Voice of the Gods

will cut off their supplies. Let them starve a little before we break them.”

He smiled again, his gaze shifting to some distant place for a moment. Reivan shivered and looked away. When she turned back she found him watching her. Suddenly she felt foolish. He was only anticipating victory. It was just disturbing to see a hint of bloodlust in the eyes of a man she had taken to bed. It ought to make him more exciting. Powerful. Dangerous.

But it didn’t.

He turned away, an entirely different expression on his face. She felt her insides turn cold.

Unless she had imagined it... and she knew she hadn’t... it had been an expression of unconcealed contempt.

39

The Dunwayan army was an impressive sight.

Warriors marched ten abreast along the road. At the head of each clan walked a man bare of all clothing but a short leather skirt and carrying a brightly painted spear. Members of the tribe took turns at the position, each stripping to reveal the tattoo patterns of their clan. They shared the role not to avoid enduring long hours of bad weather, if it came, but because all members of a clan would fight for the honor otherwise.

Every other man in the army carried half or more of his body weight in weapons. Even the sorcerers carried them; having more than average Gifts did not excuse any warrior from proper war training. Two-wheeled war platten pulled by reyna bred and trained for battle followed behind the troops; warriors would not suffer the indignity of tramping through reyner manure - except that left by the beasts pulling the platten of their leader. Behind the cavalry were arem-drawn four-wheeled supply tarns and the clans’ servants.

Danjin had a fine view of the column of fierceness. The platten he rode in had no cover. Ella and I-Portak sat facing the front, while Danjin and Dunwayan advisers rode facing the White and the Dunwayan leader.

They did not have to look behind to know the army followed; the rhythmic pounding of boots was a constant background to their conversations. If Danjin looked past Ella and I-Portak he found himself easily hypnotized by the near-flawless rise and fall of heads and shoulders beyond.

Watching the army make camp was even more fascinating. Everyone knew their task and worked without need for consultation or orders. All was done with practiced ease, a credit to their training. If any Dunwayans were anxious about the coming confrontation they didn’t show it.

I wonder what happens to the failures. The boys who don’t grow up strong. The men who suffer injuries, illness or melancholy. Are they hidden away, or cast out of the tribe to become servants?

He thought back to the day the army had left Chon. Women had lined the streets and thrown a tart-smelling herb onto the road for the warriors to march over. Some had looked stricken, others relieved.

I hope my letters make it home. He suppressed a sigh. I wish I could have seen Silava and the girls. And even my father, though I’m sure he’ll outlive me even if I survive this war.

He had dreamed of his family every night since hearing of the villagers’ fate. It had been bad enough witnessing the executions of the Pentadrians, though it was the reaction of the villagers that he would find hardest to forget. Some had cheered, some had cried, but most had huddled together silently, their faces white with fear. They’d had reason to fear. Dunwayan justice was harsh. Later, in Chon, those villagers who had been the most welcoming to the Pentadrians had been executed. Those who had simply not protested were sent to work in the mines. But to Danjin’s relief, I-Portak had been more lenient on those Ella had listed as being powerless to object to the Pentadrian presence. They, the old and the children, had been sent back to their village. Danjin imagined the village was now a sad place, populated by so few people.

In his dreams of his own family, he had ridiculous conversations with his wife and daughters. Occasionally they were unaware that he was there, no matter how much he tried to get their attention. Thinking of those dreams now, he felt a familiar mix of fear and resignation. And sadness. If he didn’t return...

Don’t think it, he told himself. If you think it, you’ll make it happen.

But at some point between leaving Chon and now, the thought that he would not survive this war had taken hold of him and he’d been unable to shake it. Where is all the confidence I had during the previous war? He grimaced. It was not confidence, but ignorance.

Or maybe Auraya had given him hope. To see her fly... it had been hard to imagine anything defeating her.

He shivered. Last night, in a dream, she had told him the Voices had imprisoned her in Glymma. There had been no vision of her, just her voice, but the dream had seemed so real he had been certain that she had truly spoken to him. The next day he had told Ella of the dream and asked if she thought Auraya might have been communicating with him. Ella had said it was possible, but she hadn’t heard such news from the White or the gods.

After the dream Danjin lay awake thinking about Auraya. He worried what might happen if she was a prisoner. If the Voices were powerful enough to hold her captive they were powerful enough to harm her - even kill her.

But if they were, why hadn’t they?

Now he worried that Auraya was, as Ella had warned, trying to trick him. He considered reasons why she might want him to believe she was a prisoner. To make me, and the White, believe she’s still on our side when she isn’t. Why would she do that? He sighed. To trick us into a confrontation that we can’t win.

Sometimes he was sure it had been a dream, and he had nothing to worry about.

:If it wasn’t a dream, Auraya is a prisoner, Ella’s voice said in his mind. If it was, we still have much to worry about. We haven’t heard from Auraya in weeks.

Startled by the voice in his head, Danjin looked up at Ella.

:Careful, she added. One of the advantages of mental conversations is that others aren’t aware of them. It kind of spoils things if you jump like that every time I speak to you.

He looked away.

:Do you have any idea where she is? he asked.

:No. And no, the gods do not either.

:What will happen if she has changed sides?

:The gods are confident that they can prevent her fighting us.

:Prevent her... they didn’t arrange for her to be imprisoned, did they?

Her amusement was like a tinkle of glass.

:Maybe. It would be quite a feat, wouldn’t it? Convince the enemy, without alerting their gods, to imprison someone who was willing to join them.

She was right. It was a silly idea.

:If she is a captive, then she hasn’t turned on us.

:Not necessarily. She may have turned on the gods in her heart, but still was not willing to join the Pentadrians. And she may not be a prisoner at all.

:She might not even be in Southern Ithania, he added, mostly to himself. She could be anywhere.

:Then why doesn’t she contact us, or the gods? she asked.

He couldn’t answer that. Glancing at Ella, he saw her lips twitch into a sympathetic smile. Then her expression suddenly grew serious. She stared into the distance and her face relaxed.

“Juran informs me he has passed the last town before the pass. We should meet them within the week.”