"Murder? That's a hard word, Mead."
"That's what it is."
"Is it murder when we clear a forest to build a new manor? Wait. I guess it is. If you're one of the trees. But we need the land. ..."
"Piffle. You aren't interested in the land. All you want is profit for the family. You've gotten carried away by your conqueror image. I warned you before. And it caught up with you, didn't it?
Your devils all turned on you."
"Mead, please."
"I did warn you. And you wouldn't listen. You started a huge war without the Empire behind you.
Now you're scrambling around licking the boots of low-caste Corichs so you can put another army together. That doesn't befit your dignity. Why not take your losses? Just close the Karato Pass.
Let the Alliance deal with Nevenka Nie-roda.''
"I can't. You know that. The investment is too big."
"It's an investment of ego."
"I agreed to protect the people who bought land in Silhavy and Gorsuch."
"So your honor is involved? Your word? What about your word to me? You haven't been a real husband to me since you found Ansorge. You've been running around playing warrior."
Loida took Gathrid's arm and pulled him away from the doorway. "That's enough," she whispered.
"Their fights aren't any of your business."
Gathrid tried to pull free. Loida would not let him. "Come on. Off to bed."
He went. And lay awake a long time, hating Ahlert for giving his wife such pain, yet halfway admiring him for concealing the truth of his unwanted commitment to Chuchain.
There came an evening meal when the Mindak was in high spirits. He joked with his relatives and enjoyed himself immensely. He was about to burst with good news. He barely kept it pent till after the desserts. Then he announced, "I sewed up my negotiations with the Corichs today. They've given me all the men I need. We begin moving come the end of the week. The army will assemble at Covingont."
A dour Mead asked, "Isn't it too late in the year? It won't be long before winter closes the Karato."
"Beggars can't be choosers. I had to take what I could get when I could get it."
"And what did you have to give up?"
Ahlert's smile faded. He gave his wife a hard look. She shut up. He told the others, "Finish whatever you have going. We're moving out. Any questions?"
Gathrid had a score, but this was not the time for them. Mead had thrown Ahlert into a black mood.
During their evening walk, Loida asked, "Are you leaving me behind?"
Gathrid had not thought about it. "You don't want to stay, do you?" There were those in the Mindak's family who had their eyes on her. She had been consecrated. They meant to complete her dedication. Had she been shielded only by the Mindak, she might have disappeared already. The added threat of the Great Sword kept them at bay.
"Thank you so much."
"What are you upset about now?"
"Never mind. It's not important."
Gathrid kept making the same mistakes. He accepted her word when she wanted to be pumped instead.
She became foul company for several days. She reclaimed Gacioch from Rogala, and shared more time with the demon than with Gathrid.
He reacted the way she wanted, and did not realize what he was feeling.
The old voices down inside him kept their opinions hidden. They often teased him, and never told him why. He grew ever more baffled.
And then it all seemed unimportant. He was moving again. He was astride a horse, and that horse was headed west. He and Daubendiek were about to write another chapter in the tale of the Great Sword. He hated himself for being excited.
Chapter Twelve
Covingont Nevenka Nieroda launched an offensive in Bilgoraj. Sorceries howled and prowled and wasted the Beklavac Hills. Castles tumbled. Strongpoints fell. Yedon Hildreth and the Brotherhood contested every foot of ground. The fighting was merciless and bitter.
Hildreth knew he would lose. His allies were withholding reinforcements, were withdrawing his tactical reserves. Fearing they would lose them, they would not give him the tools he needed to hold.
They had a defeatist outlook. Expecting a breakthrough, they wanted to beef up their defenses at home. Some talked of getting out of the Alliance altogether.
They did not yet know that the Mindak no longer directed their enemies, that this Ventimiglian host was renegade and stood excommunicated from its homeland.
Hildreth held on. He awed his allies with his stubbornness. He held his battered army together solely with the adhesive of will.
Then Gerdes Mulenex withdrew the Red Order.
Death kissed Hildreth's last hope full on the lips.
Nieroda's sorceries began to hurt. The desertions began. They started small, with a man here and there running for home or crossing the lines to enlist with a winner. Then Malmberget and Bilgoraj evacuated their contingents.
It was over. Everyone knew it. Of those left behind, whole companies went over to Nieroda. She welcomed them as prodigals returned to the fold.
Within days Hildreth's command consisted only of his own Imperials and the contributions of the Blues and Whites. As might be expected of small men, his allies indicted him for failing.
Hildreth responded by abandoning his positions. He left behind everything but his animals and men.
He marched toward Sartain.
He ignored renewed entreaties from those who had deserted him and were now interested in enlisting his skills in defense of their individual principalities. His answering letters were hard and forthright and sometimes insulting. He made no friends.
Nieroda did not swoop down on Torun. She sent two seasoned brigades to occupy the Beklavac narrows. Her main force she turned eastward. Striking quickly, she drove Honsa Eldracher back into Katich. She stripped him of much of his strength as he withdrew.
Again she disdained the obvious move. Instead of reducing the obstinate city, she marched eastward, into Grevening. Her army now boasted as many western turncoats as Ventimiglian.
Gathrid stood in Covingont's pink granite watchtower and watched Ahlert's new army pass below. An icy wind whipped his cloak and gnawed at his flesh. Winter was clamping down on the high Nirgenaus. For days Ahlert's wizards had been fighting the weather, keeping the pass open.
The youth had been at Covingont three days. Having nothing else to do, he had spent his time thinking, questioning, wriggling on the hook of his conscience.
Loida joined him in Covingont's chill. "There's so many of them," she whispered. "And when they came to Grevening before, we thought the whole might of Ven-timiglia had fallen on us."
"There's more of them. We haven't seen a ghost of their real strength. There're so many people in Venti-miglia."
"What're you going to do when this's over? When peace comes?''
He glanced at her. Could she be that naive? "Try to rest easy in my grave."
She faced him, took his hand. "You're sure you're going to end up like Aarant, aren't you. Why? Do you really have to? Or are you going to make it come true by believing it?"
"The Sword ... Loida, it's taking me over. I can't get away from it. I can't leave a room without it anymore. Remember the fairy tale about Ash Boy and the Sticking Stone? He would throw it away every night before he went to sleep, and every morning it would be back in his hand when he woke up. That's the way this is. Only maybe I'm the stone. We're going to be stuck the rest of my life. Which won't last long if other Sword-bearers are any indicator. I can't get away from Suchara."
Loida squeezed his hand. "The priests never tell us why the gods do what they do. They just say we have to go along."
"I don't think they are gods. That's the strange part. But they can't be human. Sometimes I think they exist only in our imaginations. One old guy in Senturia said they wake up because there's a need in the race. A collective mind that calls them forth."