Feeling suddenly faint, he sat down upon the rubble of a burned hut to recover himself. If, he thought, this sickness had not left him by the time the battle was over, he would send for the Tuginda and offer to reinstate her on condition that she cured him. Meanwhile, he could only rely on Kelderek to exercise authority in her name. But it was important that the fellow should be urged on to complete his task.
He stood up, steadied himself against the still-standing door-post until the surge of giddiness had passed off, and then made his way back to the hut. The elders had left and, calling his servant Numiss, he gave him a brief message to carry to Kelderek, stressing that he expected to fight within two days. As soon as he had made sure that the man had his words by heart, he asked Zelda to see to his safe conduct through the pickets and himself lay down to sleep, giving orders that all was to be ready for the march to continue at dawn next day.
He slept heavily, undisturbed by the looting, raping and drunkenness that broke out again at nightfall and continued unchecked, none of the barons caring to run the risk of trying to stop it. When at last he woke, he knew at once that he was not merely ill, but worse than he had been in his life before. His arm was so swollen that the bandage was pressing into the flesh, yet he felt that he could not bear to cut it. His teeth chattered, his throat was so sore that he could scarcely swallow and as he sat up pain throbbed behind his eyes. He got up and staggered to the door. Gusts of warm wind were blowing from the west and the sky was thick with low cloud. The sun was not to be seen, but nevertheless he knew that it must be well after dawn. He leant against the wall, trying to summon the strength to go and rouse the men who should have been obeying his orders.
It was not until an hour before noon that the army at last set out Their pace was slow, several of the soldiers having burdened themselves with such loot as they had been able to come by – cooking-pots, mattocks, stools, the sorry and valueless possessions of men poorer than themselves. Many marched with aching heads and curdled stomachs. Ta-Kominion, no longer able to conceal his illness, walked in a confused and troubled dream. He scarcely remembered what had happened that morning, or what he had done to get the men on their feet He could recall the return of Numiss, with his report that Shardik had been drugged at the cost of a priestess's life. Kelderek, so the message ran, hoped to overtake them by nightfall. The last nightfall, thought Ta-Kominion, before the destruction of the Beklan army. When that was done, he would rest
The narrow road wound along the sides of steep, wooded ravines sheltered from the wind, against rock-faces where the brown ferns drooped for rain. For a long time the sound of an invisible torrent rose up from below, through mists that swirled hither and back, but dispersed no more than did the cloud above. All was solitude and echo, and soon the men ceased to sing, to jest or even to talk beyond a few words in low voices. One tattered fellow, loosing an arrow, hit a buzzard as it swooped above them and, proud of his marksmanship, slung the carcase round his neck until, as the parasites began to creep from the cooling body, he slung it over a precipice with a curse. Once or twice, looking out across the tops of trees, they caught glimpses of the plain below, and of tiny herds of cattle galloping among the windy dust-clouds. In superstitious dread of these wild hills they pressed on, many glancing uneasily about them and carrying their weapons drawn in their hands.
The straggling horde covered more than two miles of the track and there were no means of passing orders save by word of mouth. Between two and three hours after noon, however, when they had descended below the mists and the higher hills, a halt took place without any order being given, the several companies and bands coming up to find the vanguard fallen out and resting in an open wood. Ta-Kominion limped among the men, talking and joking with them as though in a trance, less to encourage than to let them see him and try to learn for himself what fettle they were in. Now that they had left the sheer solitudes which had disquieted and subdued them, tiieir ardour was returning and they seemed as eager as ever to join battle. Yet Ta-Kominion – who as a lad of seventeen had fought beside Bel-ka-Trazet at Clenderzard and three years later commanded the household company which his father had sent to Yelda to fight in the slave wars – could sense how green and unseasoned was their fervour. In one way, he knew, this might be counted to the good, for in their first battle men spend what they can never recover to spend again, so that that battle – even for those for whom it is not the last – may well be their best But the toll taken of such inexperienced fervour was likely to be high. From such troops little could be expected in the way of disciplined manoeuvre or steadiness under attack. The best way to use their rough, untrained quality would be simply to bring them quickly to the plain and let them assault the enemy in full strength and on open ground.
A spasm seized him and the trees before his eyes dissolved into circling shapes of yellow, green and brown. Somewhere far off, it seemed, rain was beating on the leaves. He listened, but then realized that the sound lay within his own ear, as full of pain as an egg is full of yolk. He had a fancy to break it open and watch the thick, fluid pain spill over the ground at his feet.
Someone was speaking to him. He opened his eyes yet once more and raised his head. It was Kavass, his father's fletcher, a decent, simple-minded man, who had taught him his archery as a boy. With him were four or five comrades who – or so it seemed to Ta-Kominion – had prevailed upon Kavass to come and ask the commander to settle some difference between them. The fletcher, who was tall, as tall as himself, was looking at him with respectful sympathy and pity. In reply he grimaced and then managed to force a wry smile.
'Touch of the fever, sir, eh?' said Kavass deferentially. Everything about him – his stance, his look and the sound of his voice -tended to confirm Ta-Kominion in his leadership and at the same time to emphasize their common humanity.
'Seems like it, Kavass,' he answered. His words boomed in his own head, but he could not tell whether in fact he was speaking loud or low. 'It'll pass off.' Clenching his teeth to stop them chattering, he missed what Kavass said next, and was about to turn away when he realized that they were all waiting for him to reply. He remained silent, but looked steadily at Kavass as though expecting him to say something more. Kavass seemed confused.
'Well, I only meant, sir – and no disrespect, I'm sure – when he came ashore that morning, when you was with him, whether he told you he'd appear again, like – that he'd be there to make sure we won the battle,' said Kavass.
Ta-Kominion continued to stare at him, guessing at his meaning. The men became uneasy.
'Nothing to do with us,' muttered one. 'I said as 'twas nothing to do with us.'
'Well, only it's like this, sir,' pursued Kavass. 'I was one of the first beside you that morning, and when Lord Shardik went over the water, you told us he knew Ortelga was as good as taken and he was off to Bekla – to show us the way, like. And what the lads was wondering, sir, was whether he's going to be there to win for us when we come to fight?'
'We're bound to win, aren't we, sir?' said another of the men. 'It's the will of Shardik – the will of God.'