‘Exactly what I said,’ put in Bartsai.
‘Then you advocate flight?’ Kzun asked.
‘At this moment I am not advocating anything,’ said Talisman. ‘I am stating the obvious. Do you intend to fight?’
‘Yes,’ said Kzun. ‘This is the one place sacred to all Nadir. It cannot be surrendered without a fight.’
Lin-tse spoke up: ‘You know the ways of the Gothir, Okai. You know how they will fight. Will you lead us?’
Talisman rose. ‘Go back to your warriors. Tell them to assemble here in one hour; I will speak with them.’ Leaving them sitting there Talisman walked across the courtyard and climbed to the east-facing parapet. Bewildered, the leaders rose and left the Shrine. Nosta Khan followed Talisman.
Zhusai stood quietly by the wall as Gorkai approached her. ‘I don’t think we will live to see the day of the Uniter,’ he said grimly.
‘And yet you will stay,’ she said.
‘I am Wolfshead,’ he told her, proudly. ‘I will stay.’
On the wall Nosta Khan came alongside Talisman. ‘I did not foresee this,’ said the shaman.
‘It does not matter,’ Talisman told him. ‘Win or lose, it will speed the day of reckoning.’
‘How so?’
‘Four tribes will fight together. It will show the way we must follow. If we succeed, then the Nadir will know the Gothir can be beaten. If we fail, then the sacrilege they commit upon this Shrine will bind the tribes with chains of fire.’
‘Succeed? You said we would all die.’
‘We must be prepared for death. But there is a chance, Nosta. They have no water, so we must guard the wells, denying them access. Two thousand men will require two hundred and fifty gallons of water a day; the horses three times that. If we deny them water for more than a few days, the horses will start to die. Then the men.’
‘Surely they will have thought of that?’ argued Nosta Khan.
‘I doubt it. They will expect to take the Shrine within a day. And here there are three deep wells.’
‘Can you hold them with a hundred men – and guard the wells and water-holes outside?’
‘No, we need more warriors. But they will come.’
‘From where?’ asked the shaman.
‘The Gothir will send them,’ Talisman told him.
Chapter Eight
Talisman sat alone on the parapet, cross-legged, arms outstretched, eyes closed and face upwards to the blazing sun. There were so many ambitions he had longed to achieve, the foremost of them to ride into the city of Gulgothir beside the Uniter; to see the Gothir humbled, their high walls brought down and their army in ruins. Anger flooded him and for a while he allowed the richness of the emotion to rage within his veins; then, slowly, he calmed himself. What he had told Nosta Khan was true. The Battle for the Shrine would unite the tribes as never before. Even were he to die here – which was probable – the effect would be to speed the day of the Uniter.
He had told the tribal leaders that victory was impossible. This also was true. Yet a general who fought with defeat in mind would surely lose. Slowing his breathing and calming his heart, Talisman floated above the sense of rage and frustration. Two armies were about to meet. Put aside thoughts of numbers, and examine the essentials. He saw again Fanlon’s panelled study back at the Bodacas Academy, and heard the old soldier’s voice whisper across the years. ‘The responsibility for a martial host lies in one man. He is its spirit. If an army is deprived of its morale, its general also will lose heart. Order and confusion, bravery and cowardice, are qualities dominated by the heart. Therefore the expert at controlling his enemy frustrates him, and then moves against him. Aggravation and harassment will rob the enemy of his heart, making him fearful, affecting his ability to plan.’
Talisman pictured Gargan and once again anger flickered. He waited for it to pass. The Lord of Larness had failed against him once, when all the odds were in his favour. Can I make him do so again, wondered Talisman?
The man was full of hate, yet still a mighty general and a warrior of courage – and when calm he was not stupid. The secret then was to steal away his calm, allowing his hatred to swamp his intellect.