He crawled over an area of earth pitted with pebbles, and a sharp stone dug into his leg. Groaning, he rolled over.
Ananais had told them to hold on for as long as they could, then to draw back and make for Maga-don. He had then gone to another valley with Galand. The events of the afternoon kept flooding Parsal’s mind and he could not push them away . . . With four hundred men he had waited in a tiny pass. The cavalry had come first, thundering up the incline with lances levelled. Parsal’s archers had cut them to pieces. The infantry were harder to repel, well-armoured and with their round bronze shields held high. Parsal had never been the swordsman his brother was but, by all the gods, he had given a good account of himself!
The Skoda men had fought like tigers and Ceska’s infantry were forced back. That was the point when he should have ordered his men to withdraw.
Foolish, foolish man! ‘
But he had been so uplifted. So proud! Never in his life had he led a fighting force. He had been turned down for the Dragon, while his brother had been accepted. Now he had repelled a mighty enemy.
And he waited for one more attack.
The Joinings had surged forward like demons of the pit. If he lived to be a hundred, he would never forget that charge. The beasts sent up a terrifying wall of sound, howling their blood-lust as they ran. Giant monsters with slavering maws and blood-red eyes, sharp talons and bright, bright swords.
Arrows scarce pierced their flesh and they swept aside the fighting men of Skoda as a grown man scatters unruly children.
Parsal gave no order to run – it was unnecessary. The Skoda courage vanished like water on sand and the force scattered. In his anguish Parsal ran at a Joining, aiming a mighty blow for the beast’s head, but his sword bounced from the thick skull and the creature turned on him. Parsal was thrown back and the Joining dived, its great jaws closing on Parsal’s left leg and ripping the flesh from the bone. A gallant Skoda fighter leapt to the beast’s back, driving a long dagger into its neck; it turned away from Parsal to rip the throat from the warrior. Parsal rolled clear over a rise and tumbled down and down into the valley. And so his long crawl began.
He knew now that there was no victory for the Skoda men. Their dreams were folly. Nothing could stand against the Joining. He wished he had stayed on his farm in Vagria, far away from this insane war.
Something seized his leg and he sat up, waving a dagger. A taloned arm smashed it from his grip and three Joinings squatted around him – their eyes gleaming, saliva dripping from open maws.
Mercifully he blacked out.
And the feeding began.
*
Pagan edged forward until he was less than one hundred yards from .the western quarter of the city. His horse was hidden in the woods behind him. Smoke from the burning buildings was swirling like mist and it was hard to see for any distance. Bodies were being dragged from the city by groups of Joinings, and the feast started in the meadows beyond. Pagan had never seen the beasts before and he watched them in grim fascination. Most were over seven feet tall and mightily muscled.
Pagan was at a loss. He had a message for Ananais from Scaler – but where would he now deliver it? Was the dark-masked warrior still alive? Was the war over? If it was, then Pagan must change his plan. He had sworn to kill Ceska and he was not a man to take an oath lightly. Somewhere among this army was the tent of the emporer – all he had to do was find it and gut the son of a whore.
That was all!
The deaths of Pagan’s people weighed heavily on him and he was determined to avenge them. Once he killed Ceska, the emperor’s shade would be consigned to the Land of Shadow to serve the slain. A fitting punishment.