Dacu shrugged slightly. ‘Very difficult,’ he said. ‘The seeing stones in Narsindalvak are extremely powerful. That means night travel. And the mountains beyond the eyes of the tower are effectively impassable at the best of times.’
‘It could be done though?’ Athyr pressed.
Dacu nodded. ‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘It could be done, but not quickly. And it would be dangerous. And I doubt it would serve any useful purpose. The natives are Mandrocs, and it’s simply not possible to pose as one of those. And we know far too little about the Mathidrin to risk infiltrating them except at the lowest levels. The best we’re going to be able to do is establish look-out posts and report what we see. And even that’s going to be difficult.’
Athyr let the matter rest. He had trained enough with Dacu over the past weeks to respect his judgement.
Then Dacu cut across all the debate about the prob-lems of maintaining a standing army. ‘We can’t just sit around and wait for an attack,’ he said simply. ‘It’ll destroy us as effectively as any army He could send against us.’
Hawklan looked around at his friends as the debate wilted.
Yrain looked tentatively at Gulda, then raised her hand to speak.
‘If we can’t risk waiting, then that leaves us no alter-native but to take the initiative ourselves,’ she said.
The elder who had opened the discussion looked up and stared at Hawklan, his expression saying clearly that this was what he had feared.
Such is the power of Sumeral’s teaching, Hawklan thought, though it occurred to him, not for the first time, that humanity provided singularly apt pupils.
He dismissed the thought; it was neither helpful nor relevant.
‘Are you suggesting that we should attack Him?’ he asked, his voice neutral.
Yrain hesitated. ‘From what’s been discussed so far, I don’t see that we’ve any alternative,’ she said. ‘It seems that negotiation isn’t worth serious consideration. And in any event, as Memsa said, we need to be able to stop Him by force even if we’d rather talk.’ She leaned forward, her voice intense. ‘We know definitely that the longer the delay, the greater will be our problems. We accept that this might be the case too with the enemy, but we know nothing of their society, nothing at all, except that it’s produced a large number of disciplined and, by all accounts, brutal, troops. Then there are the Mathidrin. We don’t know how hardened they really are, but seemingly they faced the High Guards outside Vakloss calmly enough, and retreated only when their leader retreated; and then in good order. Then there are the Mandrocs. We know they travelled in stealth across Fyorlund and into Orthlund to destroy Jal’s patrol, and we know they slaughtered your Lord… ’ She paused to recall the name. ‘… Evison’s entire company of High Guards; no small feat of arms I’d imagine. We also know, from Andawyr, that armed bands of them led by Mathidrin are wandering Narsindal where once only their tribal hunting parties roamed. I’d say that all this betokens a harsh military society and as such, one that will benefit from delay by building up its strength.’
Hawklan looked at Andawyr.
The old man looked pensive. ‘The Mandrocs are tribal and territorial, with a warrior culture, I suppose you’d call it,’ he said. ‘A tribal leader selects himself by the simple expedient of killing anyone who opposes him and their system of justice consists of retribution-usually violent. I’ve seen the results of one of their tribal "settlements". It was horrific-an entire community destroyed-males, females, young, animals even, all slaughtered, and the village razed utterly. But while their fighting’s fierce, it’s primitive and wild, and they’ve no concept of strategy and tactics. It’s just a matter of charge in and kill the enemy until there’s no one left or until you’re dead or incapacitated. I’m afraid that Yrain’s right. We can only conjecture about how it’s been done, but it looks as though their natural savagery has been harnessed-channelled-in some way. It’s not a happy prospect.’
‘It’s a chilling prospect,’ Arinndier said. ‘The Annals of the Watch from only a few generations back are full of tales of seemingly arbitrary attacks on patrols along the lines you describe. Primitive weapons, primitive tactics, but terrifying ferocity. But the armour that came back from Evison’s was anything but primitive, and from what Jaldaric can remember of their attack on his patrol their behaviour was anything but undisciplined. Sometime, somehow, a powerful will has stamped its mark on the Mandrocs and, on balance, I have to agree that delay may only enable the enemy to increase His strength.’
Gulda intervened. ‘If we march into Narsindal then we are the aggressors. But setting that small point of morality aside, we’ll be the ones with the lines of supply extended through hostile territory, and we’ll be the ones battering ourselves against an enemy who only has to hold its ground until we’re sufficiently worn down for it to ride out and mop up the remains.’ Her tone was caustic.
Yrain answered her immediately, her face flushed slightly. ‘By His conduct, Sumeral’s given notice of His intention to attack both Fyorlund and Riddin without any provocation from either of them. There’s no immorality in ambushing an ambusher.’
There were some murmurs of approval from her listeners. Gulda raised a menacing eyebrow.
Yrain faltered for a moment, then she clenched her fist and ploughed on. ‘And another thing. The Morlider touch many lands in their journeying. If Creost controls them, who knows how many other countries have been swayed to His cause? For all we know, we could already be encircled. Mandrocs to the north, the Morlider to the east, and who knows what to the south and perhaps even the west?’
A buzz of alarm rose up from the listening group. A faint flicker of a smile passed over Gulda’s face and she sat back in her seat without commenting.
Dacu caught Hawklan’s eye.
‘Perhaps we should consider ourselves from the enemy’s point of view,’ he said. ‘If He wants a delay, for whatever reason-building up His army or acquiring allies-then He’ll wait. If then we wait, we lose, while if we attack, we catch Him perhaps less prepared than He’d choose. If, however, He doesn’t want a delay, then it’s in His interest to lure us to Him so that He can fight a defensive war as Memsa’s outlined. He’s not strong enough yet to invade us, or He’d have done it. So if we attack, then unfortunately, we do His bidding, but if we don’t… ’ He paused. ‘I fear He’ll lure us forward with some atrocity like Ledvrin. And He’ll commit further atrocities until we say "Enough". On balance, I don’t think we’ve any real choice. To delay is to risk certain defeat or the death of innocents.’
The Goraidin’s analysis was like the closing of a terrible trap, and a bleak silence followed it. Hawklan, Gulda and Andawyr exchanged glances.
‘Alphraan, you’re silent,’ Hawklan said.
‘We’ve nothing to add,’ the voice said flatly and simply, as if trying to quell the awful regret and fear that resonated around it.
‘Has anyone anything further to say?’ Hawklan asked.
There was some head shaking, but no one spoke.
Hawklan looked down at his hands. ‘Sadly, nor have I,’ he said. He indicated Gulda and Andawyr. ‘The conclusion you’ve reached is that which we three reached independently. I wish truly it could have been otherwise, but… ’
He left the sentence unfinished and silence seeped back to fill the hall like a cold mist.
When he spoke again, his voice was distant.
‘It seems we have no choice,’ he said. ‘We must levy our troops and take the battle to the enemy. We must do what even Ethriss did not do. We must assail Derras Ustramel itself.’
Chapter 9
As Hawklan’s voice faded, the silence returned, colder than ever, seeming to freeze the entire group into immobility.
‘Will you lead us, Hawklan?’ Athyr asked eventually, his voice sounding strained.
Hawklan avoided his gaze briefly, then stood up and drew the black sword.