CHAPTER 26

'General, the scouts have returned,' Second Lieutenant Mehar re¬ported.

General Jebehl Gort looked up from the map into the anxious face of his aide, hovering at a respectful distance. Behind the lieutenant, Gort could see the dark outline of Scree, crowned by torches that burned unhindered by any evening breeze. From all around him came the sounds of an army camp going about its business, but to his experienced ear it was worryingly quiet. Soldiers preparing for battle tended to act in certain ways, and this wasn't normal. His men were subdued and apprehensive; they gathered in small knots, talking quietly in shaky voices that betrayed their fear. They had heard what was happening in Scree, and now they were asking themselves how there could be any victory over a city of madmen.

There was another worrying detail: the absence of background noise in fields that should have some life – most creatures fled before an army, but it was disconcerting to hear absolutely nothing, not even the wind. They were an island adrift in unearthly seas.

The shadows of twilight thickened steadily beyond the pickets, reminding Gort of a rhyme he'd heard as a child, spying on his fa¬ther as he sat drinking with old comrades late into the night. Those powerful, proud men were the reason he'd followed in his father's footsteps and joined the Knights of the Temples, but that night there had been no drunken singing or horse-play; that night they'd behaved like they were in mourning. One of them, a bear of a man from Embere, had repeated again and again a sad little rhyme in his own language.

Gort's father had whispered a few lines:

Shadows rise and faithful fall,

The readers.sing and the lady comes

With ashes in her hair and secrets in her hand…

Those words had echoed through Gort's dreams for many years, not just because of the strange atmosphere that night, but also because of the ghastly look on his father's face as he spoke. He had never seen that side of his father again.

He shook the mood from him; this wasn't the time to indulge in childish fears. He needed to look strong for his men, both noble and common-born alike. His aide had the right idea: despite the swelter¬ing conditions, Lieutenant Mehar looked positively resplendent in his formal armour. As an aide to a general of the Knights of the Temples, he had to stand out among the soldiery, so his brass-plated cuirass, vambraces and greaves were all spotless and shining.

Look at him, the general thought, another sign of how the order has lost its way. He must dress that exact same way every day he is on duty, while I go into battle wearing antiquated scale-mail because the Codex of Ordinance dictates it. He shook his head. And my second-in-command could order me flogged if I decided to wear a cuirass. We really have lost our way in this Land; 1 hope Lord Isak can restore us to the true path. He sighed and turned back to the young man.

'What do the scouts say, Lieutenant?'

'The remaining mercenary armies are marching on the southern gate of the city, General.'

Gort caught the attention of his second-in-command, General Chotech, and beckoned. The Chetse dismissed the men he'd been talking to and hurried over.

'General, you should hear this; the mercenaries are on their way to the Foxport. Lieutenant, what was their order?'

'I'm not sure, sir.' The lieutenant coughed nervously. 'The scouts were vague; they said the mercenaries had no order. I presume they meant both armies were attacking.'

'They're attacking?' General Chotech spluttered. 'Has everyone in this damned place gone insane?'

it appears that way,' Gort said levelly, 'but I would remind you, Lieutenant, not to interpret what you expect men of the line to mean from what they say; soldiers may be an excitable breed, but scouts (end to be veterans and most of 'em have a modicum of sense.' He sighed as the chastised aide nodded dumbly. 'However, you could be correct; i(they were marching as reinforcements for the city garrisons, one would expect a little more order. What the locals have told us appears to be true; the people of Scree have forsaken sanity and the Gods. They turn on each other like animals.'

'What are we going to do about it?' General Chotech asked.

Gort turned to his aide. 'Lieutenant, you are dismissed. If Major Ortof-Greyl has returned, please send him to us.'

The lieutenant gave a curt bow and left, looking unhappy at being ordered away.

Gort leaned closer to the Chetse. 'I believe we must also march on the city.'

'If we become embroiled in that mess there'll be no escaping until it's finished,' Chotech hissed.

'I know.' He scratched at his armpit as best he could though his scale-mail. Campaigning and an unremitting summer sun were not the best combination for an old man's hygiene, but the bath he yearned for would be a disgraceful waste of water. 'I don't believe we have a choice. We are the Knights of the Temples and we have a clear duty.'

'General, I understand your point,' Chotech insisted, 'but we have only six thousand soldiers here; Siala must have at least fifteen thousand to defend the walls, while we do not even know who's com¬manding those two armies marching on the south. They might not be taking their orders from anyone!'

'I agree. Whoever is leading them – and no matter what we've heard, I can't believe the White Circle would be quite so foolish as to put Raylin in charge of whole legions – they must have decided it is time to salvage what booty they can, while something of Scree still remains. I can't believe any mercenary would agree to march into a burning city to defend it.'

'A move driven by desperation, then. Their supplies must have run out and their commander has realised to keep them together he must give a reason.'

'Exactly, a move that could prove disastrous once they're inside the city.' General Gort broke off as he saw a man labouring through the gloom towards them: Major Ortof-Greyl was struggling to reach them with the aid of a crutch under his right shoulder. As he neared, they could see that his face was bloodied and his mail torn.

'Gods, what happened, man?' Gort exclaimed. 'Did you speak to Lord Isak?'

'No, sir,' Ortof-Greyl replied, panting heavily. Lieutenant Mehar trailed behind the major, plainly confused. The aide, not privy to the secrets of their group, had no idea why the major had been sent to the Farlan Army camp in the first place. 'I only got as far as the out¬riders.'

'And they did this to you?' Gort said, gesturing to the younger man's head wound.

'They did. I asked for an audience with Lord Isak and they refused outright; they wouldn't even take me to their commanding officer. I'd gone ahead of my two guards and before they could make up the ground, the scouts had given me a kicking and ridden off.'

'Do you know why?'

'No sir, but I suspect Lord Isak is not with them,' the major said, casting an uncomfortable glance at the lieutenant. 'Their bluster was hiding something, I'm certain of it.'

'Major, the scouts say the full complement of Palace Guard is with that army, and a large number of nobles and hurscals; surely the core of the Farlan Army would not be here without their lord? No, it must be a miscommunication; Lord Isak would not want his nobles to think that any sort of agreement had been made until he understands our motivations.' He gave a dry laugh. And it's not as though any Farlan noble would believe what had really taken place was a selfless act; they probably wouldn't even understand the concept.'

'Yes sir,' the major replied with a short bow. The man clearly dis¬agreed, but he knew when not to argue. 'What are your orders?'

Gort looked at Chotech. As I was saying, we must not forget we are Knights of the Temples. Whether we succeed in bringing order to Scree or not, we cannot stand back and do nothing; you took the same oath as I did: "Defenders of the faith, a bond greater than blood or nation." It is our duty to the Gods, and whether the citizens of Scree have abandoned the Gods or not, I will die before I do so.'