70

 

If Tibal had been speaking the truth, they had two weeks and three days to make ready. It was not nearly enough time, but in war, as in life, there was no appeal against Shool. Gwin took to riding in a coach and soon found she was working in it and sleeping in it also. She made a hurried visit to Raragash, then headed north after the armies.

When she left Chan San the second time, she was annoyed to discover that her Nurzian postilion had disappeared and her new driver was Tibal Frainith. She seriously considered giving him a Poulscathian command to get out of her life forever, but somehow the words never came.

Tibal turned out to be a skilled postilion. Tibal turned out to be skilled at many things. She rarely wanted for anything before he was supplying it—food, writing paper, maps, a Muolscath, a courier, an Ivielscath, Labranza’s latest report, blankets, clean clothes, a Jaulscath, a comforting smile, relief from Frenzkion Zorg’s hectoring… food again? It couldn’t possibly be that time already, could it?

More important than all those things, he gave her confidence. She need not worry about brigands on the road when Tibal Frainith was driving. From weevils in the bread to the location of the Karpana army, nothing would ever surprise him. His quiet good humor was almost indestructible, although when it faltered she knew bad trouble was brewing.

Two weeks and three days of frantic experiment and organization… No one doubted that Cursed could do damage. Apparently they could do more for a Poulscath, but how much more? Raragash had only a few hundred Cursed to offer, and they must not be thrown away like arrowheads.

The Academy’s scholars had no experience to fall back on, but they could advise on the questions that must be answered. Did the range increase at a Poulscath’s behest and if so by how much and did practice improve it and could a group do better than an individual and must Gwin herself be present and so on and so on. Jaulscaths could read the enemy’s secret plans, Ogoalscaths could send a flood of misfortune to cripple him, Muolscaths could demoralize and unman his troops—but none of those influences would be much help unless they extended well beyond the usual hundred paces. If a boat-load of Ivielscaths could sit in the middle of Lake Osmir and cripple the Karpana cavalry with an epidemic of hemorrhoids, then the war was as good as won. Regrettably, such did not prove to be the case. The range increased, but not enough to let the Cursed operate out of reach of archers and cavalry. The battles must still be fought with steel.

If there was any spark of good in this awful war, it was that Gwin Tharn had no time to mourn.

Almost before she could draw breath, it seemed, the date was Muolday 35, and she was on the fateful field of Gehmain.

 

A rattle of drums at first light startled her awake, cold and cramped in her blankets. She stayed very still, knowing what would probably happen if she tried to move. No one should try to make war and babies at the same time, especially in the morning.

The carriage rocked slightly as the someone climbed on the step. Oh, no! Then the door opened and the brightness of the sky behind glinted on Niad’s golden hair.

“Gwin Saj?” she whispered breathlessly, reaching out a hand.

Gwin snatched it in one quick grab. “Bless you!” It would be all right now. As long as she could hang on to a healer for the first hour or so, the rest of the day could look after itself.

She sat up, making room for Niad to sit, paying no heed to the girl’s excited chatter. She brushed her hair one-handed, but she could hear noises outside, and she knew that the rest of her toilet would have to wait until the battle was lost or won. She slung a cloak over her shoulders. The two of them climbed down to the wet grass.

“What in the name of the fates is that?” It had been already dark when they arrived in the night.

“That’s a windmill,” said a male voice.

“Tibal! I don’t need you!”

“Yes you do. More than you would believe. Come along. You begin by inspecting your troops.”

At times his foresight could be plain infuriating. It sounded as if she had no choice. She didn’t, she supposed. She was just crabby and half asleep. Somewhere in the distance a drum was thumping a steady beat, reminding her that thousands of men were going to die here today. A cool wind blustered at her. There was a feel of rain in it, and the skies showed showery clouds. Many a battle had been decided by mud and wet bowstrings.

Niad squeezed her hand. “Look! Iviel!”

The morning star hung low in the east, already glimmering out in the surge of golden sunrise.

“Good omen!” Gwin thought briefly of Wosion’s endless portents.

All around her were tents, and people bustling about their business. She let Tibal guide her around, concentrating on being the gracious and confident leader. The Raragashians occupied the top of a low bluff. The only soldiers in sight were a few guards, elderly men mostly, all looking very relieved at the soft duty they had drawn.

There was Par a’Ciur , organizing the hospital troop. Again Gwin stressed her orders that the Ivielscaths must stay with their armed escort and not get too close to the fighting.

There was the isolated cluster of Jaulscath tents, with Ziberor in charge. A battlefield would be excruciating torment for mind readers, and few had agreed to serve. As scouts, though, they were invaluable. Zorg was probably better informed about his enemy’s plans and dispositions than any general in the history of Kuolia.

There was Wraxal, stoically leading the contingent of Muolscaths. They needed no encouragement—they were fearless, the least worried men and women at Gehmain. The sages of Raragash had no record of Muolscaths ever supporting a cause before.

There was Labranza Lamith, leading the Ogoalscaths. The entire Karpana horde would not have kept the big woman from this.

The Awailscaths’ Curse could contribute nothing to a battle, but many of the shapechangers had come along to be helpers, messengers, cooks… to do anything that would help their natural lord, the Poulscath.

Apart from Tibal, there were no Shoolscaths present. Many had enlisted in the ranks, confident that they could never die in battle, because the degeneration that overtook them in their final years would have already made them incapable of being soldiers. Yet not a few of them, Tibal had said, knew that they would be fearfully mutilated.

“That’s it,” he remarked cheerfully as the last of their Cursed trooped away to their stations. “Now you can come and watch the slaughter begin. I assume you don’t want breakfast. I know you don’t.”

Gwin clutched harder at Niad’s hand. “I certainly do not. What in the name of Poul is that?”

“That’s a flag.”

“I can see that! Whose? A white sunburst on blue? Wasn’t that Pantholion’s emblem?”

He smiled, and the first rays of the rising sun made his face glow. “It is yours now—for a while.”

He was baiting her, so she did not ask. He led the way over the dewy grass to the edge of the bluff, and she looked out for the first time at the field of battle.

“There they are,” he said somberly. “This is the best view of the foe you will ever get. The Karpana.”

Fates! She would have thought that massed darkness was a forest. But it was already moving, like a cloud or an ocean, advancing relentlessly. The size of the multitude shocked her. She had not imagined a fraction so many. She felt Niad shiver. Someone was calling her name…

“Gwin! Gwin Saj! Madam President!” A gaunt woman came running toes-in over the grass. She was elderly and wrinkled; she was distraught. Her gray hair blew loose in the wind and her eyes were wild. “You must help! You must stop him!”

“Whoa!” Gwin said, recoiling and raising her free hand. “Calm down! Stop who? And who are you?”

“I’m Ordur of course!” the woman yelled. She was so agitated and had so few teeth that her words were hard to make out. “He promised he’d stay and help me in the chow tent! Now he’s gone. Jasbur’s gone and taken a sword and he’s on his way to join the Nurzians! He’ll be killed, I just know he will!” She wrung her bony hands.

Ordur? Gwin’s mind flipped. “Oh! I hadn’t realized you’d changed. Nor that she… he had. I don’t think I can stop him, can I?” Thousands of women in Kuolia were feeling that same anxiety, but Ordur had been a friend. Still was, presumably, if Gwin had any sense of loyalty at all.

Cattily, she turned to Tibal. “If you insist on hanging around, you may as well be useful. What happens to Jasbur?”

He shrugged. “Jasbur comes back safely. I promise.” He stiffened and closed his eyes.

“Oh! Oh, thank you, Tibal! You don’t know what this means to me.” Ordur threw her arms around the Shoolscath and kissed him fervently. Then she wiped away a tear and went striding off, her hair still streaming wildly in the wind.

“Life is never dull,” Tibal muttered, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. “Garlic for breakfast?”

“How can you possibly be so cheerful?”

“Because this is a wonderful day!” He beamed at her.

“Wonderful for you, perhaps.” She looked again at the field spread out below. The Karpana were visibly closer, now distinguishable as cavalry and men on foot. Their numbers appalled her. “Not wonderful for all those boys down there. Sons, husbands, lovers, fathers, brothers. How many of them will never see another dawn?”

“Just over thirty-two thousand altogether, thirteen on our side and—”

“How can you be so cold-blooded!”

“I’m a Shoolscath. We have to be cold-blooded or we go crazy.”

She flinched. Cold-bloodedly letting Bulion go to his death, for instance.

As she looked over the coalition, her heart shrank. She could see the banners of the three kingdoms waving on a knoll that flanked the highway, dividing the gentle valley into two. The armies were lined up on that slight elevation, waiting the annihilation marching toward them.

“Tibal! Is that all?”

“Ah. Well, that’s all the Karpana can see, isn’t it? And many of those are peasants armed with staffs. They really don’t have much of a chance, but they look like—”

“There’s more? There has to be more!”

“I suppose there may be a few more.”

“Remember what happened to Ching Chilith?”

Tibal chortled gleefully. “No, but I’ll read about it. Let’s see. The Karpana divide into four columns. One tries to storm this bluff, because they assume the flag means something. But the Jaulscaths are down there in the trees, so that column breaks up in confusion—it’s hard to be brave when you know all your buddies are terrified too.

“One column storms the hillock. They run into the Nurzian archers. The other two try to flank it on either side. The Faceless are in a gully off to our right here. There are Cursed in a copse over on the far side. Behind another knoll over there is the Mokthian army and the rest of the Wesnarians are at the back—you can’t see them from here.”

Niad giggled gleefully and squeezed Gwin’s wrist.

“Zorg has outwitted them!” Gwin said, awed.

“Zorg wins a stupendous victory! In some ways, he wins too well.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“The Karpana never get caught like this again. From now on, they’re wary—especially wary of Cursed! Worse, they break south and east. Mokth and Daling are overrun, the western kingdoms relax. They assume the danger’s over, which it isn’t, not by a cursed long shot. Even the Nurzians lose their edge after this, and think they’ve been saved.” He shrugged, peering over her shoulder expectantly. “But a victory is a victory, and I suppose without it you would never be able to recover from Acher…”

He was stripping history naked, too excited to stay silent.

“Da Lam? Not Tharn Valley?”

Tibal sighed. “All of it.”

“Then I must warn the Tharns, Tibal! They are still my family! For Bulion’s sake—”

Alarm flashed in his eyes. “Later! There will be time… when it becomes obvious. If you do it sooner…”

She nodded. “Later, then.” She must trust him, or destroy him. The Valley sacked? Oh, thank the fates that Bulion had not lived to see that day!

Feeling a twitch of alarm from Niad, Gwin turned and saw a pair of Faceless running toward them, naked warriors with spears and shields. Their bodies were decorated with full war paint, white skeletons.

The leader’s shield bore a two-skull emblem. He saluted, panting. “Witch, I bring a message from the Supreme Leader.”

“I am Gwin Tharn, if that’s who you—”

“The Supreme Leader is concerned about the rain showers. He wants to move the Ogoalscaths over to the Nurzian archers, to keep them dry.”

Gwin did not even know where the Ogoalscaths were stationed at the moment. She had left all such matters to Zorg. Why should the change need her permission?

“Voice, should I approve this request?”

Yes.

Before she could speak, Tibal handed her a sheet of paper and a stick of charcoal. She turned Niad around to use her back as a desk, and hastily scribbled, “Labranza, obey this man. Gwin.”

The warrior snatched the sheet from her, barked at his companion, and took off at a run.

But the other grounded his spear and leaned on it. He was still panting, his painted rib cage heaving.

“Hello, Niad,” he said quietly.

Gwin recoiled a pace and felt Tibal put an arm around her. She pushed it away angrily.

“Polion?” Niad whispered.

The anonymous skull nodded. “And hello, Grandmother.”

“Hello, Polion.” Gwin’s stomach began to churn. He was bigger, stronger. He had all the menace of the others. He was not the cheeky carefree boy she had known so briefly, the one that Niad had loved. She felt wrenchingly ill, and not just from morning sickness. His nose had gone, of course, and his face was white and black. What he must have endured!

“You know about Grandfather, of course?” he asked offhandedly.

She nodded.

“It was very quick.”

“You were there?”

His skull face twisted. “I couldn’t have saved them.”

“No.” She shuddered. “I’m sure you couldn’t.”

“A warrior must obey orders.”

“Yes.”

“Well…” He shrugged. “Got a battle to fight.” He lifted his spear and began to turn.

Niad cried out. “Polion!”

He looked at her. “Pretty! You married again, Pretty Girl?”

“No. I’m still your wife!”

“You’re my widow. You were informed of my death.” He bared his teeth. “Who knows, today may be the day?”

“I still love you.”

He hesitated. “You couldn’t love me.” He seemed uncertain. Perhaps he wanted to believe her.

“I do love you, Polion. Can’t I still be your wife?”

“You want to be one of our women? Me and my brothers?”

Gwin tried to speak, and bile rose in her throat. She clenched her teeth.

Niad said, “Could I be… mostly yours?”

“No. We share everything. All equal. Would you want that, Niad?”

She shook her head. “No. Would you?”

The markings on his face shifted unreadably. “No. No, I don’t… don’t think I would like that.” He sounded ashamed.

“I might be able to heal your nose, Polion.”

“No! I am a Faceless and proud to be so! You think I want to go back to being a farmer? They babble about being Zarda and they don’t know what they’re talking about. Part-men! Pah!”

“I will always love you.”

“I must go.”

“I will always love you!”

“Curse of Poul!” He made a strange sucking noise through the hole in his face. “Only deathleaders can have private women. It’s going to be a long war… If I don’t die… You willing to wait for that?”

“Yes!” Niad said. “Yes! I’ll wait.”

He laughed bitterly. “Small chance. Many years.”

“I’ll wait, Polion.”

He shrugged. “I’ve got nothing to lose. If it happens… I’ll let you know. I’ll come for you.”

Niad took a step toward him. He backed away, began to turn…

“Killer Polion!” Tibal snapped.

“Shoolscath?” the warrior said cautiously.

“I don’t usually… You survive this day. You make great slaughter. You get promoted—Monster Polion.”

Polion shrieked. He leaped in the air and took off like a greyhound, waving his spear and yelling with glee.

Gwin and Niad fell into each other’s arms.

 

Gwin stood by her coach. The Karpana filled the landscape like ants, pouring forward and dividing into the four columns Tibal had predicted. Feet and hooves and drums and war cries blended into a single deep rumble like the sea. Bugles were sounding on the hillock where the coalition banners waved. In a few minutes the carnage would start. The grass of Gehmain would flourish.

Niad had gone off to the dressing stations to wait for the first wounded. Tibal had an arm around Gwin again, holding her very tight. She made to pull free and was surprised by his strength.

“Let go!”

He released her. He could not refuse her.

She watched ripples of movement on the hillock as the Nurzians prepared to resist the onrushing tide of Karpana. The first blood would flow there.

“You do forgive me, you know,” Tibal said at her ear. “I often wondered about that. My diaries are full of that question: How can she ever forgive me when I let her husband go to his death? I never foresaw what I did that day, and of course I don’t remember it now, but it is written that I did try in the end. I was too late—I know that too. I think that must be how you manage to forgive me: I did try.”

She said nothing. A bugle sounded down in the valley. The ground trembled under Karpana feet.

Tibal spoke again. “I am sure that Bulion Tharn was a fine man, although I do not remember him myself. I am sure he loved you dearly, but he did have commitments, other causes—his family, his role as patriarch. To love a Poulscath requires everything a man possesses, body and soul. I am yours, your armor, your lap dog, your shield, your shadow, your slave.  

From now till death I have no life of my own except as an extension of you, and I would not have it otherwise.”

She turned on him then. “Tibal Frainith! My husband is barely buried. Two husbands in less than a year—you think I’m desperate for a third? Are you proposing or just propositioning? What sort of woman do you think I am?”

He seemed unworried by her outburst. “A fortunate one, in that you have used up all your bad luck early in life, and the fates have little but joy left in store for you. No night lasts for ever, Gwin. Poul rises again. Iviel heals flesh but Shool heals souls. If you do not want me around, you have only to order me to leave. Or tell me to go kill myself, if my line really narks you, although that would seem a little petty.”

She caught herself almost smiling and turned away quickly in case he saw. She likely would remarry some day. She was not a solitary person, and Bullion’s son would need a father. But now was much too soon to be thinking such thoughts.

“I can wait,” Tibal said. “I have waited all my life. Do you want me to tell you the night it happens? The place? The color of the bed curtains? The wine I use to break down your resistance?”

A smoke of arrows rose from the defenders on the knoll. The van of the Karpana column disintegrated. Moments later came a strange sound, the crack of innumerable bowstrings loosed simultaneously. Then a rising surge of noise that could only be men’s voices on a vast scale.

“Why should I lie to you? You can’t trust other men, but you can trust a Shoolscath. When I say I will make you happy, I know exactly what I’m talking about. We have a long life together, Nien, and I’ll always love you. So many happy memories that I don’t know where to start… Your birthday when the Ogoalscaths make it rain blossoms, and the triumph after Hanfold, the voyage to the Crystal Isles, the children, the day Deathleader Polion comes to claim his bride…”

The first wave of Karpana had fallen back, leaving the slopes littered with dead men and horses.

“Fates, Tibal! This is not the time to talk of such things!”

“It is the perfect time. This is the end of an epoch and the dawn of another. You see all those men down there? They are the Cursed, Nien, not we! They are cursed by a war they did not seek. We are blessed and will be more greatly blessed.” He hesitated. “Do you remember the day we first met?”

“Yes.”

“Did I really make a fool of myself? I mean, a real lovesick-kid sort of fool?”

“No. Not at all. I sensed you were… odd, I suppose. Not as other men, but you didn’t seem foolish at all.” And her Voice had said, It has begun.

He sighed, as if relieved. “It’s out now. I can tell you now. I couldn’t before, obviously. You will marry me, Nien—eventually.”

“Was that why my husband had to die?”

Ropy muscles moved on his face. “No. Your husband had to die because you are a Poulscath and nothing must stand in the way of your destiny. Only you can save Kuolia.”

“I don’t believe it.” She turned back to watch the war.

The nearest column had started up the slope below her. If Tibal was wrong about the trees being full of Jaulscaths, or if the Jaulscaths panicked themselves instead of the Karpana, then all Tibal’s predictions were empty air.

He was doing all right so far, though. On the far side, the Karpana left wing was in obvious trouble. The cavalry had encountered swamp and the infantry seemed to be breaking formation. In the center, the invaders had begun a second assault on the hillock. The sound rising from the valley was the sound of surf—screams, cheers, swords, bowstrings, all blended into one gigantic, steady roar.

“Horrible! I hate it!”

“Get used to it, “ Tibal said, “because this will not be the last, nor the worst. In some ways this is almost the best.”

“Why, though? Why me?”

“Because the fates decreed. Because you are the Renewer.”

She turned to him in amazement. “What? Me? There was never a female emperor! The Zarda would never—”

“I did not say you would be empress. I said you are the Renewer. You bring about the second empire, Gwin. Haven’t you realized that yet?” He smiled comfortingly, smiled as much as any sane man could smile in the face of the tragedy unfolding below them.

“Not me? Then who? Don’t tell me I do all this to make Frenzkion Zorg emperor of Kuolia!”

“Zorg dies next year at Acher—but you aren’t involved in that one. You’re off elsewhere, doing other things.”

“Then…”

She looked away. “War! I don’t want it!”

“We can only take what the fates send, Nien.”

“Why me? I don’t even know what I’m doing here!”

“You are giving them inspiration. Not much now, but after Acher—”

“And what do I get out of this?” she yelled. “What’s my inspiration?”

“The next emperor, of course.”

He put his arm around her and hugged her tight. This time she did not resist.