and Gordyan.
Sound roared, an assault on the ears, and dust heaved like the smoke thrown out in the tumultuous eruptions of Krantin's mountains. Amid the cacophony, Danaer heard an ominous singing he remembered vividly from Deki—archers, loosing their deadly shafts. If the Tradyans were shooting from their blinds along the slopes, they must have targets. They could see Markuand scaling the heights, heading up toward Danaer's position and all the others.
Danaer swung his arm to make sure the last of his wound's stiffness was gone, then waited tensely. He gathered reins and a tag of his roan's mane. White-clad invaders were coming into view out of the dust, chmbing Yeniir, riding fast. Branra too galloped back and forth, exhorting his men to stand a moment longer. Then he gave a mighty shout and they all lunged to the attack, lances set, thundering downhill.
Hurriedly the Tradyans ducked into their blinds and bushes, close to their markers, fearful of being run down.
Danaer had scaled the outer slopes of Yeniir and knew that by now the Markuand's horses would be staggering. The two lines of cavalry met in a grinding
collision of screaming animals and splintering weapons and cries of wounding and death. Danaer's first lance rammed into a Markuand chest, and his roan, obeying knees and reins, crashed into the light-boned gray the enemy rode. Man and animal went down, dragging Danaer's spear with them. Immediately he drew his second lance and closed with another foe.
White seethed in the valley and up onto the slopes, an endless wave of Markuand. It was not a matter of finding a target but of selecting a worthy one, trying to guess which alien would be an ofl&cer whose death would cost his army dearly. Danaer soon lost his second spear much the same way as the first and drew sword, setting to work.
There were shrieks and yells to the rear as the infantry moved down behind the cavalry, occupying the space they had overridden. They aided the Krantin wounded and finished off dying Markuand. Many of these men were also veterans of Deki, and though the Royal Commander had said his army should be merciful when it could, Danaer knew the soldiers were not likely to honor his order. The archers crept out of hiding, following the horsemen down, seeking fresh vantage points from which to aim their arrows.
They took a fearsome toll, these Tradyans. A few of the Markuand also drew bow, but they lacked the Tradyans' power and most certainly had little of their skill.
Again and again, the white-clad invaders came against them. The cavalry maintained its line with great difficulty, struggling to keep the Markuand from reaching the crest of Yeniir. At each new onslaught, the ranks were thinned. Danaer tried not to think about reserves or relief, knowing there could be none. All of Krantin was now engaged.
More skyworks burst above the valley. Now the horses had other things to distract them and did not notice the explosions. One such signal was for Branra's units, and he called for more effort. Somehow, they pressed forward a length or so. Danaer was one man among thousands, yet he felt a tension binding them all. And he sensed another, countering tension in the
Markuand, commanding that they too hold and conquer.
Obeying the commands of their officers? Or of their wizard?
Danaer had kept no count of the Markuand he had slain, but he readied himself to send many more to Keth. Then Branra was traversing the slope at a reckless pace, flogging his roan with his reins. "Get to the Destre-Y! Bid them thrust along our flank! We are sorely pressed!"
Danaer wended his way through the carnage, an-gUng east. He galloped past archers and throat slitters and toward the banner of the Rena's consort. Reaching it, he dismounted at a run and was startled to see a group of Destre standing behind the line of blood. Their lances dangled limply in their hands. Warriors? Not slaying Markuand? What had happened? Were they bewitched, as the Sergeant of the Post had been in Deki? Danaer shoved his way through the strangely quiet throng, to come upon a scene that stunned him.
Kandra lay on the grassy slope, her servant Esbeti beside her and weeping as she tried to comfort her mistress. Gordyan also knelt, his big hands stroking Kandra's brow and hair with infinite tenderness. A Destre herb-healer labored over the Lasiirnte, his expression showing the hopelessness of his task. There was a gaping slash above Kandra's belt and a great quantity of blood. Danaer wondered that the woman still lived, but she did. Gordyan's face was a bleak mask which did not quite hide his terrible anguish. The herb-healer spread his hands. "There is nothing I can do . . ."
Gordyan seized his garment and shook him. "Lasiirnte will not die! You will save her!"
The Azsed physician said sadly, "She will be with the goddess soon. I have potioned her, and she does not suffer."
With a strangled gasp, Gordyan flung him away. He gazed at the circle of warriors. "How did this happen? I will kill the man who let her be hurt!"
They wept openly, and one managed to say, "All who were guarding her were slain. Lasiirnte fought
most bravely, a true warrior woman." The man pointed to something that might once have been human. The body was so butchered Danaer's belly heaved at the sight, though he had seen much slaughter. Several other Markuand lay near the strewing of shattered skulls and brains and entrails as well as the bodies of many Destre-Y who had died trying to protect their Lasiimte.
Choking with grief, the man went on. "They . . . they all came at once. They seemed to appear out of nowhere. We did not see them until . . . until it was too late!"
Wizardry! Markuand—^unseen by keen-eyed Destre-Y in time to save Kandra. Danaer knew this must be the work of Prince Diilbok's mistress. Chorii had taken the guise of Kandra and failed in that deceit. Now she had taken her vengeance, and Kandra lay dying.
Gently Gordyan resumed stroking Kandra's hair. His eyes, and his soul, met Danaer's. They had drawn the same terrible conclusion. Andaru. The price of victory was the blood of a woman of Azsed. Danaer had thought he would not care what sacrifice was made, so long as Lira lived. But now his heart ached and rage tore at his spirit. Not Wyaela but Kandra was to be the sacrifice. The woman with the eyes of a diamond-black, the Rena's beloved consort ...
A groan rumbled in Gordyan's constricted throat. Suddenly Kandra spoke with surprising clarity. 'T ask something of you." He bent very close, never ceasing that steady caressing. "We must not lose this position. The Rena desires it, and I desire it."
"We shall not, Lasiirnte, I swear to Argan!"
"And you will tell the Rena that I regret my failure.. ."
Danaer dropped down beside her and took the dying woman's hand. "You have not failed, Lasiirnte. You are givmg us Andaru. It was prophesied to me so. You will go to greet the goddess with more glory than any Azsed-Y has ever known."
There was deep grief in Gordyan's face, but now loving gratitude joined it. Kandra smiled weakly, a
spark of delight illuminating her last moments. "Truly? You give me great joy, Nyald-Y, great joy." Then she turned her head and said with increasing faintness, "Bear my mantle, Gordyan. Upon my lance, as it was done in the old days. Give my warriors that standard. And have no sorrow. It is Argan's will. . ."
She twisted in his arms, her eyes shifting, no longer seeing the world. "Esbeti? Esbeti? Draw the curtains, httle one, it grows cold . . ." With a small sigh, she was still, the life melting from her. Kandra's woman began to chant with the singsong of hysteria, taking the pendant from her mistress's hair. She held the faith-jewel toward the heavens to guide Kandra to the portals, her voice tinged with madness as she keened the prayers.
Gordyan eased Kandra's head onto the grass, staring at her as a man disbelieving what he knew was true. Like Danaer, he had seen much death, but this one was past bearing. Then he rose and caught up Kandra's bloodstained cloak and speared it onto a Destre lance. He lifted it above his head, and because of his great height all could see it well. "Warriors!" he roared. "Warriors of Ve-Nya and Azsed! For Lasiimte Kandra! In her name! It is Andaru! Andaru! Conquer! Conquer!"
Danaer had the wits to scream, "Bring the attack to your left, Gordyan!" Then he too was burned by Argan's holy flame of passion. Men cried with rage and leaped onto their roans, sweeping down Yeniir, led by Gordyan. Headlong they rushed toward Branra's beleaguered units.
"Har-shaa! For Kandra! For Andaru!"
The shout was stronger than any weapon, flung into the faces of the attacking Markuand. A few of the army's fighters brushed shoulders with the now-goddess-govemed Destre-Y, and they took up the challenge without knowing its meaning. They were shaken by this berserk charge of the tribesmen. A human avalanche of roans and Destre warriors careened into the line of battle. Markuand reeled from the shock, beginning to go down as before an invincible storm.
For the second time Danaer could recall, he saw fear on a Markuand face. On many Markuand faces. They did not fear wizardry now, as had the man he and Lira had sent into nothingness. Now they feared sword and lance. Their master's magic potion that controlled their pain was not sufficient to shield them from this awesome Destre fury.
Gordyan and the warriors knew no tempering of sanity, lusting for a revenge that would not be turned aside. Danaer screamed the same defiance and slashed limbs and bodies and wanted still more Markuand blood to spill, his battle thirst unslaked. He would thrust through every hated white tunic, slay every one of the enemy.
Death to the Markuand—and most especially to their wizard and his treacherous allies in sorcery.
They had descended halfway down the slope, more and more forming a solid line with the army, two branches of a river joining, drowning the Markuand between them. The Destre fell on the Markuand's flanks while Branra assaulted them frontally.
They had held! They had swept Yeniir clean of the invaders! Shaartre struggled through the melee to Danaer, calling, "Danaer, youngling! What is this? Never have I seen Destre so possessed. Danaer? Do you not know me, old friend?"
The full import of the last few minutes struck Danaer and he slumped in the saddle, too stunned to reply at once. Gordyan too was by his side. The big man's face was still grief-tortured and he wiped at his eyes. Then he stared over Danaer's shoulder. Branra too was spurring to join this little gathering, but it was not Branraediir's approach which disturbed Gordyan.
An elite Destre guard lanced down Markuand blocking their path, clearing the way for the Siirn Rena. Gordt te Raa's magnificent roan was lathered and staggering from the punishment he had given it, an unheard-of thing for a Destre. "Word was brought . . ." he began, then saw what he had feared he would in Gordyan's expression. The Destre leader's powerful hands knotted reins and his mount's mane as he struggled to contain his anguish.
"Lasiimte ..." Gordyan could say no more.
Though the battle din surrounded them, they seemed to be held in a profound silence for a long moment. Gordt te Raa jerked his head several times to one side and then the other, his jaw clenched. He was Rena, and he must ever be the strongest of all his people.
"Kant, prodra Argan," he murmured at last, his voice shaking only a trifle, his sorrow nearly mastered now.
Branra obviously felt he should offer some condolence. He grasped what had happened and thought to speak on behalf of the Royal Commander and all those of The Interior who were Gordt te Raa's allies. "Can we help in any way, Sovereign?" he asked.
"Give the Siirn a moment, my lord," Danaer advised the nobleman.
"Call him Rena!" Since he and Gordyan had become hyidu, his friend had not spoken with such anger to him. Yet Danaer knew what drove Gordyan, taking no hurt.
He shook his head sadly. "You know I cannot. The prophecy is not yet fulfilled, when Andaru shall come to be and the Azsed Rena shall be the Rena Azsed." Gordt te Raa stared at him, his intelligent eyes glistening. Even in his grief, he understood.
Ashamed of his outburst, Gordyan gripped Danaer's arm in apology and said, "Ai! Forgive me. Rena, it is so. Her . . . her sacrifice will buy us Andaru. A holy vision proclaims it."
It was the only consolation that would have meant anything to the leader of the Destre-Y. Gordt te Raa nodded curtly, drawing his mantle across his breast, preparing to leave. There was no blood fever in his face, but a cold dedication, tinged with deep mourning. "So Argan wills. And many more will die, to accompany her to Keth's gates—an army of Markuand I myself will slay."
With that, he turned and rode back into the melee, his guards clearing the way around him, all of them l-ancing down the enemy ruthlessly and methodically as they went.
"I do not know if I can accept Andaru at this awful price," Gordyan said. "I have failed him, and Lasiirnte ..."
Danaer feared his friend was about to make some reckless vow in his grief, some suicidal oath to atone for a thing that had been foredoomed. He started to speak and say again that the goddess would not be denied.
Then he reeled in the saddle, grunting with shock, clutching his belly. Branra had drawn rein and begun to head back to his command, but now he paused, concerned. Shaartre leaned toward his comrade in arms, and Gordyan said, "What is it, hyidu?"
They thought aUke, that Danaer had been struck by the enemy. They feared to see blood flowing, ready to catch him if he fell.
But there was no wound, though Danaer felt indeed as if arrow or spear had pierced him—a weapon of raging fire. The dagger! Silver and obsidian burned where his hand lay and all along his middle, under the sheath. Flame moved from his fingers into his veins and bone.
And out of the dust a figure took shape, shimmering in midair before him. Lira! She held out her hands pleadingly, her lips moving, and he he-ard, "Danaer, help me! He is here! They are here!"
"The sorkra! It is wizardry, Bloody Sword. . . ."
"Ai! But what sort—!"
Shaartre and Danaer's unit mates were pointing in fear, and Branra -and Gordyan gawked in amazement at Lira's image. They saw it, too, and seemed to hear her as well! The power of her magic—and the desperate need that fed it!
"More Markuand tricks," Gordyan guessed. "Trying to bewitch him."
"I think not." Branra narrowed his eyes, looking first at the illusion and then at Danaer.
"Treachery!" Lira shrieked at Danaer. "They are attacking the Traech Sorkra and the Royal Commander! Help us!"
Danaer yanked his roan's head around, brutalizing the animal in his frenzy. Branra was shouting, "Wait,
Troop Leader, we will—Sha-artre! Fetch a squad and follow him quickly. Now! Spare nothing!"
"Hyidu," Gordyan called, striving to catch up with his friend. But Danaer was far ahead of him already, beating a cruel tattoo on his horse's ribs.
If only the roan could fly, as the Markuand's demon snake had flown!
The dagger's flaming summons never ceased, though he had left Lira's magical illusion behind. He cursed his blindness as he galloped through pockets of the battle, along the base of Yeniir, heading for the pass. Why h
ad he been so quick to assume Kandra's death had fulfilled Osyta's prophecy? Kandra was dead and Wyaela te Fihar might yet die, as would many another woman and man in this war. But— there had been no face on the body in his dream! An Azsed woman's death must be the sacrifice—an Azsed woman who was also a sorkra, the bitter rival in wizardry of evil Chorii and the Markuand?
He began to beat on his horse's shoulders with the flat of his sword and with his reins and swept his heels from ribs to rump, calling more speed from the foaming beast.
Up out of Yeniir's slopes and through the pass, where the forces of Malol and Ti-Mori had broken him a clear path—the goddess be praised! Danaer fought the roan's failing strength and the hordes of camp followers who clustered on the Plains, hoping to see the show yet fearful of coming too close to the conflict. They dived out of his way, seeing his panic, and he rode on wildly.
The command tent was looming before him. Where were the guards? This was Krantin's heart, and it had been locked within a protective ring of many good soldiers.
They lay on the ground. All the sentries were still, their eyes open and staring at the sky, though there was no wound on them. They were held in the living death of witchcraft!
Danaer's roan collapsed, utterly foundered, and he jumped free, staggering and catching his balance.
then running for the tent. All the flaps were tightly closed ... to shut out what?
In the distance behind him there was a thunder of approaching hoofbeats. Gordyan and Shaartre would be bringing help. But he must not wait. The dagger scorched his side, and with one stroke Danaer swung his sword and slashed an opening through the tent wall, plunging inside.
Cold! And blackness! And amid it were whirling points of eerie light, twinkling spheres seemingly formed of ice, hovering, shining upon the combatants; Lira and those she sought to help, and those who would destroy Krantin's power forever.
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