‘More of those big ones with masks on their faces?’ Heldin asked.
‘Some of those, friend Heldin,’ Daiya replied. ‘But there are others as well – wearing old-fashioned helmets and carrying spears.’
‘Cyrgai,’ Bergsten grunted. ‘Vanion mentioned them. Their tactics are so archaic that they won’t be much of a problem.’
‘Where exactly are they, friend Daiya?’ Heldin asked.
‘They’re in a large canyon on the east side of those hills, friend Heldin. My scouts saw them from the canyon-rim.’
‘We definitely don’t want to go into that canyon after them, your Grace,’ Heldin cautioned. ‘They’re infantry, and close quarters are made to order for their tactics. We’ll have to devise some way to get them to come out into the open.’
Atana Maris asked Neran a question in Tamul, and he replied at some length. She nodded, spoke briefly to him, and then she ran off toward the south.
‘Where’s she going?’ Bergsten demanded.
‘She said that your enemies have laid a trap for you, your Grace,’ Neran replied with a shrug. ‘She’s going to go spring it.’
‘Stop her, Heldin!’ Bergsten said sharply.
It must be said in Sir Heldin’s defense that he did try to catch up to the lithe, fleet-footed Atan girl, but she merely glanced back over her shoulder, laughed, and ran even faster, leaving him far behind, flogging at his horse and muttering curses.
Bergsten’s curses were not muttered. He blistered the air around him. ‘What is she doing?’ he demanded of Neran.
‘They’re planning an ambush, your Grace,’ Neran replied calmly. ‘It won’t work if somebody sees them hiding in that canyon. Atana Maris is going to run into the canyon, let them see her, and then run out again. They’ll have to try to catch her. That’ll bring them out into the open. You might want to give some thought to picking up your pace just a bit. She’ll be terribly disappointed in you if you’re not in position when she leads them out.’
Patriarch Bergsten looked out across the desert at the golden Atana running smoothly to the south with her long black hair flying behind her. Then he swore again, rose up in his stirrups, and bellowed, ‘Charge!’
Ekrasios and his comrades reached Synaqua late in the afternoon just as the sun broke through the heavy cloud-cover which had obscured the sky for the past several days.
The ruins of Synaqua were in much greater disrepair than had been the case with Panem-Dea and Norenja. The entire east wall had been undercut by one of the numerous streams which flowed sluggishly through the soggy delta of the Arjun River, and it had collapsed at some unknown time in the past. When Scarpa’s rebels had moved in to occupy the ruin, they had replaced it with a log palisade. The construction was shoddy, and the palisade was not particularly imposing.
Ekrasios considered that as he sat alone moodily watching the sun sinking into a cloud-bank off to the west. A serious problem had arisen following their disastrous assault on Norenja. It had seemed that there were many gates through which the panic-stricken rebels could flee, but their commander had blocked off those gates with heaps of rubble as a part of his defenses. The terrified soldiers had been trapped inside the walls, and had therefore had no choice but to turn and fight. Hundreds had died in unspeakable agony before Ekrasios had been able to divert his men into the uninhabited parts of the ruin so that the escape-route through the main gate was open. Many of the Delphae had wept openly at the horror they had been forced to inflict on men who were essentially no more than misguided peasants. It had taken Ekrasios two days and all of his eloquence to keep half his men from abandoning the cause and returning immediately to Delphaeus.
Adras, Ekrasios’ boyhood friend and his second-in-command, was among the most profoundly disturbed. Adras now avoided his leader whenever possible, and the few communications that passed between them were abrupt and official. And so it was that Ekrasios was somewhat surprised when Adras came to him unsummoned in the ruddy glow of that fiery sunset.
‘A word with thee, Ekrasios,’ he asked tentatively.
‘Of course, Adras. Thou knowest that it is not needful for thee to ask.’
‘I must advise thee that I will not participate in this night’s work.’
‘We are bound by our pledge to Anakha, Adras,’ Ekrasios reminded him. ‘Our Anari hath sworn to this, and we are obliged to honor his oath.’
‘I cannot, Ekrasios!’ Adras cried, sudden tears streaming down his face. ‘I cannot bear what I have done and must do again should I enter yon city. Surely Edaemus did not intend for us to so use his dreadful gift.’
There were a dozen arguments Ekrasios might have raised, but he knew in his heart that they were all spurious. ‘I will not insist, Adras. That would not be the act of a friend.’ He sighed. ‘I am no less unquiet than thou, I do confess. We are not suited for war, Adras, and the curse of Edaemus makes our way of making war more horrible than the casual bloodletting of other races, and, since we are not fiends, the horror doth tear at our souls.’ He paused. ‘Thou art not alone in this resolve, art thou, Adras? There are others as well, are there not?’
Adras nodded mutely.
‘How many?’
‘Close to a hundred and fifty, my friend.’
Ekrasios was shaken. Nearly a third of his force had quite literally defected. ‘You trouble me, Adras,’ he said. I will not command thee to forswear the dictates of thy conscience, but thine absence and that of they who feel similarly constrained do raise doubts about our possible success this night. Let me think on’t.’ He began to pace up and down in the muddy forest clearing, considering various possibilities. ‘We may yet salvage some measure of victory this night,’ he said finally. ‘Let me probe the extent of thy reluctance, my friend. I do concede that thou canst not in conscience enter the ruin which doth lie before us, but wilt thou abandon me utterly?’
‘Never, Ekrasios.’
‘I thank thee, Adras. Yet mayest thou and thy fellows further our design without injury to thy sensibilities. As we discovered at Norenja, the curse of Edaemus extends its effects to things other than flesh.’
‘Truly,’ Adras agreed. ‘The gates of that mournful ruin did collapse in decay at our merest touch.’
‘The east wall of Synaqua is constructed of logs. Might I prevail upon thee and thy fellows to pull it down whilst I and the remainder of our force do enter the city?’