Andanii thrust out her chin and cut a hand through the air. ‘We must press our advantage!’
The Warleader nodded. ‘Indeed.’
Jatal swung his stunned gaze between the two. ‘What? Are you fools? Press onward? No — we must return home. Warn all the clans. Prepare our defences.’
Andanii turned upon him, grasping his shoulder. ‘Do you not see, Jatal? We have the advantage! We must strike again — and quickly.’
The Warleader nodded his agreement. ‘Exactly, my prince. Like it or not, war has been declared. For the moment initiative and momentum are ours. We must not let them slip from our fingers.’
Jatal felt cornered and outflanked. As if he faced an opponent who’d anticipated all his options and had systematically eliminated them. Yet — what could they hope to achieve? The path the Warleader appeared to be offering was merely the same old beaten road so depressingly familiar from all the histories. Escalation answering escalation until the only remaining option is annihilation. It was so pathetic and short-sighted. Couldn’t these two see the repeated insanity of it?
‘And what do you suggest?’ he asked, openly scornful.
‘Anditi Pura. If we can crush them there then we will break their grip on the country.’
‘Their capital? At the centre of their lands? A few thousand riders against all the might of their nation?’ Jatal shook his head. ‘You counsel suicide.’
‘Not at all,’ Andanii interjected, affronted, as if he’d insulted her. ‘It will take them time to muster their forces. If we do not delay we will have a chance.’
The Warleader raised a hand to silence her. ‘And — if I may — these Agon priests have questioned captives and what they have discovered may change your mind, my prince.’
‘If they are not lying.’
For an instant anger sparked in the man’s dead reptilian eyes, only to be quickly hidden. He spoke through clenched teeth. ‘Of course all intelligence must be verified. However, if it is confirmed then it is good news for us. Apparently the Thaumaturgs are already at war and this is the reason why they are so thin upon the ground. They have already marched east against Ardata.’
‘The gods are with us!’ Andanii enthused. Her eyes glowed with an ambition that Jatal now knew to be a perhaps insatiable hunger with her. ‘All the more reason not to delay.’
‘Indeed … Princess.’
‘What of the council?’ Jatal asked.
‘The two of you can continue to herd them along, I am sure.’ And the Warleader allowed them his abbreviated bow. ‘If you will permit — I will see to securing the compound.’
Andanii waved him off. ‘Of course. Begin planning contingencies for a march on the capital. We will gather the council.’
‘Very good.’ And the foreigner swept out. The ragged length of his mail coat scraped along the stone flagging as he went and his ropy iron-grey hair brushed his armoured shoulders. A gnarled age-spotted hand rested on the pommel of his bastard sword.
Andanii waited until the man was gone then turned to Jatal, who raised a hand to forestall her. ‘I know what you will say and I say it is madness. We could not succeed.’
‘And why not?’ She waved contemptuously to the maze of flat roofs beyond the compound walls. ‘You have seen them. These sheep care not who holds the rod. Us or the Thaumaturgs. It is all the same to them.’
‘And what of the Agons and their outrages? Already word is spreading, no doubt.’
She shrugged her indifference. ‘We make little of it. A feud between priesthoods, nothing more.’
‘You do not think we will be next once they have finished with the magi?’
Andanii closed the distance between them. Her dark eyes peered up into his, avid and consuming. ‘No, I do not believe we will be. They are fanatics. Once they have hunted down the Thaumaturgs they will retreat once more to their hermit caves, their boneyards, their desert dunes. They care nothing for rulership.’ Her gaze searched his, narrowing. ‘What then troubles you?’
What could he answer? Mere wisps of hints and impressions. An eerie familiarity about this Warleader. That odd worshipful glance from the Agon priest to the man. And just now his casual warning that he was aware of the alliance between the two of them.
And how did he get to the compound before us?
And — oh, my dear — what happened to my two men down in the tunnels?
He mutely shook his head, half turning away. ‘I … I cannot say for certain. Fear, I suppose. Fear for our chances.’
She grasped hold of his arm. Her hands were hot, even through his armour. ‘I understand. Nothing is certain. But if we stand together I know of nothing that can oppose us.’
Yes. If we stand together.
He offered her a smile and though he knew it to be a poor effort, she raised herself to press her lips to his. She whispered huskily. ‘Tonight, my prince. While the Adwami celebrate their victory, look for your humble serving girl — come to offer whatever your heart may desire.’
And though he hated himself for it he felt his own hunger rising and he answered the kiss. Am I the fool? I may be. Yet even this does not stop me. He realized that nothing would stop him. The possession of her body meant that much to him. Ancestors forgive me. I risk everything for the perfume that is her sweat. The honey that is her wetness. The music that is her pleasure.
I am damned.
CHAPTER VII
At nightfall we arrived close to an inhabited place. We heard the dull blows of axes resounding from the depths of the jungle. It was a new village under construction. Suddenly, piercing cries rang in our ears and in front of me, barely a few rods away, a monstrous half-man, half-animal appeared leaping on all fours. It was dragging a child off. Crying out, my porters and I gave chase, shouting, in pursuit of the ferocious beast. A few moments later we found the child, which the monster had dropped in its flight. Taking it into my arms, I was astounded to see that it bore not one scratch from its ordeal.
It annoyed Murk no end that Sour kept walking directly ahead of him. The man had the infuriating habit of pushing his way through the jungle fronds only to let them whip back to slap him in the face. For the twentieth time that day he had to restrain himself from throttling the squat bow-legged mage. Now he almost ran into him as Sour stopped abruptly, bringing the entire following column to an unexpected halt.
Sour thrust his hands in their tattered leather gauntlets up at Murk who couldn’t help flinching away — mostly from the ripe pong that surrounded his grimed and sweaty companion. He was aware that he himself certainly didn’t smell of cloves after the days of slogging through the dense jungle and sleeping in the warm rain, but some people just had a nasty stink to them. Maybe it was the man’s diet. They were pretty much out of food and Murk had no idea what his partner was eating these days.
‘Lookit this,’ Sour announced, and, taking off a gauntlet, he pinched at his left thumb, pulling, and the entire outer layer of white skin slid off the digit. Like a snake shedding. The Shadow mage waved the empty sac of flesh. ‘It’s like a pouch, or somethin’.’
Murk slapped the man’s hands aside. ‘Did you have to show me that? That’s disgusting. Why in the Abyss would I want to see that?’
Offended, Sour blinked his bulging mismatched eyes and turned away. ‘Think that’s disgusting … you should see my feet.’