Sovereign (6 page)

'A ruler,' Jenrosa said aloud.

'A tyrant,' Lasthear added.

'A woman.'

'She owns the Keys of Power.'

'A dead city.'

'The price.'

The dust devil reappeared and destroyed the circle. The two women leaned back in sudden exhaustion, their eyes closed. When Jenrosa opened her eyes again, she saw Lasthear looking at her with great earnestness.

'You think the answer was there, don't you?' It was more of an accusation than a question.

'You are the Truespeaker,' Lasthear said. 'You tell me.'

'I don't believe we see the future.'

'Neither do I. Magik no more determines our fate than spying a distant land from the top of a mountain means you will one day visit that land. Magik gives us glimpses of history, past, present and future.' Lasthear reached out and took Jenrosa's hand. 'Only the Truespeaker can interpret those glimpses of history, draw real meaning from them.'

'I don't believe we see the future,' Jenrosa repeated, taking her hand from Lasthear's. 'And I don't believe I am the Truespeaker. I am not a Chett.'

'We are all Chetts,' Lasthear said without irony.

It took Lynan's army five days to reach the border of Haxus. Scouts ranging far and wide quickly found the fort Salokan had established as a staging post for his invasion of Grenda Lear, and also where he kept his reinforcements, mainly heavy infantry with a few squadrons of light cavalry for picket and scouting duties. Chett outriders reported that the fort commander was overconfident and lazy; the gates were open and unlocked, and the few pickets were relieved like clockwork, making it easy to plan an assault around their movements.

Because it was a fort, Lynan's army had to take it quickly or be forced into a siege, something the Chetts were temperamentally unsuited for and Lynan could ill afford to waste time on. Nor could Lynan risk moving deeper into Haxus with such a large enemy force behind him, and he was unwilling to detach a whole banner to cover his rear. The fort had to be taken by a sudden assault, and Lynan planned for the attack to start well before first light. If things went well, his riders would occupy the fort by sunrise; if things went badly, his army had a whole day to retreat to a safe distance. He gave command of the main attack to his Red Hands under Gudon; they had been trained to fight on foot using the short sword, and once inside the fort horses would be more hindrance than help. They would be followed up by Ager with his Ocean Clan, warriors who were proving to be among the toughest and most fanatical of the Chetts; Ager also commanded the remnants of the lancers, the banner savaged so fiercely by the knights of Kendra's Twenty Houses. Korigan and Eynon would lead the rest of the banners, eliminating any forces outside of the fort and maintaining constant archery fire against the fort's walls.

Two hours before first light, scouts reported to Lynan that the enemy pickets had been eliminated and replaced by his own riders. Before ordering the banners and their commanders to take their places, the prince had Salokan brought to him. The king was thin and pale, his right hand bandaged to the wrist. Under instruction from Lynan, no one had talked to him since his capture, nor had anyone mistreated him. At this stage he was baggage, and Lynan wanted him to understand that.

'Does this fort have a name?' Lynan asked him.

Salokan blinked sleep from his eyes and peered at the walls of the fort, not much more than a distant white line in the night. 'Typerta,' he said.

'That was your father's name, wasn't it?'

Salokan nodded. 'It is a strong fort. You will not be able to take it.'

Lynan arched his eyebrows. 'Truly? What would you suggest?'

'You don't really believe I would help you, do you?'

'You could order the garrison to stand down and surrender.'

Salokan did not reply, but stood more stiffly and jutted out his chin. He had regained some of his courage since the Battle of the Night.

Lynan seemed disappointed. 'As I expected.' He turned to his commanders. 'We take no prisoners. Slaughter everyone.' He met each commander's gaze; only Ager seemed unsettled by the order, but he said nothing. The prince turned back to Salokan. 'You will stay here by my side and watch.'

Gudon, Ager and their troops covered the first two thirds of the distance to the fort dismounted to lower their profile. They walked double file through depressions and around hills until they came to a natural bowl just over a league from the fort, led there by scouts posing as Haxus pickets. There the Red Hands mounted and formed two long lines. On Ager's advice, in case their charge ran into Haxus cavalry and to boost their morale after losing their leader Kumul, Gudon placed the lancers in a single line in front of the Red Hands and put them under the command of his brother Makon; they would be first into the attack, and their task would be to disperse any enemy horse and then peel away, giving Gudon and the bodyguard access to the fort's gate. Behind the Red Hands, Ager organised his own warriors, the only Chetts in Lynan's army who fought together as a clan and, with the Red Hands, the only Chetts Ager had trained to fight on foot.

Gudon and Ager embraced quickly and mounted. It was thirty minutes from first light and the changing of the Haxus pickets when Gudon gave the order to attack.

The five long lines of cavalry climbed out of the bowl, losing some of their orderliness. As they walked over the lip and onto level ground the lancers broke into a canter. Gudon counted slowly to thirty then ordered the Red Hands to a canter as well. By now they were only a league from the fort and he could see Haxus guards rushing along the high walls in panic. He glanced left and right, saw his own sweeping lines, watched his riders holding back their horses from the charge. Further afield he could see the great dark masses of the banners under the command of Korigan and Eynon as they surged forward. He saw Makon raising and then lowering his sword; the lancers burst from a canter to the charge, their long spears held overhand, their line still tight. Gudon smiled at the image, and wondered at what Kumul had wrought. And then it was his turn. He raised and lowered his own sword and kicked his horse into a gallop. The Red Hands matched him, and with one voice they screamed their war cry.

Ahead he could see the fort gate still open like a cavernous mouth. Some soldiers ran around in front of it, but none of them made an attempt to close it. Then someone seemed to organise them and they started pushing two huge wooden doors into place. Gudon felt a terrible knot in his stomach as he realised the Red Hands would not make it in time, then watched with elation as Makon led the lancers straight for the gate instead of peeling away. The Haxus infantry in front of him scattered and the lancers burst through into the fort, and seconds later Gudon and his warriors followed them through. As soon as he was past the gate Gudon sheathed his sabre, dismounted and drew his short sword. The few enemy armed were already fleeing in all directions, the rest were still in their tents or just now tottering out half dressed and wondering what all the noise was about. Gudon assigned one troop to guard the entrance while the others spread out and started the slaughter. At first he stood back, making sure that pressure was applied whenever it looked like the defenders were starting to organise, but when Lynan himself appeared he surrendered command and joined in the fight, revelling in the bloody fury that filled him.

Lynan forced Salokan to watch. The massacre went on for most of the morning, the last few hours being nothing more than the final mopping-up where scattered enemy soldiers were rooted out of hiding places or found feigning death among all the bodies. When all was done and not a single enemy was left alive, Lynan escorted Salokan around the fort. So much blood had been spilled that the ground was covered in a red mud; it crept over the toes of the king's boots. He tried to turn his face away from the slaughter, but whichever way he looked he saw thousands of his soldiers turned into carrion. He closed his eyes, but then he could smell the blood and the shit and hear the panting of the exhausted Chetts. In the end he was more afraid of the dark than the light. When Lynan had finished his tour he leaned over and whispered in Salokan's ear: 'I will do this to every fort and camp, every farm and village, every town and city in Haxus that you do not order to surrender to me. And every time I do it, you will bear witness.'

Jenrosa refused to enter the fort. She could hear the buzzing of flies two hundred paces away. Her stomach heaved and she turned away, but something stopped her from leaving. She groaned.

'We must listen to the earth again,' she said urgently to Lasthear. The two of them knelt down and scratched a circle, but before they could begin the calling a rivulet of blood from the fort met the circle and started to fill it. Lasthear cried out and tried to erase it, but Jenrosa grabbed her hand. 'Let it finish,' she ordered. In horror she watched as the circle became a swollen red disk. She called to the earth and the dust devil came and spat specks of blood against their faces. Words formed in the pool and Jenrosa recited: 'A red monarch.'

She waited for Lasthear to speak the words she saw, but the woman's mouth was clamped shut. To Jenrosa it looked as though invisible fingers grasped her jaw.

'A red woman,' Jenrosa continued uncertainly.

And still Lasthear would not—or could not—speak.

'A red city.'

'And then the dust devil returned, spitting more blood, and ended the spell. Lasthear cried out in pain and shock. Jenrosa tottered to her feet, her breathing ragged, and started to cry. She shouted in anger and furiously wiped the blood and tears from her face.

Lynan was in the grove where even sunlight seemed liquid and green. There was no sound of bird or insect, but all the trees and ferns seemed fit to burst with life. He was lying on his back. He could smell the grass, sweet and young, and beneath it the earth, dark and moist. Above him a wind rustled the canopy. He looked down the length of his body, admired his hard white skin. He noticed he had three of the Keys of Power. He moved aside the Key of Union and the Key of the Sword, and there lay the Key of the Sceptre, the Monarch's Key. He sat up, surprised. When did he get this? Who gave it to him?

He held it up to study it in better light and dropped it with a start. It was covered in blood. He tugged its chain over his head and threw it away with all his strength. It sailed through the air, slowed and then stopped, suspended.

'This is mine,' said a too-familiar voice.

Lynan searched among the trees for her.

'I gave it to you to keep for me,' she said.

'I will not win the throne for your sake,' he said.

Silona laughed, and the sound came from every direction, from the very forest itself. 'You do everything for my sake,' she said.

CHAPTER 5

Queen Charion paused in her striding to look out over her capital from the walls that surrounded it. Daavis had been turned into a city in which the houses, cannibalised for their stone and wood, looked like hollow skulls. Everywhere she looked her people scurried like ants, repairing city walls, restocking depots with food and armaments, tending livestock, pushing carts and pulling wagons and, if too young or too old to help, keeping out of the way. Parks and gardens had been turned into fields and pens. Cattle had been slaughtered and their meat dried and salted; sheep and goats were kept alive for their fleece and milk and an emergency meat supply. New cisterns had been dug and plastered and whitewashed then filled with water from the Barda River. Metal bowls, cups, eating utensils and jewellery had been collected and melted down and were being converted into spear and arrow heads and swords and daggers. New tunnels were being dug parallel to the walls so enemy mining could be countered swiftly. Long lines of elderly matrons were tearing clothing into strips, bleaching them in vats of urine, drying them and folding them for bandages.

Charion breathed deeply. She commanded all this activity and all the countless minutiae that went with it.

She could not remember the last time she had managed to sleep for more than two hours at a time, and she knew it was starting to show. She was even more crabby and acid-tongued than usual; food tasted like sawdust, and wine like brackish water. She had worn the same dress now for God knew how long, having donated most of her clothes to her city's cause, not to mention most of the cooking pots and utensils from her palace's kitchens. She had even ordered most of the good quality palace furniture sent to the sawyer so the wood could be used in wall construction or in the making of arrows and spear hafts.

But she could not complain. This was the second time in as many months that her people had been called on to prepare the city for a siege, and she had heard no word of criticism, no sound of complaint. How could she do less?

She glanced down and saw workers labouring in one of the counter-mine tunnels. 'Farben!' she shouted, and everyone in a radius of forty paces suddenly froze. All except Farben, that is, who hurried to her from the back of her entourage.

'Your Majesty?'

'I thought I ordered the trenches to be at least two paces deep?'

'You certainly did, your Maj—'

'Then why is this trench decidedly
less
than two paces deep?'

The workers in the trench looked worriedly at each other. Farben wrung his hands! 'I don't know, your Maj—'

'Then get down and find out!' she ordered, and Farben scuttled down the nearest stairs and to the local work foreman, a large hairy man who scowled at him. Charion watched the two men argue for a moment before the foreman angrily grabbed a measuring stick, stuck it into the trench, pulled it out and waved it in

Farben's face. The official made a placating sound and hurried back to Charion.

'Well?' she demanded.

Farben was sweating from a mixture of nerves and fright. 'It is two paces deep, your Majesty.'

Charion looked surprised. 'Really?' she said mildly, leaning over to look at the trenches a second time.