Renarr saw Urusander glance at Hunn Raal, but he said nothing and a moment later returned his attention to the ranks lining the far side of the valley.
‘I see Lord Anomander’s standard!’ said Infayen Menand, half rising in her stirrups. ‘He defies Mother Dark! Mortal Sword, I beg that you allow my company to face him!’
Hunn Raal laughed. ‘As you wish, captain. Ride to your cohort, then. Inspire them with a bold speech. Promise them glory and loot. Go on, Infayen, lift yet again the honour of the Menand bloodline.’
She studied him quizzically, as if uncertain of his tone, but then wheeled her horse round and set off.
Still smiling, Hunn Raal raised a flask to his lips and drank down three quick mouthfuls. ‘Lord Urusander,’ he said, ‘glad you could join us. Under normal circumstances, I would of course yield to your genius for tactics and whatnot. Alas, this will not be a battle for clever manoeuvres. Even your legendary cunning, commander, will but flail in what is to come.’
‘You remain determined to bring sorcery to this battle, Hunn Raal?’
‘I do, Lord Urusander. We are past a civil war. Now, two faiths are about to collide. Which camp of the faithful has prepared best for this? Let’s find out, shall we?’
‘And if your magic is answered in kind, captain?’
Hunn Raal shrugged. ‘Make your faith a wall against which the enemy will scrabble, desperate for purchase, eager for a breach. The strength of your belief is proof against such things.’ He twisted in his saddle to regard Urusander. ‘Do you doubt me, sir?’
‘And will the confession of doubt see my corpse laid out in the field below?’
Hunn Raal shrugged. ‘I do not anticipate you riding down into the press, sir. If you do, no assurances are possible.’
‘And the failing shall be mine.’
‘Make your faith a wall.’
Urusander said nothing for a moment, as if considering all that hid behind Hunn Raal’s words, and then he seemed to cast away all that troubled him. ‘Walls may shield you, but they blind you as well, Hunn Raal. Will you make faith synonymous with ignorance? If so, I shall with great interest observe this battle, and, to your satisfaction, I shall do so from here.’
Hunn Raal’s laugh was easy, almost careless. He gestured and a number of his own guards edged their mounts forward, moving until they in effect surrounded Urusander. ‘I acknowledge your courage, sir. Contrary to your promise, it has occurred to me that you might be of a mind to ride down into the valley, not with your soldiers, but alone, to parley with Lord Anomander. Seeking a path to peace, an end to this battle before it is even begun.’
Urusander made no immediate reply, and then he shrugged. ‘I see now that peace is no longer a possibility.’
‘Not here. Not yet. Peace, sir, will but delay the inevitable. We are here in strength. A year from now, with each captain off building estates and breaking new land, we become vulnerable. We need this battle. We need this victory, and we need to make it an overwhelming one. Only then will true peace be possible. More to the point,’ he added, ‘we need you on a throne beside Mother Dark.’
‘So I am to yield command of my legion to you, Hunn Raal?’
‘For your safety, sir, I will stand in your stead.’
A golden glow was building around the group of officers, and Renarr saw the approach of High Priestess Syntara, the refulgent light spilling out from her. Flanked by priestesses bearing bright lanterns on poles, she walked slowly, and soldiers parted for her, some fighting suddenly skittish horses. Unmindful of the jostling, Syntara strode up close to Hunn Raal, and then past him, taking position beside Urusander.
‘Father Light,’ she said. ‘I will remain at your side here. I will be your shield against all sorcery.’
‘She should be able to manage that well enough,’ Hunn Raal said, nodding. He gathered his reins. ‘Now, this miserable day falters. The time has come. Captains, to your cohorts.’ Nudging his mount forward, he guided his horse to the crest. He then dismounted and set off, alone, down the gentle slope.
Upon the opposite side of the valley, Renarr could make out two figures, both on foot and both working their way down a short distance before separating and taking position directly below the two gaps in the army’s three distinct divisions.
It seemed a strange way to begin a battle. In her mind’s eye a memory suddenly returned, and she saw a bloodied girl chasing a boy with a stone; saw her catch up, saw her swing the stone down with both hands, crushing the boy’s skull.
Where were the whores now? Rising on her stirrups, she looked until she found them, a ragged row well off to the right. Collecting her reins, she headed for them.
Leave it to the whores to find the best vantage point.
She had vowed to remain at Lord Urusander’s side, but such a thing was not possible at the moment. No matter, he will be safe enough where he is. Syntara will see to that.
She was halfway to where the camp-followers were gathered when the first wave of magic ignited the dusk.
* * *
The horse’s broad back creaked beneath her, shedding dust and seeds that whispered down through the woven grasses of its body. Sergeant Threadbare cursed under her breath, fighting against a shudder. Golems of twisted grass and roots, of twigs and branches – the horse was dead as the winter, and yet its limbs moved, its long head dipped, and the track beneath its bundled hoofs slid past as they rode towards the Valley of Tarns.