aids for use in healing battle wounds. But they will be placed in the food tonight. Pray that they will suffice.' Without further question, he turned away to give his instructions to the Hirebrands and Gravelingases.
Soon these men were moving throughout the camp, placing either hurtloam or
When Mhoram returned to Warmark Troy after the meal, he was almost smiling himself.
Then Troy began to give First Haft Amorine her instructions for the battle of Doom's Retreat. After they had discussed food and the final stages of the march, they talked about the Retreat itself. In spite of his assurances, she viewed that place with dread. In all the wars of the Land, that was the place to which armies fled when all their hopes had been destroyed. Grim old legends spoke of the ravens which nested high in the sides of the narrow defile, above the piled scree and boulders of the edges-cawing for the flesh of the defeated.
But Troy had never doubted this part of his plan.
Doom's Retreat was an ideal place for a small army to fight a large one. The enemy could be lured into the canyon and beaten in segments. 'That's the beauty of it,“ Troy said confidently. ”This is one time when we're going to turn Foul's tables on him we're going to take a curse, and make it into a blessing. Once Quaan arrives, we'll have the upper hand. Foul may not even know we're there until it's too late for him.
But even if he does, he'll still have to fight us. He can't afford to turn his back on us. All you have to do,“ he added, ”is keep up the pace for five more days.'
Amorine's blunt scowl reminded him just how impossible those five days might be. But in the morning, he felt that he had been justified. Thanks to the roborant of the
He faced the Warward with his back to the sunrise, and when he could discern their faces through his mist, he began. “My friends,” he shouted, “hear me! I'm going to go to Kevin's Watch to find out what Foul is doing, so this will probably be my last chance to talk to you before the fighting starts. And I want to give you fair warning. We've been taking it pretty easy for the past twenty-two days. But now the soft part is over. We're going to have to start earning our pay.”
He risked this bleak joke apprehensively. If the warriors understood him, they might relax a bit, shed some of their pain and care, draw closer to each other. But if they heard derogation in his words, if they were affronted by his grim humour-then they were lost to him.
He felt an immense relief and gratitude when he saw that many of the warriors smiled. A few even laughed aloud. Their response made him feel suddenly and beautifully in harmony with them-in tune with his army, the instrument of his will. At once, he was confident again of his command.
Briskly, he went on, 'As you know, we're only five days from Doom's Retreat. We have almost exactly forty- eight leagues left to go. After what you've already done, you should be able to do this in your sleep. But still there are a few things I want to say about it.
'First, you should know that you've already accomplished more than any other army in the history of the Land. No other Warward has ever marched this far this fast. So every one of you is already a hero. I'm not bragging-facts are facts. You are already the best.
'But heroes or not, our job isn't done until we've won. That's why we're going to Doom's Retreat. It's a perfect place for a trap-once we get there, we can handle an army five times our size. And just getting there-just pulling Foul's army south like this-we've already saved scores of Stonedowns and Woodhelvens in the Centre Plains. For most of you, that means we've saved your homes.'
He paused, hoping to let his own confidence reach into the hearts of the warriors. Then he said, 'But we have got to get to the Retreat in time. That is where Hiltmark Quaan expects to find us. He and his Eoward are fighting like hell to give us these five more days. If we don't reach the Retreat before they do; they will all die.
'It's going to be close. But I can tell you for a fact that the Hiltmark has already bought three of those five days for us. You all saw that storm six days ago. You know what it was-an attack on the Hiltmark's Eoward. That means that six days ago he was still holding Foul's army in the Mithil valley. And you know Hiltmark Quaan. You know he won't let a mere two days get between us and victory.
“It is going to be close. We're not going to get much rest. But once we're in the Retreat, I'm not afraid of the outcome.”
At this, the Hafts raised a cheer to answer Troy's bravado, and he stood silently in the ovation with his head bowed, accepting it only because the courage in the shout, the courage of his army, overwhelmed him. When the cheering subsided, and the Warward became silent again, he said thickly into the stillness, “My friends, I'm proud of you all.”
Then he turned and almost ran from the hill.
Lord Mhoram followed him as he sprang onto Mehryl's back. Accompanied by Ruel, Terrel, and eight other Bloodguard, the two men galloped away from the Warward. Troy set a hard pace until his army was out of sight in the hills behind him. Then he eased Mehryl back to a gait which would cover the distance to Mithil Stonedown and the base of Kevin's Watch in three days. With Mhoram at his side, he cantered eastward over the rumpled Plains.
After a time, the Lord said quietly, “Warmark Troy, you have moved them.”
“You've got it backward,” replied Troy in a voice gruff with emotion. “They did it to me.”
“No, my friend. They have become very loyal to you.”
“They're loyal people. They-all right, yes, I know what you mean. They're loyal to me. If I ever let them down-if I even make any normal human mistakes they're going to feel betrayed. I know. I've focused too much of their courage and hope on myself, on my plans. But if it gets them to Doom's Retreat in time, the risk'll be worth it.”
Lord Mhoram assented with a nod. After a pause, he said, “But you have done your part. My friend, I must tell you this. When I first understood your intention to march toward Doom's Retreat at such a pace, I felt the task to be impossible.”
“Then why did you let me do it?” flared Troy. “Why wait until now to say anything?”
“Ah, Warmark,” returned the Lord, “everything that passes unattempted is impossible.”
At this, Troy turned on Mhoram. But when he met the Lord's probing gaze, he realized that Mhoram would not have raised such a question gratuitously. Forcing himself to relax, he said, “You don't actually expect me to be satisfied with an answer like that.”
“No,” the Lord replied simply. “I speak only to express my appreciation for what you have done. I trust you. I will follow your lead in this war into any peril.”
Abruptly, a rush of gratitude filled Troy's throat, and he had to clench his teeth to keep from grinning foolishly. To meet Mhoram's trust, he whispered, “I won't let you down.”
But later, when his emotion had receded, he was disconcerted to remember how many such promises he had made. They seemed to expand with every new development in the march. His speech to the Warward was only one in a series of assertions. Now he felt that he had given his personal guarantee of success to practically the entire Land. He had manoeuvred himself into a corner-a place where defeat and betrayal became the same thing.
The simple thought of failure made his pulse labour vertiginously in his head.
If this was the kind of thinking that inspired Covenant's Unbelief, then Troy could see that it made a certain kind of sense. But he had a savage name for it; he called it cowardice. He forced the thought down, and turned his attention to the South Plains.
Away from the mountains, the terrain levelled somewhat, and opened into broad stretches of sharp, hardy grass mottled with swaths of grey bracken and heather turning purple in the autumn. It was not a generous land- Troy had been told that there were only five Stonedowns in all the South Plains-but its unprofligate health was vital and strong, like the squat, muscular people who lived with it. Something in its austerity appealed to him, as if the ground itself were appropriate for war. He rode it steadily, keeping a brisk pace while conserving Mehryl's strength
