Lake grinned. ‘I had a teacher like that once. A strange old boy who lived in a hovel near the west hill. He said there were three kinds of people in life: winners, losers and fighters. Winners made him sick with their arrogance, losers made him sick with their whining and fighters made him sick with their stupidity.’
‘In which category did he put himself?’
‘He said he had tried all three and nothing suited him.’
‘Well, at least he tried. That’s all a man can do, Lake. And we shall try. We will hit them and hurt them. We will bog them down in a running war. Knuckle and skull, steel and fire. And with luck, when Tenaka gets back, he will mop them up with his Nadir riders.’
‘We don’t seem to be exactly overflowing with luck,’ Lake pointed out.
‘You make your own. I put no faith in gods, Lake. Never have. If they exist, they care very little – if at all – about ordinary mortals. I put my faith in me -and you know why? Because I have never lost! I’ve been speared, stabbed and poisoned. I’ve been dragged by a wild horse, gored by a bull and bitten by a bear. But I have never lost. I’ve even had my face ripped away by a Joining, but I’m still here. And winning is a habit.’
‘You are a hard act to follow, Darkmask. I won a foot-race once, and was third in the Open Wrestling at the Games. Oh . . . and a bee stung me once when I was a child and I cried for days.’
‘You’ll do, Lake! Once I have taught you how to be a good liar! Now, let’s get back in there and work on the weapons you have devised.’
*
From dawn to dusk for three days, Rayvan and scores of helpers toured the city preparing the people for evacuation into the depths of the mountains. The task was thankless. Many were those who refused to consider moving and some even scoffed at the threat Rayvan outlined. Why should Ceska attack the city, they asked? That’s why it was built without walls – there was no need to sack it. Arguments developed and doors were slammed. Rayvan endured insults and humiliation, yet still she tramped the streets.
On the morning of the fourth day the refugees gathered in the meadows to the east of the city; their possessions were piled on carts – some drawn by mules, others by ponies or even oxen. The less fortunate carried their belongings on their backs in canvas bundles. In all there were fewer than two thousand people – twice that number had elected to stay.
Galand and Lake led them out on the long hard trek to the highlands, where already three hundred men were building crude shelters in hidden valleys.
Lake’s weapons of war, covered in oiled leather, had been placed on six wagons which headed the column.
Rayvan, Decado and Ananais watched the refugees set out. Then Rayvan shook her head, cursed and marched back to the council chamber without another word. The two men followed her. Once inside, her anger burst into the open.
‘What in the name of Chaos is going on in their heads?’ she raged. ‘Have they not seen enough of Ceska’s terror? Some of those people have been friends of mine for years. They are solid, intelligent, reasoning people. Do they want to die?’
‘It is not that easy, Rayvan,’ said Decado softly. ‘They are not used to the ways of evil and they cannot conceive why Ceska would want to butcher the city’s population. It makes no sense to them. And you ask as if they have not seen enough of Ceska’s terror. In short, they have not! They have seen men with their arms lopped off, but the spectators can ask: Did he deserve it? They have heard of starvation and plague in other areas, but Ceska has always had an answer for that. He slides the blame from himself with rare skill. And truly they do not want to know. For most men life is their home and their families, watching the children grow, hoping next year will be better than this.