'You are a hard act to follow, Darkmask. I won a foot-race once, and was third in the Open Wrestling at the Games. Oh. . and a bee stung me once when I was a child and I cried for days.'
'You'll do, Lake! Once I have taught you how to be a good liar! Now, let's get back in there and work on the weapons you have devised.'
From dawn to dusk for three days, Rayvan and scores of helpers toured the city preparing the people for evacuation into the depths of the mountains. The task was thankless. Many were those who refused to consider moving and some even scoffed at the threat Rayvan outlined. Why should Ceska attack the city, they asked? That's why it was built without walls — there was no need to sack it. Arguments developed and doors were slammed. Rayvan endured insults and humiliation, yet still she tramped the streets.
On the morning of the fourth day the refugees gathered in the meadows to the east of the city; their possessions were piled on carts — some drawn by mules, others by ponies or even oxen. The less fortunate carried their belongings on their backs in canvas bundles. In all there were fewer than two thousand people — twice that number had elected to stay.
Galand and Lake led them out on the long hard trek to the highlands, where already three hundred men were building crude shelters in hidden valleys.
Lake's weapons of war, covered in oiled leather, had been placed on six wagons which headed the column.
Rayvan, Decado and Ananais watched the refugees set out. Then Rayvan shook her head, cursed and marched back to the council chamber without another word. The two men followed her. Once inside, her anger burst into the open.
'What in the name of Chaos is going on in their heads?' she raged. 'Have they not seen enough of Ceska's terror? Some of those people have been friends of mine for years. They are solid, intelligent, reasoning people. Do they want to die?'
'It is not that easy, Rayvan,' said Decado softly. 'They are not used to the ways of evil and they cannot conceive why Ceska would want to butcher the city's population. It makes no sense to them. And you ask as if they have not seen enough of Ceska's terror. In short, they have not! They have seen men with their arms lopped off, but the spectators can ask: Did he deserve it? They have heard of starvation and plague in other areas, but Ceska has always had an answer for that. He slides the blame from himself with rare skill. And truly they do not want to know. For most men life is their home and their families, watching the children grow, hoping next year will be better than this.
'In southern Ventria an entire community lives on a volcanic island. Every ten years or so it spews ash, dust and burning rock, killing hundreds. Yet they stay, always convincing themselves that the worst is over.
'But do not torment yourself, Rayvan. You have done all that you could. More than could have been asked for.'
She sagged back in her seat and shook her head. 'I could have succeeded. About four thousand people are going to die down there. Horribly! And all because I started a war I could not win.'
'Nonsense!' said Ananais. 'Why are you doing this to yourself, woman? The war began because Ceska's men poured into the mountains and massacred innocent people. You merely defended your own. Where the Hell would we be if we just allowed such atrocities to occur? I don't like the situation; it smells worse than a ten-day-dead pig in summer, but it's not my doing. Nor is it yours. You want blame? Blame the people who voted him into power. Blame the soldiers who follow him still. Blame the Dragon for not putting him down when they could. Blame his mother for giving birth to him. Now, enough of this! Every man and woman down there had a choice, given to them freely. Their fate is in their hands. You are not responsible.'
'I don't want to argue with you, Darkmask. But somewhere along this dreadful line someone must claim responsibility. The war is not of my making, as you say. But I elected myself to lead these people and every one of them that dies will be on my head. I would have it no other way. Because I care. Can you understand that?'
'No,' said Ananais bluntly. 'But I accept it.'
'I understand it,' said Decado. 'But your care must now be for those people who have trusted you and moved to the mountains. What with refugees from outside Skoda, and the city folk, we will have over seven thousand people up there. There will be problems with food, sanitation, sickness. Lines of communication must be set up. Stores, supplies and medicines. That all takes organisation and manpower. And every man we lose to that side of the war is one fewer warrior standing against Ceska.'
'I shall be there to organise that,' said Rayvan. 'There are maybe twenty women I can call on.'
'With respect,' said Ananais, 'you will also need men. Penned up like that, tempers can flare and some people will become convinced they are getting less than their ration. Many of the men among the refugees are cowards — and often that makes them bullies. There will be thieves, and among so many women there will be men who seek to take advantage.'
Rayvan's green eyes blazed. 'All that I can handle, Darkmask. Believe it! No one will question my authority.'
Beneath his mask Ananais grinned. Rayvan's voice had an edge of thunder and her square chin jutted pugnaciously. She was probably right, he thought. It would be a brave man who went against her. And all the brave men would be facing a more formidable foe.
During the days that followed Ananais divided his time between the small army manning the outer mountain ring, and the setting-up of a passable fortress on the inner ring. Minor trails into the valleys were blocked and the main entrances — the valleys of Tarsk and Magadon — hastily walled with boulders. Throughout the long hours of daylight the mountain-hardened men of Skoda added to the fortifications, rolling huge boulders from the hills and wedging them into place across the mouths of the valleys. Slowly the walls increased in size. Pulleys and wooden towers were erected by skilled builders and larger rocks were lifted by ropes and swung into place, cemented by ti mix of clay and rock-dust.
The main builder — and wall architect — was a Vagrian immigrant named Leppoe. He was tall, dark, balding and indefatigable. Men walked warily around him, for he had an unnerving habit of looking through a man, ignoring him totally as his mind wrestled with some problem of stress or structure. And then, with the problem solved, he would smile suddenly and become warm and friendly. Few workers could keep up with his pace and often he would work long into the night, planning refinements or taking over as foreman of a work party and pushing his men hard under the moonlight.
As the walls neared completion, Leppoe added yet another refinement. Planks were laid and cunningly fitted to create ramparts, while the outer walls were smeared with mortar and smoothed, making it more difficult for an enemy to scale them.
Leppoe had two of Lake's giant bows placed near the centre of each wall; these were tested for range and spread by Lake himself and the twelve men he had trained to handle them. Sacks of lead shot for slings were placed by the weapons, along with several thousand arrows.
'It all looks strong enough,' Thorn told Ananais. 'But Dros Delnoch it is not!'
Ananais strode along the ramparts of Madagon, gauging the possible lines of attack. The walls negated Ceska's cavalry, but the Joinings would have no trouble in scaling them. Leppoe had worked miracles getting them up to fifteen feet in height, but it was not enough. Lake's weapons would create havoc to within thirty feet of the walls, but nearer than that they would be useless.