‘They killed him?’
‘Yes, Cousin. But I wish they had shot him. As it was one of the swordsmen, the ugliest fellow I’ve ever seen, stepped out and accepted his challenge.’
‘You’re not telling me he defeated Jarvik in single combat?’
‘That’s exactly what I am saying, Cousin. Jarvik cut him, but the man was unstoppable.’
‘I can’t believe it!’ said Powis, stepping forward. ‘Jarvik won the Silver Sabre contest last spring.’
‘Believe it, boy,’ snapped Gallis. Turning to Altharin the officer shook his head once more. ‘No one was in a mood to continue the attack after that. I left a hundred men to hold the position and brought the rest back.’
Altharin swore, then moved to a second folding table on which maps were spread. This is largely unexplored territory,’ he said, ‘but we do know there are few sources of food within the mountains – especially in winter. Normally we would starve them out, but that is not what the Emperor has ordered. Suggestions, gentlemen?’
Gallis shrugged. ‘We have the numbers to eventually wear them down. We must just keep attacking on all three fronts. Eventually we must break through.’
‘How many will we lose?’ asked Altharin.
‘Hundreds,’ admitted Gallis.
‘And how will that look back in Gulgothir? The Emperor sees this as a short, punitive raid. And we all know who arrives tomorrow.’
‘Send the Brotherhood in when they get here,’ said Gallis. ‘Let’s see how far their sorcery will carry them.’
‘I have no control over the Brotherhood, more’s the pity. What I do know, however, is that our reputations and our futures are in the balance here.’
‘I agree with that, Cousin. I’ll order the attacks to continue throughout the night.’
*
‘Stop grumbling,’ said Senta, as the curved needle once more pricked under the flesh of Angel’s shoulder, bringing together the flaps of the wound.
‘You are enjoying this, you bastard!’ retorted Angel.
‘How cruel!’ Senta chuckled. ‘But fancy letting a Gothir farmboy fool you with a riposte counter.’
‘He was good, damn you!’
‘He moved with all the grace of a sick cow. You should be ashamed of yourself, old man.’ Senta completed the last of ten stitches, and bit off the twine. ‘There. Better than new.’
Angel glanced down at the puckered wound. ‘You should have been a seamstress,’ he muttered.
‘Just one of my many talents,’ replied Senta, rising and moving out of the cave and staring down over the mountainside. From the cave mouth he could hear the distant screams of wounded men, the echoing clash of war. The stars were bright in a clear sky and a cold wind was hissing over the peaks and crags. ‘We can’t hold this place,’ he said, as Angel moved alongside him.
‘We’re doing well enough so far.’
Senta nodded. ‘There are too many of them, Angel. And the Nadir are relying on the wall across the centre pass. Once the soldiers breach that…’ He spread his hands.
Two Nadir women made their way across the open ground bearing bowls of clotted cheese. They stopped before the Drenai warriors, eyes averted, and laid the bowls on the ground before them, departing as silently as they had come.
‘Really welcome here, aren’t we?’ observed Senta.
Angel shrugged. There were more than a hundred tents dotted around the giant crater and from the high cave the two men could see Nadir children playing in the moonlight, running and sending up clouds of black, volcanic dust. To the left a line of women were moving into the deep caves carrying wooden buckets, gathering water from artesian wells deep below the mountains.
‘Where tomorrow?’ asked Angel, sitting down with his back to the rocks.
‘The wall, I think,’ said Senta. ‘The other two passes are easily defended. They’ll come at the wall.’ A shadow moved to the right. Senta chuckled. ‘He’s back, Angel.’
The gladiator swore and glanced around. A small boy of around nine years of age was squatting on his haunches watching them. ‘Go away!’ roared Angel, but the child ignored him. ‘I hate the way he just stares,’ snapped Angel. The boy was thin, almost skeletal, his clothes threadbare. He wore an old goatskin tunic from which most of the hair had long since vanished, and a pair of dark leggings, torn at the knees and frayed at the waist. His eyes were slanted and black, and they stared unblinkingly at the two men. Angel tried to ignore him. Lifting the bowl of cheese he dipped his fingers into the congealed mass and ate. ‘Horse droppings would taste better than this,’ he said.