He felt a hand upon his shoulder. The warrior with the greying hair squatted down beside him. ‘You say you have no sword brothers. Now you have. We will stand with you, Kzun of the Lone Wolves. And we will walk the dark road with you!’
For the first time since he had been dragged to the mines Kzun felt the rush of hot tears to his cheeks. He bowed his head, and wept unashamedly.
Gargan, the Lord of Larness, reined in his massive grey stallion and leaned forward on the high pommel of his saddle. Ahead lay the buildings housing the Shrine of Oshikai Demon-bane. Behind him his troops waited: the eight hundred infantry standing in patient lines of four, the two hundred archers flanking the foot soldiers, while the Royal Lancers, in four columns of two hundred and fifty, fanned out on both sides. Gargan stared hard at the white walls, noting the V-shaped crack in the first. Shading his eyes the warrior scanned the defenders, seeking out the vile face of Okai. But at this distance they were all a blur.
Gargan’s hands opened and closed, gripping the pommel so tightly that his knuckles shone white against the tan of his skin. ‘I will take you, Okai,’ he whispered. ‘I will put you through ten thousand torments before you die.’
Raising his arm, Gargan called out for the herald. The young man rode alongside him. ‘You know what to say. Do it! And try to stay out of bowshot. These savages have no understanding of honour.’
The soldier saluted and then rode his black gelding at a run towards the walls, drawing up in a cloud of red dust. The gelding reared and the herald’s voice rang out. ‘Know this, that the Lord Gargan, with the full authority of the God-King, has come to visit the Shrine of Oshikai Demon-bane. The gate will be opened within the hour, and the traitor Okai, known now as Talisman, will be brought before the Lord Gargan. If this is done, no harm will be offered to those within the Shrine.’ He paused, allowing his words to sink in, then he called out again. ‘If this is not done the Lord Gargan will have to consider all men inside the compound as traitors. The army will surround them and take them captive. Every man will have his hands cut off, his eyes put out, before being hanged. You will all walk the Void blind and maimed. These are the words of the Lord Gargan. You have one hour.’
Swinging his horse, the young Lancer rode back to the column.
Premian rode alongside Gargan. ‘They’ll not surrender, sir,’ he said.
‘I know,’ replied Gargan.
Premian looked up into the general’s hard face, seeing the glint of triumph there. ‘We have only thirty ladders left, sir. An assault on the walls will be costly.’
‘That’s what soldiers are paid for. Prepare the camp, send out fifty Lancers to patrol the surrounding country. We’ll launch the first attack at dusk. Concen-trate on the broken wall and then torch the gates.’
Gargan turned his horse and rode back through the men, while Premian ordered the troops to stand down and prepare camp. Gargan’s tent had been destroyed in the fire, but a new one had been constructed from canvas sacking and cloth that had survived the blaze. The general sat his stallion as soldiers erected the tent, then dismounted and strode inside. His chairs had been destroyed but the pallet bed had survived. Gargan sat down, glad to be out of the blazing sun. Removing his plumed helm and unbuckling his breastplate, he stretched out on the bed.
A rider from the city had arrived the previous afternoon. There was great unrest in Gulgothir, according to the message from Garen-Tsen, but the secret police had arrested scores of nobles, and the situation was under control at the moment. The God-King was in hiding, guarded by Garen-Tsen’s minions. Gargan was urged to complete his mission with all speed and return as soon as possible.
Well, he thought, we should take the Shrine by dawn. With luck he could be back in Gulgothir in ten days.
A servant entered the tent, bringing a goblet of water. When Gargan sipped it, the water was hot and brackish. ‘Send Premian and Marlham to me,’ he told the man.