'Horses!' he shouted. 'Is there anywhere around here we can get horses?'
'No,' Chaturi said. 'These are poor people. Only the rich have horses.'
'Just like back home,' Bradan said. 'We'll have to keep moving then. Come on, Mel. We have a choice. We can head directly for Sathuragiri, which may be quicker but which the Thiruzhas will expect, or we can head north and then west. It will take us longer, but could throw the Thiruzhas off the scent.'
'They are busy ravaging that fishing village,' Chaturi said. 'We'll make as much distance now as we can.'
'Follow the map.' Machaendranathar's voice sounded again. 'Follow your instincts.'
Again, the route was clear. Bradan allowed his feet to take their own course, slipping from one track to another as he came to crossroads and junctions. He was hardly aware of the people around him, except that Melcorka was dragging; she could not go much further. The old Melcorka could have run forever, but this one was thin and weak.
Keep going, Bradan told himself. Keep going. He walked in a daze of exhaustion, carrying Melcorka on his back and limping along forest tracks as the wound in his leg throbbed and opened. Ignoring the insects that feasted on his blood, Bradan concentrated on carrying Melcorka. The world shrank to tiredness, sweat and pain as the wound in his thigh drained his strength.
Walk, keep walking. Move. Ignore the pain. Ignore the rasp of tortured breathing. Ignore the blood flowing down my thigh. Walk. Carry Melcorka. Ignore the screaming agony of my back and arms. Keep walking. Just one more step. And another. And another. Walk. Don't give up. How long, oh, God, how much longer?
'There's Sathuragiri!' Chaturi pointed ahead. The square-sided mountain thrust skyward, ringed by a halo of white cloud. 'We're nearly there.'
Bradan nodded, too spent to waste breath on speech. He looked behind him, where the Thiruzha warriors were spread out in two lines, the sturdy, brown-skinned men jogging tirelessly over the undulations.
'Come on,' Chaturi said. 'Hurry up.'
'We are hurrying,' Machaendranathar said.
Bradan had no idea how old the Siddhars were. One minute they appeared as vital and healthy as teenagers and the next, they had the wisdom of centuries in their eyes. Either way, they kept moving, sometimes labouring, other times trotting. The sight of Sathuragiri invigorated them, increasing their speed.
'The Thiruzhas have also seen the mountain,' Kosala said. 'They're breaking into a canter.'
'One last effort,' Chaturi said. 'Come on, gentlemen. One last effort to reach Sathuragiri and then we can start to set things right.'
Machaendranathar was suddenly exhausted, drawing in each breach with a painful gasp and staggering on his legs. He nodded and continued, with Chaturi supporting him as best she could.
'How far to go?' Banduka asked. 'How far?'
'Only one mile,' Chaturi said. 'Only one more mile and we're there.'
'I can't make another mile,' Machaendranathar gasped. 'I have to stop.'
'We can't stop,' Chaturi encouraged. 'If we stop, the consequences are unthinkable.'
'If we don't stop, you'll be carrying a dead Siddhar to Sathuragiri, and that won't help anybody.' Machaendranathar halted, whooping in great breaths.
'Is there anywhere nearby where we can stand and fight?' Bradan fought the agony of his weary body. 'Is there a natural fortification of some sort?' He looked ahead, where Sathuragiri seemed a distant dream, a mountain of unattainable promise. Behind them, the Thiruzha warriors had closed the distance to a quarter of a mile. They were moving fast; Bradan estimated they would catch up within five minutes.
'There!' Kosala pointed to a river that lay between them and Sathuragiri. 'We have to cross a ford here. There's deep water on one side and rapids on the other, so the Thiruzha cannot outflank us. It's not great, but it's better than nothing.' He glanced at Bradan. What's in your mind, Bradan?'
'I will stand and fight them off. Chaturi takes the Siddhars to the mountain.'
'You'll die,' Kosala said.
'We all have to die.' Bradan gestured to Melcorka. 'Could you look after Mel for me? If Chaturi is correct, she'll be herself again when all nine Siddhars are together.'
'I'd rather stay and fight,' Kosala said. 'You can't face them all yourself.'
Chaturi and Banduka pushed the two Siddhars through the ford, with the water splashing on either side. Upstream, sad trees dipped in dark water and a white bird hunted for fish beneath a precipitous cliff. Downstream, the river descended in a series of roaring rapids, with white water foaming over ragged rocks. 'Come on, you three.'
'I'm staying.' Bradan took Banduka's sword. He tested it, swinging right and left. It was small and light compared to the longswords of Alba, but well-balanced. 'You get the Siddhars to safety. Take Kosala and Mel with you.'
Chaturi nodded, immediately understanding. 'May Shiva go with you, Bradan.' She turned and pushed on, with the two Siddhars limping in front of her. Birds called in the air, their sounds harsh.
'So here we are.' Bradan took a deep breath and stepped to the middle of the ford. The water came up to his thighs, slowing his movement but cleaning and soothing his wound. Upstream, the white bird continued to fish, standing on a water-smoothed boulder. So here I die, Bradan the Wanderer, acting as a warrior to save Melcorka. He gave a sour grin. I wish I could die back in Alba. I don't want to leave my ghost here, thousands of miles from home. Finding a rock at the side of the ford, Bradan sat down, with the sun warming his head and the water cooling his legs.
Thiruzha voices sounded, loud and querulous. A handful of warriors arrived above the ford. One tested the depth with his spear, found no bottom and hunted up and down the bank for a crossing place. Another swam noisily to the other side, realised there was
