‘In southern Ventria an entire community lives on a volcanic island. Every ten years or so it spews ash, dust and burning rock, killing hundreds. Yet they stay, always convincing themselves that the worst is over.
‘But do not torment yourself, Rayvan. You have done all that you could. More than could have been asked for.’
She sagged back in her seat and shook her head. ‘I could have succeeded. About four thousand people are going to die down there. Horribly! And all because I started a war I could not win.’
‘Nonsense!’ said Ananais. ‘Why are you doing this to yourself, woman? The war began because Ceska’s men poured into the mountains and massacred innocent people. You merely defended your own. Where the Hell would we be if we just allowed such atrocities to occur? I don’t like the situation; it smells worse than a ten-day-dead pig in summer, but it’s not my doing. Nor is it yours. You want blame? Blame the people who voted him into power. Blame the soldiers who follow him still. Blame the Dragon for not putting him down when they could. Blame his mother for giving birth to him. Now, enough of this! Every man and woman down there had a choice, given to them freely. Their fate is in their hands. You are not responsible.’
‘I don’t want to argue with you, Darkmask. But somewhere along this dreadful line someone must claim responsibility. The war is not of my making, as you say. But I elected myself to lead these people and every one of them that dies will be on my head. I would have it no other way. Because I care. Can you understand that?’
‘No,’ said Ananais bluntly. ‘But I accept it.’
‘I understand it,’ said Decado. ‘But your care must now be for those people who have trusted you and moved to the mountains. What with refugees from outside Skoda, and the city folk, we will have over seven thousand people up there. There will be problems with food, sanitation, sickness. Lines of communication must be set up. Stores, supplies and medicines. That all takes organisation and manpower. And every man we lose to that side of the war is one fewer warrior standing against Ceska.’
‘I shall be there to organise that,’ said Rayvan. ‘There are maybe twenty women I can call on.’
‘With respect,’ said Ananais, ‘you will also need men. Penned up like that, tempers can flare and some people will become convinced they are getting less than their ration. Many of the men among the refugees are cowards – and often that makes them bullies. There will be thieves, and among so many women there will be men who seek to take advantage.’
Rayvan’s green eyes blazed. ‘All that I can handle, Darkmask. Believe it! No one will question my authority.’
Beneath his mask Ananais grinned. Rayvan’s voice had an edge of thunder and her square chin jutted pugnaciously. She was probably right, he thought. It would be a brave man who went against her. And all the brave men would be facing a more formidable foe.
During the days that followed Ananais divided his time between the small army manning the outer mountain ring, and the setting-up of a passable fortress on the inner ring. Minor trails into the valleys were blocked and the main entrances – the valleys of Tarsk and Magadon – hastily walled with boulders. Throughout the long hours of daylight the mountain-hardened men of Skoda added to the fortifications, rolling huge boulders from the hills and wedging them into place across the mouths of the valleys. Slowly the walls increased in size. Pulleys and wooden towers were erected by skilled builders and larger rocks were lifted by ropes and swung into place, cemented by ti mix of clay and rock-dust.
The main builder – and wall architect – was a Vagrian immigrant named Leppoe. He was tall, dark, balding and indefatigable. Men walked warily around him, for he had an unnerving habit of looking through a man, ignoring him totally as his mind wrestled with some problem of stress or structure. And then, with the problem solved, he would smile suddenly and become warm and friendly. Few workers could keep up with his pace and often he would work long into the night, planning refinements or taking over as foreman of a work party and pushing his men hard under the moonlight.