Yron smiled as best he could. If the infection didn't get him, the blood loss or the shock just might. He turned from Ben to the fire, noting how the blood was already soaking through the boy's bandages, and put out the blaze, trying to minimise the smoke as he did so. Ordinarily he'd have hidden the site, the embers and the remnants of the tripod to put off any pursuit, but with the TaiGethen it was pointless. Even without the fire these elves would have enough signs to track them easily.
Yron put his leather jerkin back on and stooped over Ben. 'Come on, son. One arm around my shoulder, let's get out of here.'
Gasping in pain, Ben hauled himself up Yron's body. He leant heavily against the captain, not daring to put his right foot on the ground.
'You should leave me, sir,' he said. 'You could make it on your own.'
'To what purpose?' said Yron as they moved slowly off, Ben in a half hop, half drag, wincing at every movement. 'My duty is to my men. You represent my men.'
'But-'
'Decision's made, Ben. Let me assure you, if I was carrying anything important I'd have left you. But I'm not. So shut up and save your energy for shambling.'
Through his pain Ben-Foran chuckled. 'Thank you, sir.'
'No problem.'
Chapter 26.
The east gates of Xetesk opened on a mild cloud-strewn morning. Three hundred cavalry and mages trotted from the portal, followed by fifteen hundred foot soldiers and dozens of wagons.
At the front of the column, riding with the Xeteskian commander, Chandyr, was Rusau, senior mage and member of the Lysternan delegation. He looked with dismay on the litter of bodies and rags that covered what had once been the refugee camp, now brutally cleared. Carrion birds took to the sky as the horses passed, clouds of flies buzzed angrily over the flesh left to rot and the air was tainted with decay.
'Look at what you have wrought, Commander Chandyr,' he said as they rode past. 'They were human beings and you have driven them away like animals. You killed so many.'
Chandyr looked across at him, no hint of remorse evident. He was a career soldier in his early forties and had seen a great deal of action in the last decade. His face was pockmarked and he sported livid scars on his chin and forehead. Clad in mail-covered leather, he was a ferocious sight and his views were simple.
'First they were victims, now they are parasites. We have to look to our own problems, not take on other people's. Dordover is a powerful adversary.'
'But you could have chosen to help these people cut wood for new homes, plough fields for new plantings. Your blacksmiths' wagons could have been the forges that made new hope.'
'Building is preferable to dying in battle,' said Chandyr, 'but we have to defend ourselves before we can disperse ourselves across Balaia helping the people. Have you travelled the country in the last season?'
'No,' confessed Rusau. 'My duties kept me in Lystern.'
'You should talk to the mages who come in. It is true that the Black Wings are feeding the flames of hatred for us but the country is not quite as destroyed as they would have us all believe. There are blacksmiths out there. There are woodmen too. There are builders and farmers. The regeneration of the country must come from within. We as a college army are duty bound to protect our borders.'
'But this is a fight that can be solved around a table. By reason and discussion. War only feeds the fires of hate. And, after all, the issues are trivial, aren't they?'
'The issues do not concern me. The protection of Xetesk does.'
Rusau took a breath. In front of them, the gentle sweep of the Xeteskian mage lands stretched north-east to Lystern and north to Dordover. It was undeniably beautiful. Shades of green dappled the landscape; trees, shrubs, brackens and grasses. And everywhere were splashes of colour as the first spring flowers pushed through the soil, a symbol of the enduring strength of nature.
'I can stop this,' said Rusau, and inside he firmly believed that he could.
'Really?' asked Chandyr. 'Like the Dordovan delegation, perhaps? What have they managed so far apart from outrageous demands that do nothing but lighten the mood in the officers' mess?'
'It is the nature of negotiation to begin at an unattainable level and settle for compromise.'
'Compromise!' Chandyr spat the word. 'We are defending ourselves from unwarranted aggression.'
'And Xetesk is blameless in your view?'
Chandyr's face darkened. 'You ride at my side because I like you, Rusau. And because my Lord of the Mount, Dystran, wants independent reporting of what we find. But we are not the aggressors. We did not invite this conflict, it was thrust upon us. It is not our forces herding refugees into neighbouring lands. It is not us using innocents as pawns. But we will not stand by and watch it happen. Dordover will not be allowed to encroach on our lands. We will fight to preserve what is ours.'
'I meant no offence, Commander,' said Rusau. 'But when we find the Dordovans I urge you to stand off and let me speak, whether they are on Xeteskian land or not. Words are one thing, significant loss of life is another. When they see you and hear me, they will think again.'
'You are naive to believe that,' said Chandyr. 'But I pray you are right. Remember, though, that soldiers go where they are ordered and fight as directed. It is accepted that not all those who enter battle will leave it alive. I don't think you will find anyone in the Dordovan force able to make the decision to stand down.'
'Perhaps not, but would you choose not to fight if I could negotiate a truce to allow the rulers to speak again?'
'I will assess the situation when we encounter the Dordovans,' said Chandyr. 'But we are at war, Rusau, and I will not take any decision that risks our borders.'
'But I must be allowed to cross the battle lines,' said Rusau.
'Enough,' snapped Chandyr. 'I go to defend my lands. And I will take such action as I see fit in discussion with the senior mage. If you get in the way of such action it will be on your own head. I trust you understand. Now I must think. Please fall back to the centre of the column.'
He looked at Rusau, and for the first time the Lysternan mage felt a pang of doubt.
'Now, Rusau. I don't want to have you removed.'
Rusau did as he was ordered, and for the rest of the day's march and the day following he kept his distance from the Xeteskian commander. Late in the afternoon of the second day, with light cloud covering what had been a warm spring day, he was summoned forward.
He found Chandyr in conversation with the senior mage, Synour, a man fast rising through the echelons of Xeteskian power. They were riding towards the crest of a low hill and Rusau knew that beyond it a shallow valley swept away to the River Dord, which flowed through Dordover and eventually let out into the River Tri just to the north of Triverne Lake. The Dord marked the northern border of the Xeteskian and Lysternan mage lands.
'Commander,' he said, as he rode to Chandyr's free side.
Chandyr acknowledged his presence but finished his conversation before turning in his saddle.
'My scouts have reported,' he said, voice matter of fact, 'a force of perhaps eighteen hundred Dordovans setting up camp just north of the river. There are an estimated five hundred refugees there too. They are corralled by the Dordovans but are south of the river. On Xeteskian land. You will see that they have been very careful to allow no one to occupy Lysternan land. I think their message is quite clear.'
'And what are your intentions?' asked Rusau.
'The refugees must be freed immediately to return to rebuild their homes. The Dordovans must not stand in their way. I am sending a message to that effect to their commander, whoever he may be. You are welcome to ride under the parley flag but you will not interfere with the delivery of the message. We are not negotiating this point. Those refugees will not be used against us.'
'I will see what I can do,' said Rusau.
'Try not to endanger your own life,' said Chandyr. 'I am not responsible for you and neither are the Dordovans. My messenger will return with their answer as soon as he is able. If that answer is negative, we will advance immediately, while there is daylight enough.'
'Commander, you have to give me a chance,' implored Rusau.
'No, Rusau, I do not,' he said. 'I sympathise with you but my orders are quite clear. Dordover has invaded us. I will repel that invasion. The time for talking is when they are north of the Dord. I suggest you work quickly or get yourself to a place of safety.'
Rusau nodded. 'I had hoped for more understanding from you. Where is your messenger?'
'He is being briefed by the sergeant-at-arms now. You'll find them to your right.' Chandyr indicated a pair of riders slightly apart from the rest of the column. 'And Rusau, I understand very well. We didn't ask for war but we will wage it. Perhaps you can talk sense into the Dordovans, but if you ask me, the time for talking is done.'
Rusau joined the messenger as he cantered up the the rise and over the crest into the valley. Below them a wide grassy plain fell away down a shallow slope to the banks of the River Dord a mile and a half away. A mass of humanity waited on the south side. 'Corralled' was the right word. They were in a tight group, Dordovan cavalry and foot soldiers guarding them. To the north of the river, tents were pitched, fires burned and pennants flew. The sound of hammering and the whinnies of horses filtered up to them as they rode in silence towards the Dordovan army.
As they passed the refugees, a Dordovan cavalryman detached himself from the guard and fell in beside them.
'You're wasting your time, Xeteskian,' he said to the messenger. 'You should have saved your horse's legs and your breath. While you still have it to waste, that is.'
'What is the name of your commanding officer? I have a message for him.'
The cavalryman laughed. 'Very disciplined, I'm sure. Turn around. Mark my words, boy.'
'His name,' said the messenger.
'Master Mage Tendjorn,' said the cavalryman. 'He'll eat you for breakfast.'
He peeled away and rode back to his companions. They shared an over-loud laugh.
'Commendable,' said Rusau to his companion.
The messenger didn't reply. He kept his pace even, riding through the shallow waters of the Dord which, though thirty yards wide at this stretch, barely reached his boots. Unchallenged, they rode to the centre of the camp, where they dismounted. The command tent was obvious, its sides pinned back. A table inside was bare but for a scattering of goblets and a few bottles. Five men stood inside and waited for them to enter.
'You took your time,' said one. Rusau supposed him to be Tendjorn. He was an ugly man with a wide nose, small ears and thinning unkempt dark hair. 'And you? Sent a Lysternan lackey to beg, have they? We've enough of your sort plaguing us already.'
'I am Rusau of Lystern,' he confirmed. 'I seek peace, as I believe ultimately we all do.'
'Well there's your first mistaken assumption,' said Tendjorn. 'Xetesk's protection of the Nightchild was the first act of aggression in this war and now we are delivering the consequences of their invasion to their door for them to deal with.'
'These people are not consequences of this dispute,' said Rusau. 'You cannot use them as such.'
'Can't I? Xetesk prevented us from dealing with the Nightchild at the earliest opportunity. They were complicit in her prolonged survival, hence the prolonged elemental attacks on Balaia. Therefore these refugees are their problem.'
'Your memories are coloured,' began Rusau, but Tendjorn cut him off with a snap of his fingers.
'Your message, Xeteskian,' he said.
The messenger pulled a leather envelope from his breast and handed it over.
'I would take your reply at your earliest convenience, my Lord,' he said.
Tendjorn untied the envelope and took out the single sheet of paper it contained. It was a brief message, and the mage smiled and shook his head as he read it.
'Gracious me, how predictable,' he muttered, and handed it to the quartet of soldiers and mages grouped behind him. He slapped the empty envelope into the chest of the messenger. 'Tell your commander that we will not withdraw until he agrees to take charge of the people whom his college has made homeless. Tell him that any move to force them across the river will be met with an appropriate response.'
'Yes, my Lord.' The messenger bowed, his face expressionless.
Rusau grabbed his shoulder. 'Wait a moment. You can't deliver that. This is madness. Tendjorn, I beg you to reconsider.'
'You must remove your hand, sir,' said the messenger. 'You may not impede a messenger under the parley flag.'
'I know but . . .' He removed his hand and immediately the messenger turned and walked from the tent. 'Think what your message means. Men will die.'
'Quiet your bleating, Rusau, and face reality,' said Tendjorn. 'This conflict is about far more than just Herendeneth. It concerns balance. Something Xetesk is determined to upset.'
'All it takes is for you to withdraw your forces and let the refugees move to their homes to rebuild their lives. It will give us a basis for negotiation. Please, Tendjorn. Someone has to make a gesture for peace to have a chance.'
Tendjorn walked the pace to Rusau and looked square into his face, holding his gaze.
'There is but one way to stop this and that is for Lystern to stop dithering and join us. Isn't it obvious to you? Xetesk always wanted war; we have merely upset their timing. Without you, they may well beat us. With you, they may well not.
'Heryst is cautious. But what price that when Xetesk marches up to his gates, eh? You have done your best, Lysternan, you and your negotiators. Has Xetesk listened to you? Join us now. We don't want to destroy Xetesk, we need them in balance. They want to dominate, don't you understand?'
'I understand that war will leave all of magic seriously weakened and will draw in the population who surely have suffered enough. More innocents will die in this conflict and hatred will grow. Do not assume non-mages are too weak to fight. Look at what the Wesmen did to Julatsa.'
'Yes, Rusau,' growled Tendjorn. 'And look what that has done to the balance of magic. Even now we are protecting Julatsa from the inevitable Xeteskian invasion. Where are Lystern, their supposed friends, eh? Xetesk cannot be allowed to win.'
'Heryst is on his way to discuss that very matter with Vuldaroq, have you not been informed? Wait for them to reach accord. Must you fight today?' Rusau was exasperated in the face of such closed-minded determination to let blood.
'Gods, man, are you blind?' shouted Tendjorn. He strode away a pace and threw up his arms. 'You've been in Xetesk; surely you've seen?'
'Seen what?'
'I don't believe it,' said Tendjorn. 'They are arming and armouring every man of fighting age in the city. Every man. They are drilling women and children in battlefield supply. Their forges work day and night. They mean to win this war and they will not hear peace. And whether you believe it or not, the information they will get from Herendeneth will merely make them stronger. Now out of my way; I have a battle to organise.'
Rusau ran from the tent and jumped back on his horse. He fought his way through the army coming to order. Shouts were ringing through the camp, horses were being saddled and mounted, weapons given a final taste of the whetstone. Mages planned offence and defence. He was ignored as he surged across the river. To his right the refugees were being moved away from the likely battlefield. He could hear their fear now. Ahead of him the messenger was galloping hard up the slope. As he went, he waved his parley flag and then angled it vertically down.
'Damn it,' said Rusau.
A line of Xeteskians breasted the hill to stand silhouetted on the horizon.
Avesh stood with his arms around Ellin while she wept. It had been so since he reached her at the Dord and they had buried their son together. She had refused any sustenance, drinking only water from the river. He could understand. Her son lay dead and she couldn't even escape to grieve because the Dordovans had blocked their progress. Not just across the Dord but anywhere. They had provided food and spoken gentle words but there was no doubting the hundreds here were prisoners to be used against Xetesk. How, he didn't know and was scared to guess.
All he wanted to do was take her away. Somewhere where he knew she would be safe so that he could do what he had to do. Strike back. But right now he was helpless. Caught between two colleges, neither of whom cared whether he lived or died.
He had watched the two riders gallop over the rise to the south and cross to the Dordovan camp. He had watched them ride back separately, the one with the flag in advance of the other. And then he had watched the line of soldiers and horsemen appear, ready to charge. He shivered and cursed under his breath, not even having the strength to be scared like so many of those around him. He now had so little to lose.
He hugged Ellin tighter, kissing her on the top of her head.
'Be strong, my love,' he said. 'And listen to me. We are going to have to run once more.'
Chapter 27.