In the front of the army was another line of those detestable Priests, and just behind them, a line of captives tied together by the neck, frightened fodder for their fires.
Oh, no, you won't!
With the surge in his temper, the line of fire below leapt up, rising in height and increasing in ferocity. Even the priests were forced back by the heat, and Lan had the bit in his teeth now—he'd burn the very stone of the mountains before he let them pass!
:Hold hard, beloved.: That was Kalira, a bulwark supporting him. As he exhausted the fuel available in the line of fire, he crept it forward a pace, forcing the Karsite army back again.
:There—look there'.: Without needing to be shown where to look, he glanced up on the side of the mountain below him, and saw a party of Karsites trying to establish a way around. In a flash, he sent the dragon out to chase them down again. And it looked almost as if an invisible creature was after them; fire sprang up to bar their path, then followed them down to the floor of the valley. Lan let it spread; there was plenty of dry thatch for it to feed on, and as long as it didn't threaten the Valdemar forces, he no longer cared what it did. The tranquility of the mountains was already gone, and they had trampled the beauty under their feet. There was very little he could do that would spoil the valley more than it had been.
Movement below caught his eye, and he set his chin when he realized that the priests were building their horrible bonfires, set in a line in front of the wall of fire.
Now his temper truly rose, and in a fury, he set the bonfires alight with an angry wave of his fist, then surged the fire wall forward to engulf them.
"Bastards!" he muttered through clenched teeth. "Not here—not now! Hellfires, not ever."
:Gently, Lan,: Kalira warned, but he was past being gentle with people who burned innocents to call up devils. When another party tried to find a new way along the mountain opposite, he flamed the entire mountainside and grinned to see them tumbling and falling from the trail in their haste to get away.
You won't get past me, you bastards! he crowed, giddy with intoxication. Try, and you'll fry!
And he laughed, and spread his arms, daring them to make the attempt, while little flamelets filled the air around him.
TWENTY-FOUR
POL ached from head to toe, every muscle sore from riding, walking, and riding again, but he was well aware that every other member of the army felt the same aching exhaustion. Pushed ruthlessly until they were just about to drop, allowed a brief respite (which was never long enough) to plummet into sleep, then roused and pushed again, the army was, during most of the trek, composed of folk who only differed from walking corpses by having pulses. The Karsites had to cover roughly half the distance that the Valdemarans did in order to reach the next pass northward, and although their path was rougher, both armies were contending with the same winter conditions of ice, snow, and bitter cold. Cold could be as exhausting as marching. Huddled together in piles to conserve heat, wrapped in cloaks and blankets, the fighters hadn't had a great deal of rest during their rest stops. Cavalry and Heralds had it a little better, with Companions and horses to snuggle up to, but it was still so bitterly cold it was hard to sleep.
They'd gotten a full eight candlemarks of sleep in a complete camp with tents and fires at their last pause, though it had not made them into fresh men, just less exhausted ones. Now, with four candlemarks of marching to bring them to the pass before them, their energy dared not flag. They daren't come up exhausted, when no one knew what they'd face at the end of the march. Pol knew that the Commanders had some hope that they'd be able to get more rest at the unnamed pass itself, but the Karsites had put on an unexpected burst of speed, and now the army was marching at a desperate pace to meet them. The only creature with any hope of standing between the Karsites and Valdemar was Lavan Firestorm.
The Karsites were expected to reach the pass about now—early morning. The Valdemaran army hoped to arrive before noon. That was a lot of time for something to go wrong; a lot of time for Lan to exhaust himself or be captured—
:Lan will not be captured,: Satiran said firmly. :Kalira would never allow it. He is holding the pass with surprising skill. The limiting factor is the amount of fuel for his fires.:
If Lan exhausted the fuel, could he still hold the pass?
:Kalira learned strategy from me—Lan learned it from you. We have to assume they won't do anything stupid.:
Pol wished he had Satiran's self-assurance that what he had taught wasn't flawed.
:How long?: he fretted. :How long until we're there?:
Satiran raised his head from the trail, and pointed his long nose at one mountain among many piercing the clear morning sky. :That's the peak that Lan is on; I think we will be there in two candlemarks or thereabouts. Look! See the smoke?:
Lan's fires produced very little smoke, burning as hot as they did, but through Satiran's eyes, Pol saw there was a haze of smoke around the north side of the peak.
:He's holding a barrier across the narrowest part of the pass.:
Pol nodded; that was what he would have done. Depending on how long Lan could hold that barrier, and how much he had to move it when the fuel was gone, he could keep the Karsites back for more than the couple of candlemarks it would take for the army to reach him.
Candlemarks! That was too long—too long! He had to force himself to ride easily and not strain toward that far-off goal. What wouldn't I give for a way to get us all there now!
:I can't reach Kalira.: It was Satiran's turn to fret, and Pol felt his muscles straining for a couple of strides, until he realized it would be foolhardy to try and outrun the rest of the army.
:You already knew you wouldn't be able to,: Pol reminded him. :If he's holding something that large, she'll have all she can do to keep him under control. I wish they'd put Tuck up there with him, though.:
Satiran's sides heaved beneath his legs as his Companion groaned. :But when the Karsites start breaking through—and they will—Tuck is more use down with the scouts.:
Every horseman in the cavalry had a bowman up behind him, and these troops, with the Heralds (also carrying double, with the exception of Pol), were the vanguard of the army. They were already making the best pace they could. Horses would break down under the pace a Companion could set.
"Pol. I want you to relay an order to the Heralds," the Lord Marshal said, cutting across his thoughts and fretting.
Pol turned his bandaged eyes obediently towards the Lord Marshal riding on his right. "Sir?"
"Send the Heralds and their archers on ahead. I know that the Companions can make better time than this—and it may be that a few men in place early can do more than many men arriving too late." The Lord Marshal paused, and then continued, "You may go yourself, if you wish."