Kolgan flickered anger, but he saluted and marched away.
Tarion moved forward. Bondvaan rose, looking completely perplexed. Tarion hoped his own face did not show his fury. That young upstart was doomed!
"You two gentlemen,” Kammaeman repeated as soon as Kolgan was out of earshot, “were both making slobbering spectacles of yourself. Keep your filthy habits to yourselves, do you understand? Leave D'ward alone!"
"Sir!” Tarion protested. “I don't underst—"
"You understand perfectly! He is not to be molested in any way. Any way! I think I may have found a secret weapon in this war."
Tarion decided he had better make some new plans.
22
HIS FIRST FEW DAYS IN THE INFANTRY WERE CONTINUOUS TORMENT for Golbfish. Going without shoes, he shredded the soles of his feet; his skin blistered in the sun; his ritual cut suppurated. The sheer physical exertion was worse than all of those. He dug ditches, he marched, he ran. Every muscle in his carcass throbbed and ached. He fainted and was kicked awake and told to stop slacking. Time and again he came to the breaking point, when even death seemed preferable to this unending torture.
But whenever that happened, by some curious coincidence, he would look up to see a pair of steady blue eyes watching him. He would hear a few words of encouragement and recall that this youth had saved him in the temple at no small risk to himself. Somehow, then, Golbfish would find the strength to struggle on a little longer. He owed it to D'ward, who had trusted him.
He fully expected one of Tarion's assassins to come calling on him with a thin dagger, but that never happened. He awoke every morning, never quite sure whether to be surprised or disappointed. And by the fifth or sixth day, he realized that he was going to live through this and be a warrior. Even more astonishing, he came to understand that his rough companions were sympathetic to his sufferings and approved of his efforts. Then a thin sliver of pride began to glow in the darkness.
Just when he had begun to cope with life in camp, the army moved out, almost seven thousand strong. About a quarter were Nagians, a thousand on foot and eight hundred riding moas. Their road took them east, past Sonalby, and then south into the wilds of Siopass. For three days they made a cautious ascent of the winding valley, through dripping forest and along stony watercourses. The march brought Golbfish new impossibilities of fatigue and hardship.
It also brought danger, for every military campaign in the Vales inevitably began with a contested pass. The Lemodians could not but know that the combined might of Joalland and Nagland was coming against them. Already they must have reinforced their defenses and called for help from their fearsome Thargian masters. There were very few places where an army could cross the ranges.
Fortunately, there had not been time for Tharg's assistance to arrive. The battle was fought long before the Nagian contingent reached the summit. Word was sent back down the line that the pass was cleared and Lemodvale lay open before the invaders. Then the warriors cheered and sang songs as they marched. Golbfish saw the bodies as he stumbled past, but he was not involved in the fighting. He had no breath for singing, and he did not know the words of those songs anyway.
Thereafter the road led downward and the pace quickened. Two days later, the army camped by a shallow lake in the foothills of Lemodslope. The talk now was all of conquest and the joys of loot. The warriors assured one another that Lemodian girls were famous for their beauty.
Eventually the Sonalby troop received its turn to bathe in the now very muddy lake. The warriors stashed their arms, but did not bother to strip. They charged into the water with whoops and set about making it even muddier. Golbfish avoided the horseplay, but he enjoyed the soak and the chance to reduce his personal population of vermin. What small things could please him now!
He limped out to dry off in the sun. A gangly young man was sitting on the grass, leaning his head and arms on his bony knees, his bright blue eyes watching Golbfish with amusement. He must have been in the water also, for his hair and beard were wet.
"Congratulations, warrior!” he said. “You've done it, haven't you?"
"I think you deserve most of the credit, sir.” One thing Golbfish had certainly learned, and that was humility. He knew he could not have managed without D'ward's help and inspiration.
"Nonsense! Sit down here and relax a minute. I said I could show you how, but you did it.” D'ward chuckled, shaking his head at Golbfish's tattered appearance. “You just need to grow a new skin and you'll be done. How do you feel?"
Golbfish considered the question. It seemed like centuries since he had held a real conversation with anyone—meaning anyone with intelligence. “Surprised, mostly."
"But proud?"
"Yes,” the new warrior confessed. “I wouldn't have believed that a fortnight ago—but, yes."
"You should be proud. Even the men are proud of you, you know! They were laying bets on how long you'd last. Nobody won—or rather you won! They admire courage. Anything you need?"
Golbfish smiled, and it was a long time since he'd done that, too. “Ymma or Uthinima or Osmialth."
The blue eyes blinked. “Who?"
"My concubines."
D'ward laughed. “You are better, aren't you! Sorry, I can't help there. Well, I just thought I'd congratulate you and tell you how much I admire what you've achieved. It would have broken most men. Well done!"
He moved as if about to rise.
"Sir?"
The hordeleader settled back with a wary look. “Yes?"
"May I ask ... No. May I make an observation?"
"Observe away."
Golbfish turned his head to watch the splashing mob in the lake. “This is impertinent and rash of me, but I have overheard enough to know that you are not a native of Sonalby."
There was no reaction, just a terrible stillness that was more eloquent than a scream or a string of oaths.
"Sir! ... I am sorry...."
"I'm not originally from Sonalby, no,” D'ward said, very quietly. “The Joalians don't know that, though. At least, I didn't tell them, and I don't think they know. Carry on."
"No. I should not have—"
"Carry on!"
"Sir!” Why had he been such a fool as to bring this up? “You arrived there in early summer. I suspect it was soon after the seven hundredth Festival of Tion, in Suss."
There was a long pause, and then the young man said, “Who says so?"
"Nobody. I worked it out. Very few of the lads can read. If they have ever heard of the Filoby Testament, they certainly know none of the details."
D'ward sighed. “But you do, of course. What details do you have in mind?"
"Oh ... just that it implies the Liberator will be born then, but that isn't what it actually says. It actually says that he will come into the world naked and crying. Not quite the same thing!"
The piercing blue eyes raked the prince's face, then suddenly began to twinkle. “How else does one come into the world?” D'ward demanded with a grin that washed away the guilt and tension.
"Well...” Golbfish felt a twinge of nostalgia, remembering table talk in Joal, the long philosophical debates when every word must be combed for subtleties of meaning. He gazed for a moment at the peasants roistering in the water. “Those who enter convents or monasteries are said to leave the world. So I suppose a man who was, say, evicted from a monastery might be said to enter the world again?"
"You believe that is what is meant?"