When Captain Samuval stumbled, Galdar reached out a steadying arm. When Galdar slipped in a pool of blood, Captain Samuval supported him. The two arrived at the edge of the battlefield. Captain Samuval peered through the smoke that hung over the valley. The sun had disappeared behind the mountains.
Its afterglow filled the sky with a smear of pale red.
“There,” said the captain, and he pointed.
The wind had lifted with the setting of the sun, blowing the smoke to rags that swirled and eddied like silken scarves. These were suddenly whisked away to reveal a horse the color of blood and a figure kneeling on the field of battle only a few feet away from him.
“Mina!” Galdar breathed. Relief weakened all the muscles in his body. A burning stung his eyes, a burning he attributed to the smoke, for minotaurs never wept, could not weep. He wiped his eyes. “What is she doing?” he asked after a moment.
“Praying,” said Captain Samuval. “She is praying.”
Mina knelt beside the body of a soldier. The arrow that had killed him had gone clean through his breast, pinned him to the ground. Mina lifted the hand of the dead man, placed the hand to her breast, bent her head. If she spoke, Galdar could not hear what she said, but he knew Samuval was right. She was praying to this god of hers, this one, true god. This god who had foreseen the trap, this god who had led her here to turn defeat into glorious victory. .
Her prayers finished, Mina laid the man’s hand atop the terrible wound. Bending over him, she pressed her lips to the cold forehead, kissed it, then rose to her feet.
She had barely strength to walk. She was covered with blood, some of it her own. She halted, her head drooped, her body sagged. Then she lifted her head to the heavens, where she seemed to find strength, for she straightened her shoulders and with strong step walked on.
“Ever since the battle was assured, she has been going from corpse to corpse,” said Captain Samuval. “In particular, she finds those who fell by our own arrows. She stops and kneels in the blood-soaked mud and offers prayer. I have never seen the like.”
“It is right that she honors them,” Galdar said harshly. “Those men bought us victory with their blood.”
“She bought us victory with their blood,” Captain Samuval returned with a quirk of the only eyebrow visible through the bandage.
A sound rose behind Galdar. He was reminded of the Gamashinoch, the Song of Death. This song came from living throats, however; starting low and quiet, sung by only a few.
More voices caught it up and began to carry it forward, as they had caught up their dropped swords and run forward into battle.
“Mina ...Mina...”
The song swelled. Begun as a soft, reverent chant, it was now a triumphal march, a celebratory paean accompanied by a timpani of sword clashing against shield, of stomping feet and clapping hands.
“Mina! Mina! Mina!”
Galdar turned to see the remnants of the army gathering at the edge of the battlefield. The wounded who could not walk under their own power were being supported by those who could. Bloody, ragged, the soldiers chanted her name.
Galdar lifted his voice in a thunderous shout and raised Mina’s standard. The chanting became a cheer that rolled among the mountains like thunder and shook the ground mounded high with the bodies of the dead.
Mina had started to kneel down again. The song arrested her.
She paused, turned slowly to face the cheering throng. Her face was pale as bone. Her amber eyes were ringed with ash-like smudges of fatigue. Her lips were parched and cracked, stained with the kisses of the dead. She gazed upon the hundreds of living who were shouting, singing, chanting her name.
Mina raised her hands.
The voices ceased in an instant. Even the groans and screams of the wounded hushed. The only sound was her name echoing from the mountainside, and eventually that died away as silence settled over the valley.
Mina mounted her horse, so that all the multitude who had gathered at the edge of the field of the battle, now being called “Mina’s Glory,” could better see and hear her.
“You do wrong to honor me!” she told them. “I am only the vessel. The honor and the glory of this day belong to the god who guides me along the path I walk.”
“Mina’s path is a path for us all!” shouted someone.
The cheering began again.
“Listen to me!” Mina shouted, her voice ringing with authority and power. “The old gods are gone! They abandoned you. They will never return! One god has come in their place. One god to rule the world. One god only. To that one god, we owe our allegiance!”
“What is the name of this god?” one cried.
“I may not pronounce it,” Mina replied. “The name is too holy, too powerful.”
“Mina!” said one. “Mina, Mina!”
The crowd picked up the chant and, once started, they would not be stopped.
Mina looked exasperated for a moment, even angry. Lifting her hand, she clasped her fingers over the medallion she wore round her neck. Her face softened, cleared.
“Go forth! Speak my name,” she cried. “But know that you speak it in the name of my god.”
The cheers were deafening, jarred rocks from the mountain sides.
His own pain forgotten, Galdar shouted lustily. He looked down to see his companion grimly silent, his gaze turned elsewhere.
“What?” Galdar bellowed over the tumult. “What’s wrong?”
“Look there,” said Captain Samuval. “At the command tent.”
Not everyone in camp was cheering. A group of Knights of Neraka were gathered around their leader, a Lord of the Skull.
They looked on with black gazes and scowls, arms crossed over their chests.
“Who is that?” Galdar asked.
“Lord Milles,” Samuval replied. “The one who ordered this disaster. As you see, he came well out of the fray. Not a speck of blood on his fine, shiny armor.”
Lord Milles was attempting to gain the soldiers’ attention. He waved his arms, shouted out words no one could hear. No one paid him any heed. Eventually he gave it up as a bad job.
Galdar grinned. “I wonder how this Milles likes seeing his command pissing away down the privy hole.”
“Not well, I should imagine,” said Samuval.
“He and the other Knights consider themselves well rid of the gods,” Galdar said. “They ceased to speak of Takhisis’s return long ago. Two years past, Lord of the Night Targonne changed the official name to Knights of Neraka. In times past, when a Knight was granted the Vision, he was given to know his place in the goddess’s grand plan. After Takhisis fled the world, the leadership tried for some time to maintain the Vision through various mystical means. Knights still undergo the Vision, but now they can only be certain of what Targonne and his ilk plant in their minds.”
“One reason I left,” said Samuval. “Targonne and officers like this Milles enjoy being the ones in charge for a change, and they will not be pleased to hear that they are in danger of being knocked off the top of the mountain. You may be certain Milles will send news of this upstart to headquarters.”
Mina climbed down from her horse. Leading Foxfire by the reins, she left the field of battle, walked into the camp. The men cheered and shouted until she reached them, and then, as she came near, moved by something they did not understand, they ceased their clamor and dropped to their knees. Some reached out their hands to touch her as she passed, others cried for her to look upon them and grant them her blessing.
Lord Milles watched this triumphant procession, his face twisted in disgust. Turning on his heel, he reentered his command tent.