"It would appear so," answered Serbitar.
"You are wrong again. For in wisdom there is suffering. You are pained not because you disbelieve, but because you believe. Let us return to basics. Why do we travel to a distant war?"
"To die."
"Why do we choose this method? Why not simply allow ourselves to starve?"
"Because in war a man's will to live is strongest. He will fight hard to stay alive. He will learn again to love life."
"And what will that force US to face?"
"Our doubts," whispered Serbitar.
"But you never thought that such doubt would come to you, so sure were you of your god-like powers?"
"Yes, I was sure. Now I am not. Is this such a great sin?"
"You know it is not. Why am I alive, my boy? Why did I not die with Magnar's Thirty two decades ago?"
"You were the One chosen to found the new temple."
"Why was I chosen?"
"You were the most perfect. It has to be so."
"Then why was I not the leader?"
"I do not understand you."
"How is the leader chosen?"
"I know not. You have never said."
"Then guess, Serbitar."
"Because he is the best choice. The most…"
"Perfect?"
"I would have said so, but I see where you are leading. If you were the most perfect, why did Magnar lead? Well, why did he?"
"You have seen the future, you should have seen and heard this conversation. You tell me."
"You know that I did not," said Serbitar. "There was no time for study of the minutiae."
"Oh, Serbitar, still you will not understand! What you saw and chose to examine was the minutiae, the meaningless and the trivial. What does it mean to the history of this planet that this Dros falls? How many other castles have fallen throughout the ages? Of what cosmic importance was their failure? How vital are our deaths?"
Tell me then, my lord Abbot, how is the leader chosen?"
"Have you not guessed at it, my son?"
"I believe so,"
"Then speak."
"He is the least perfect of the acolytes," said Serbitar, softly, his green eyes searching Vintar's face and begging denial.
"He is the least perfect," echoed Vintar sadly.
"But why?" asked Serbitar.
"So that his task will be the more difficult, the more demanding. To give him the chance to rise and match the position he holds."
"And I have failed?"
"Not yet, Serbitar. Not yet."
24
Day by day more people left the siege city, piling their possessions on to carts, wagons or the backs of mules and forming convoys that snaked their way inland towards the relative security of the Skoda mountains and the capital beyond.
With each departure now, fresh problems faced the defenders. Fighting men had to be seconded to other duties such as latrine clearance, stores supply and food preparation. Now the drain on resources came on two fronts.
Druss was furious and insisted the gates be closed, the evacuation stopped. Rek pointed out that even more soldiers would then be needed to police the south road.
Then the first disaster of the campaign struck the defenders.
On the High Day of Summer — ten weeks after the battle began — Musif fell and chaos reigned. The Nadir breached the wall at the centre, driving a wedge into the killing ground beyond. The men, threatened with encirclement, fell back and raced for the fire gullies. Running skirmishes began as discipline fled, and two gully bridges collapsed as warriors milled upon them.
On Kania, Wall Three, Rek waited as long as he dared before ordering the gullies lit with flame arrows. Druss, Orrin and Hogun scrambled to safety just as the blaze took. But beyond the gully more than eight hundred Drenai warriors battled on hopelessly in tight shield rings which grew smaller moment by moment. Many on Kania turned away, unable to bear the sight of their friends' futile battles. Rek stood with fists clenched and watched in despair, the fighting did not last long. Hopelessly outnumbered, the Drenai were engulfed and the battle song of victory was sung by thousands of tribesmen.
They gathered before the flames chanting, waving blood-stained swords and axes in the air. Few on the walls understood the words, but understanding was unnecessary. The message was primal, the meaning clear. It struck the heart and soul with blistering clarity.
"What do they sing?" Rek asked Druss, as the old man recovered his breath following the long rope climb to the ramparts.
"It's their Glory chant:
Nadir we,
Youth-born,
blood-letters
axe-wielders,
victors still."
Beyond the fire tribesmen burst into the field hospital, slaying men in their beds and dragging others out into the sunlight where they could be seen by their comrades on the wall. Then they were peppered with arrows, or slowly dismembered, One was even nailed to the window shutters of the barracks, to hang screaming for two hours before being disembowelled and beheaded.
The Drenai dead, stripped of their weapons and armour, were hurled into the fire gullies, and the stench of burning flesh filled the air and stung the eyes.
The evacuation at the south gates became a flood as the city emptied. Soldiers joined in, discarding their weapons and mingling with the crowds. No effort was made to stop them, on Rek's direct order.
In a little house, near the street of Millers, Maerie tried to comfort the small child sobbing in her arms. The noise in the street outside frightened her, as families loaded their possessions on to carts and wagons tethered with oxen or milk cows. It was pandemonium.
Maerie cuddled the child, crooning a lullaby tune and kissing the tight curls on his head.
"I must go back to the wall," said her husband, a tall young man with dark hair and wide, gentle blue eyes. How tired he looked, hollow-eyed and gaunt.
"Don't go, Carin," she said, as he strapped his sword-belt about his waist.
"Don't go? I must."
"Let us leave Delnoch. We have friends in Purdol and you could find work there."
He was not an intuitive man and he missed the note of desperation in her voice, failed to sense the rising panic behind her eyes.
"Don't let these fools frighten you, Maerie. Druss is still with us and we will hold Kania. I promise you."
The sobbing child clutched his mother's dress, soothed by the gentle strength of'his father's voice. Too young to understand the words yet he was comforted by the pitch and tone. The noise outside receded from him and he slept on his mother's shoulder. But Maerie was older and wiser than the child and to her the words were just words.
"Listen to me, Carin. I want to leave. Today!"
"I can't talk now. I must go back. I will see you later. It will be all right." Leaning forward he kissed her, then stepped into the chaos of the street.
She looked around her, remembering: the chest by the door a gift from Carin's parents. The chairs made by her uncle, Damus; fashioned with care like all his work. They had brought the chairs and chest with them two years before.
Good years?
Carin was kind, thoughtful, loving. There was so much goodness to him. Easing the child into his cot, she wandered to the small bedroom, shutting the window against the noise. Soon the Nadir would come. The door would be smashed in and filthy tribesmen would come for her, tearing at her clothing…
She shut her eyes.
Druss was still here, he had said.
Stupid Carin! Kind, loving, thoughtful, stupid Carin! Carin the miller.
She had never been truly happy with him, though without this war she might never have realised it. She had been so close to contentment. Then he had joined the defenders, coming home so proudly in that ludicrous breastplate and oversized helm.