Chapter 13: The Dictates of Conscience

He had sold him into death - probably a quite grisly death, and he had known. From it he had gained nothing. Targa Gamarad had lied. He did not intend to withdraw the desigarg from Grenwilde.

As King Akinwrath stood on the Western Hills, thirty miles from Cair Galinal, armed and ready for conflict, a quiet authority whispered truth into his heart - he had known.

The voice was irritating, constant and not to be tolerated. It's not true! He bellowed back into the hollow of his soul. He had not known! Not! How could he know? He hadn't.

He had known.

Targa Gamarad was only an oozing sore; the true cancer was behind him, festering in the depths of the Lands of Desolation. He knew that Gamarad - as an emissary of that one - spoke only lies. Had he not shown his treachery in breaking treaty and attacking the Wall?

And so, he had known. He had hated the man of righteousness and sold him. Not, as he had falsely told himself, to save his lands. The lies he had spoken so convincingly to his heart were shown by the searing light of truth to be what they were: gross, hideous lies.

He knew now that he had killed him to smash the hateful image in the man's soul -- an image that tormented Akinwrath, by showing him all that Akinwrath was not, but was meant to be. He could have told the captain that Targa Gamarad demanded the life of Telliam Bindaved in exchange for withdrawal. He could have told him, for he felt certain the young man would willingly have offered himself.

CURSE HIS EYES! Screamed the king's tormented soul. He would have gone willingly, but the king's twisted pride could not tolerate that he should. He had determined not to offer the opportunity for such a super-human display of righteous loyalty. Instead, he had sent him to his death in ignorance.

Akinwrath stared ahead vacantly, pulling on his gauntlets and preparing to die. Within him there was no hope for success in battle, rather there was a desperate determination to fight this day and die. He would die a king, even if he had failed to rule like one.

He could neither live watching his land burn, nor could he simply surrender. Surrender would mean nothing, for Targa Gamarad's actions had made it clear that he would not honour any word or treaty. The king had no weapon against the vulgraths, but it didn't matter any more; the vulgraths would only quicken matters. Dead he would not have to worry about it any longer. Dead he would not hear the voice.

Behind him on the hill, two thousand seven hundred men stood waiting his fatal words of command. These were all that were left to him of his once mighty army, an army that had contained thirty thousand men.

"Men of Grenwilde," he shouted, and his words reverberated over the hills. "Today you stand at a crucial moment in the history of our race. For this is a day that will demonstrate what men are. We are not desigarg: foul, cretinous and cowardly creatures, but we are men: noble, wise and brave images of our Creator.

"As your King, I promise you this day that we have come to this field not to lose, but to win. Some this day will lose their blood upon the ground, yet they will win to themselves everlasting glory. Some will leave their bodies this day upon the ground, yet they will find more noble bodies, the eternal possession of the wise.

"I, Akinwrath, Lord of Grenwilde, swear to you this day that we cannot lose if we go forth as men. I say to you this day, I shall ride to fight and shall have victory or death!" Akinwrath ended his speech in a great shout, which was quickly taken up by his men.

Ganarth stood silently, shaking his head. "Bloody fool," he whispered to himself. No other son of Jessef Bindaved would have said such a thing of the Creator's Anointed. However, everything received its due and proper name from Ganarth. If they must attack, why had they not at least tried to take advantage of the element of surprise? The desigarg would never have expected an attack, for it was absolute madness. Yet the king had advertised his intentions, drawing out his battle-line in full array upon the hill. Having done so, moreover, hours before attacking! The desigarg would eat them alive. Swallowing convulsively, Ganarth reflected that his last thought could very well be literally true.

However, he would ride, for he was loyal. He doubted not, that doing so, he would die. Among the troops who shared his certainty of impending death, Orun and Sethrim could certainly be numbered.

a8b

"Gargs!" thundered Nagara Diserac, to the seven thousand desigarg beneath his command, "Food comes calling this day! The foolish humans hurl themselves at your axes. You know what the Over-General expects. Do it! For great Gamarad and for the Prince of Night!"

The desigarg thundered in response. Not one was troubled by a voice of conscience, for the gift of their unity with animal seed was the searing destruction of that annoying faculty. Diserac, in fact, did not believe that conscience existed: only fear. And, this day, not he but the humans had cause to fear.

a8b

Jaomin had told his brother about his defeat of the desigarg along the South Road. Yason had made Jaomin feel two feet taller with his praise. So that later when they had discussed the dangers of travelling to the Western Wilds in so slow a moving thing as a wagon Yason had been stoutly confident; he, with his sword, and Jao, with his sling, would be more than a match for any desigarg that might be unfortunate enough to discover them. Jaomin felt too flattered to disagree. Now in his heart he remembered his father's words: a wagon is too slow a thing to flee from desigarg. On the other hand, what choice had they?

He had managed to make it clear that he was to be back to the farm by the end of twelve days, and that six would have elapsed by the end of this current day. Speed being important they had decided to go that very day. Jaomin spent the morning getting the tools his father wanted, purchasing an image crystal for Maric and posting his brother's letter, but from what he had heard, he doubted the letter would ever reach Sethrim. The post office had no letters from any of Jaomin's brothers.

Jaomin got back to the Lion's Head by noon, feeling hungry and anxious to be gone. He peaked in his room, knowing that Chion would likely be napping. Regine had said, "If you two block-heads insist on travelling today, the babe must have at least a short nap first!" What greeted his gaze surprised him, while Chion slept on the bed, Regine sat in the small arm chair near the window, rocking gently backward and forward, softly crying.

Ever so quietly, Jaomin stole into the room. Regine looked up as he came towards her.

"What's wrong, sis?" Jaomin whispered. Orun had begun calling her that, and now all six of the brothers did the same. She was the sister they had never had.

Putting her finger to her lips, to silence him, she stood up and tiptoed to the door, bringing Jaomin with her. Outside in the dark hall she sighed and wiped her tears on a flowered handkerchief.

"It's Rama-gil, Jao. It's been burned to the ground. The vulgraths burned it down."

"What?" said Jao, a little too loudly for Regine's liking, as her face told him. "Sorry," he added quietly.

"It's true. It must have happened within days, maybe even hours of the time we left."

"Who told you?" he asked, still shocked.

"Caylene did," said Regine, then seeing his puzzled expression added, "the young waitress."

"Oh," said Jaomin. "Well, did you know someone in Rama-gil?"

"Some very kind people there helped us when Chion was born. They risked their lives for us, Jao, and now they're dead."

"Ah, I'm so sorry, Regine; that's terrible."

She nodded, dropping tears and trying to smile. "That's why I'm acting like a water fountain."

It was horrifying, thought Jaomin. Like living under an unstable rock cutting: death could fall at any moment. There was no point saying that to Regine, though. She was already upset. Instead, Jao smiled and hugged her. "How much longer is the little guy going to sleep, do you think?"

"Not long, he'll want mommy real soon. Yason went to get a few things. He said we should eat here before leaving."

Jao nodded, "I'll go and get Nina saddled and bring her round front."

"Sounds good," said Regine putting her finger again to her lips and softly opening the door to Jao's room.

Jaomin hurried down the stairs and out the front door, noticing as he did so that a few - five or six - people were in the tavern eating - or perhaps drinking - their lunch. As he rounded the corner of the building and started down the alley, he slowed his pace apprehensively. However, he could tell almost immediately that the corpse had been removed, by whom he didn't know. He'd have to ask Regine and Yason.

He moved quickly to the stable, intent on getting Nina fed and saddled. Yet as soon as he came through the door he stopped short; for the third time today he was confronted by a sobbing female. This time it was the girl, Caylene. There must be an epidemic going around, he thought wryly.

The girl was sitting on an over-turned bucket, leaning against an upright wooden beam. Tears were streaming freely down her face, but whether they were of anger, pain or sorrow Jao wasn't certain. When she heard him come in she stood up, straightened her dress and tried to compose herself. Her eyes were swollen with crying, and in the brief view he had of her face, Jaomin could see a welt forming along her right cheek.

He opened his mouth with surprise and - finding it open - spoke without really meaning to, "Hey, did somebody hit you?"

The girl drew herself up, and looked at him angrily, "Mind your own business!"

"I'm sorry," Jao managed, and he was. His compassion not his curiosity had spoken; he hadn't meant to interfere.

The girl turned quickly and looked resolutely away from him, staring out the lone cobweb covered window of the stable. Jao stood studying her from behind. At least being angry with him seemed to have stopped her crying. What in the world had happened to her? He wondered. It was an awkward situation. Finally, Jao realised he was staring at her and this was just as rude as his unwanted interference.

"Would you please go away," came her quiet rather shaken voice, in which tones of irritation seemed to war with something Jaomin couldn't quite read.

"Yes, I will, if you like, but I came to saddle my horse. Can I do that first?"

The girl shrugged and said, "Of course, you can. Do what you have to do, then leave."

Well, she wanted to be rid of him that was plain, but as he tended to Nina he couldn't help glancing over at her from time to time. On perhaps his fifth glance, just as he was cinching Nina's belly strap, he realised she was staring at him. For some reason, he wasn't sure quite why, this made him blush.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"When?"

"When you leave with your horse, stupid."

"Oh," said Jaomin feeling dumb, but not very pleased that she thought so too, "Going up the South Road to the fork, then I'll be going west along the Wilderness Way, back to my farm."

She looked at him for a moment her expression unreadable and then turned again and looked out the window. Even when she had been crying, and was growing what looked to be a prize-winning bruise, she was really very pretty, Jaomin thought. When she didn't speak again, Jaomin ventured a question.

"Why?"

"Go away," she said abruptly.

"Well, if you're going to call me stupid, the least you can do is show me how intelligent people answer questions."

There was a brief pause. "I'm sorry I called you stupid," she said quietly.

Jaomin said, "That's all right."

"Now, go away," she added more stridently.

Jaomin stood indecisively where he was.

"What are you waiting for?" she said turning to face him again.

Probably I was waiting for you to look at me again, Jaomin thought. "I was waiting for you to answer my question," he said aloud. "I answered yours. Why do you want to know where I'm going?"

She tsked and gave an upward glance, "I wanted to know because I'm getting out of here; that's why. I thought maybe you and your friends were going the same way."

"Oh," said Jaomin, "and we're not, I guess." That sounded dumb, too.

"I'm going to Pen Abara Dis and then up to Dondais."

"Well," said Jaomin carefully, "that is the way we're going."

"Yes! I know that, stupid!"

"What is it with you and calling me 'stupid'? I have a name, you know."

She looked away angrily and then back at him again.

"My name's Jaomin."

"I suppose that is better than stupid."

"Yeah," said Jaomin nodding, "I like it better."

She almost smiled.

"At the risk of being called stupid again, did you want to come with me and my brother?"

"Of course I did ... Jaomin," she said substituting his name with an obvious effort. "But do you think your brother and his wife would mind?"

"Naw, you haven't been calling him stupid."

This time she really did smile, "Well, I'm sorry for that. But I was mad before you came in. I...," she seemed to be debating something. And appeared to decide not to volunteer any more information, "I had good reasons for being mad. Would you mind if I came along?"

"No," said Jaomin simply. "Have you got a horse?"

"Uh-hm," she nodded.

"Well, we've gotta leave pretty quick. Can you get yourself ready to go in an hour?"

"An hour!"

"Yes, I know it's sort of quick, but we've got to be back to the farm in six days."

"It's not quick enough. I was hoping I could leave right away, before I have time to change my mind."

"Oh, well, in that case, if you think you might change your mind maybe you shouldn't be leaving at all," Jaomin said very, very carefully. He had seen her temper.

However, she wasn't offended. She only hesitated a moment and then spoke out again, "Yes, yes I should," she said, nodding firmly. "All right, an hour it is."

"Good, because we'll have to eat first."

She looked at him open-mouthed, "Oh, great. That means I'll have to serve you."

"That didn't seem to upset you this morning," said Jaomin frowning.

Now she appeared to blush. "I mean," she said quickly, "that if you're going to eat, and I'm still here, Uncle Cadro will expect me to do tables."

As if on cue, at that moment they were interrupted. "Ka'! we'r ya?" came the distinctly indistinct voice of the proprietor, who, Jaomin gathered, must be Uncle Cadro. Absently Jaomin wondered how old marble-mouth would pronounce his own name.

"Coming!" Caylene bawled out, drying the last of her tears on her apron. She started to run to the back door, but stopped before entering, to turn and say, "Not a word to my Aunt and Uncle."

"Course not," Jaomin said. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

She hesitated for one beat. "Yes!" she said and hurried into the dining room.

a8b

Blood was everywhere; dead bodies, desigarg and human, littered the battlefield. It seemed miraculous, looking at that field, that anyone could have survived the battle. Who had won? Death had, it might be supposed. No vulgraths had appeared. Targa Gamarad had sent only a fraction of the Horde to meet the hopelessly out-numbered enemy. The field belonged to death - death and Nagara Diserac. His army would eat well this night.

Again, and quite without explanation, the Horde did not pursue their defeated enemy. Among the survivors, numbering slightly more than half those who had ridden forth that day, were Ganarth, Sethrim, Orun and King Akinwrath.

The King sat dejectedly within his tent, wounds in his thigh, arm and hand, but in no danger of dying. He winced as his surgeon tended to his cuts, none of which were deep enough to accomplish the purpose he had morbidly set out to satisfy that morning. He could almost curse the brave young lieutenant who had ridden by and rescued him from certain death. He was down and feebly fending off blows directed at him by two of the enemy. When, suddenly, the lieutenant had appeared out of nowhere, sliced through both gargs and begged the king take quickly to the back of his horse. Perhaps the determination to die had evaporated in the heat of battle. Battle caused many good things to wilt. The king had accepted a hand up, and the two had ridden off - taking Akinwrath out of the battle on the field and back into the battle of his conscience. Curse it! Curse him.

He didn _

't know the young lieutenant's name - Garnet, or something he thought - but he had sent Luna Torba to locate him and bring him to the king's tent. He would have to reward the young officer, he supposed. Reward him for saving his life! The irony of it all was not lost on him.

a8b

"I don't know, Jaomin. I don't mind takin' her as far as we're going. The roads are dangerous; that's for sure. But this is her family, Jao," the three Bindaved's were seated in the tavern discussing the idea of Caylene accompanying them. It was a difficult conversation for three reasons: first, they had to talk quietly enough not to be overheard by other customers; secondly, Yason was not at all keen on the idea of helping a run-a-way; finally, Caylene's periodic arrival with food and drink caused awkward pauses.

"No, it's not. It's only her uncle and aunt," said Jao.

"Actually, dear," Regine quietly interjected, "her family lives...lived...in Rama-gil. She's been working with her uncle and aunt for six months." Regine had spent part of the morning getting to know Caylene, and was taking her part in the conversation.

"And, Yason, he hits her," Jaomin whispered fiercely.

Yason scowled, "Did she tell you that?"

"Well, no..."

"He does beat her, Yason," Regine whispered. "She told me he did. He gets drunk and furious. Then he beats her. He's told her that she will earn every crumb of her bread; he won't have her 'sponging', he said, just because she's the child of his dead sister-in-law."

Yason wavered.

"He beat her today, Yason. That's why she was in the stable," Jaomin paused studying his brother's face. "She's stubborn, Yason. She'll go on her own if we don't help her. If I hadn't stumbled across her, she'd have done so already."

Yason sighed; he found the idea of someone beating a child despicable. He had certainly been spanked in his time, but he knew Abba and Mother had loved him. To be beaten by an angry drunken Uncle! That was horrid.

"All right," he relented.

"Good," Regine and Jaomin said together.

Caylene had no trouble getting away. She simply left during her lunch break and didn't return. She thought it highly unlikely that her uncle would particularly care about her leaving, and more unlikely still that he'd do anything about it.

Half an hour later they were travelling up the South Road towards the fork. Regine and Chion rode in the wagon and Caylene bounced easily along on Princess, her dapple-grey horse. Yason and Jaomin alternated between walking and riding on Nina. They went very slowly. Jaomin estimated that even with an extra half day to complete the journey, travelling at this speed, they'd take at least an additional day and a half. He hoped Abba would not be too angry.

a8b

Little Hector came to the foot of the Hill of Portals. He was talking to himself, as he usually did. How else could he know what he was thinking?

"Yu' got s'ode?"

"Ya', yu' too? Oh, thank. Dat good."

"Hector eat awe de apple."

"Oh, ya. Dat good. Apple, eat apple good. Doo-ty-doo-ty-do."

"Yu' eat apple?"

He progressed along the bottom of the hill, spending about equal amounts of time horizontally and vertically. Even in Loridan it's hard to go up a hill without using your feet. Now he was up. Now he was down. But once when he was down, he stayed for a while. He lay looking up at the sky. He would like to eat the sky, but so far hadn't been able to. He knew the sky would taste very good.

He pushed his head back into the grass, until the top of his head was almost level with the ground; he was making a bridge! It was at that moment that he saw Taril. He was right on the top of the hill, standing upside down. No wait, Hector was upside down, Boy! He rolled over onto his tummy and was about to shout out to Taril. But Taril was gone.

"Talil, Where y' go? Talil?"

Hector stood up and began to run crookedly up the hill. He ran his fastest, occasionally stopping to yell Taril's name.

When he finally got to the top of the hill, Taril was nowhere to be seen. Hector liked tag but if he couldn't see Taril, well then he couldn't chase him. He would just have to sit here on the High Portal and wait for Taril to come. While he waited, he thought about eating the sky.

a8b

Meda and Jaffar rode on through a world of cold, milky, fog. Where were they? What was this place? If it was Grenwilde it was like no part that either had seen, nor did it resemble anything described by either Melchizedek or Taril. Coming through the West Portal they had expected to find themselves in a beautiful land, for so Taril had described it. If this was Grenwilde. They had seen nothing of Sky-born. How had he simply disappeared?

Both knights had known something was wrong with the portals before they had tried to enter. Now they were discovering first hand just how wrong things were. As one, the two knights stopped, and peered about them, but it was futile. No sun could be seen, no wind felt, no sounds heard. Only endless monotonous billows of cloud washed around them.

"How long do you think we've ridden, Meda?"

"I have no idea, Jaffar. It's very hard to form an idea of anything. There are no landmarks. There don't seem to be features of any kind. This whole world looks to be an endless, dreary fog-shrouded plain."

It will be readily understood that Knights of the Portal knew something of difficult situations. They had fought side-by-side with the angels; they had striven against demonic powers. These things they had done often and in many worlds, those crippled by the Fallen Star. Knights of the Portal do not panic, nor do they easily feel fear.

They began again to ride, but no matter how far they went, there was no change. And as they travelled on and on, along this seemingly interminable plain, both knights were thinking somewhat anxiously about water.

It was not merely that they needed water for physical sustenance, for themselves and for their horses, but that they needed it to travel. For while portals will open into a low world anywhere, travel can only be accomplished within a world by means of water. Similarly, water was necessary for travel back to Loridan.

Meda and Jaffar both knew why this was so as well as they knew their names; in the world of Joy's earthly sojourn, when he became a man, he had entered the world by means of water. Later, he had entered his work of ministry by means of water. Therefore, in all worlds, water was necessary for travelling through portals. Quite simply, without water Meda and Jaffar were stuck in this world.

Jaffar was considering this when a thought struck him: they had desired to go to where Taril had gone. The Spirit always brought you through the portal into the world you desired, to the exact place within that world where He meant you to be. Yet what if Taril wasn't in Grenwilde, what if...

"Meda," he said suddenly, "this isn't Grenwilde; in fact, this isn't a world at all!"