Dark Foundations (80 page)

“Thanks for the reminder, Jorgio. I need it.”

Jorgio's bent smile broadened. “One piece of advice I
can
offer. When you take your stand against them, fly all the banners and emblems you have.”

Merral smiled as if he dealt with a child who had made an outrageous suggestion.

“Indeed, why not? If our end is to be here, then let us make it a defiant one. I will assemble every banner and flag we have.”

“Very well. May the King be with you.”

Over the next hour or so, Merral kept busy. He ordered the placement of high poles along the ridge and that every available banner and emblem of the Assembly be hung from them. Yet the total absence of wind made the flags a sorry spectacle and as Merral gazed at the limp pieces of material the lifeless sheets of fabric seemed to mock any hope.
They symbolize our plight
.

He made sure all the seriously wounded were put aboard the transporters and persuaded a number of nonmilitary personnel to leave.

Down by the strip he met Luke Tenerelt standing by the stretcher of a badly wounded man, who was being loaded on a flier.

Luke's uniform and pale face were stained with blood and sweat and he looked as exhausted as if he had been running a race all day. He put his arm on Merral's shoulder, as much it seemed to gain support as to give comfort.

“Are you okay, Chaplain?”

Luke's sad eyes turned to Merral. “Okay? No. Definitely no. Doing what I am supposed to do? Yes
.
”

Merral offered him some water and Luke sat on a rock and drank greedily. He handed the bottle back, wiped his mouth with the back of a blood-streaked hand, frowned at it, and looked at Merral. “And are you okay?”

Merral, who was trying not to look at a hand-painted sign by a large refrigerated tent that read
Morgue # 1:
Full
, bit his lip and shook his head.
The great virtue of Luke is
that you can be yourself with him
.

“And it's not over yet, Luke,” he said, trying hard to choke back fears.

The chaplain put his head in his hands. “No. It's not,” he replied in a voice that threatened to break with emotion.

“You're staying?” Merral asked.

“Of course.”

“Thanks. We are preparing a last stand by the village. I can use you there.”

Another stretcher team approached and Luke looked up. “I'd heard. And you'll find me there. But in the meantime . . .” He rose, straightened his stained uniform, and set off toward the wounded man.

Shortly afterward Merral called Clemant to outline the situation. He felt that Clemant, who apparently knew what was happening, seemed to find giving either sympathy or support very difficult.

His round face had an almost total lack of expression. “Very well. Thank you for all you've done, Commander.” The words were emotionless.

Is that all he can say?
Merral felt gripped with an anger that he could only just restrain.
Nearly a hundred dead in the regulars alone, many times that in the irregs, and all he can say is “Thank you for all you've done”?

“I'll have our defenses here boosted,” Clement said. “We have most of the Western Regiment now and the irregulars. If Tezekal falls, we will do all we can.”

“I'm sure,” Merral said, trying to keep his voice flat. “Any news from the
Dove of Dawn
assault team?”

“I am monitoring it closely, Commander. The team is keeping silence, but I gather everything is going to plan. The assault should be around three this afternoon. But don't worry about it; you have enough concerns.”

How very true
.

“I have ordered an engineering team to go on board as soon as the ship is secured. The hope is that it can be made ready to go to Earth within a few days.”

“Makes sense,” Merral replied, realizing that he derived some comfort from the fact that even if Isterrane and Farholme fell, the Assembly might still be warned.
Our efforts might not have been wholly in vain.

“But, Commander, I have every confidence that you will do all you can to defend Isterrane.”

“I will try and do what I can.”

“I know you will. Our thoughts and prayers are with you, Commander.” And with that Clemant gave an awkward smile and closed the link.

Trying to put the conversation with Clemant out of his mind, Merral found a quiet corner of the command center. There he drafted some words to say before the final onslaught and committed them to memory. He then toured the defenses, partly to encourage morale and partly in the hope of finding anything that might boost the feeble forces he had. The only slight encouragement was a slow but steady trickle of exhausted and sometimes wounded irregs coming off the mountain. They were patched up, given spare armor and weapons, and sent up to the new defenses.

By half past one, the temperature seemed to have increased still further. In the still air, a shimmering haze seemed to hang over everything, distorting shapes and distances, and generating dancing mirages.

Only the thousand or so Krallen waiting in silent immobility beyond the mouth of the gorge and the much vaster number marching relentlessly eastward along the mountain ridges seemed unaffected by the sweltering heat.

By two, the first Krallen were visible on top of Mount Adaman and shortly afterward the last of the fliers at the landing strip took off. As Merral watched it leave, he struggled to avoid the feeling of being deserted.

Half an hour later, Merral walked through the village to the ridge amid the olive groves that formed the core of the final defenses. The soldiers were already taking up their places in the freshly dug fortifications. Even with the irregs and those who, like Anya, had decided to stay, he knew that there would be barely a thousand defenders to face a force nearly twenty times as large. The nature of their plight made the disposition of the troops very simple: there were just two lines, a single row of men in front with Karita's snipers on the slight rise behind. There were no reserves and no fallback position.

Merral stared at the great slope before him, seeing through the haze the worn green of the woods and shrubs slowly turning gray as the Krallen advanced.
As if summer has turned to winter
. He borrowed a fieldscope and stared through it, seeing individuals moving under the branches of the junipers and pines, and trampling, without concern, through the needles and thorns of the spiny undergrowth or bounding effortlessly across jagged rocks.

Not long now
.
I ought to call people to attention and say what I've prepared. But what can I say when I believe we're going to lose?

His gloomy thoughts were broken by the realization that his diary was chiming. He pulled it from under his armor. It was Jorgio. His face, bathed in sweat, was a pasty color.

“Mr. Merral, I have a message for you.”

“Go on.”

“I am specifically to tell you, from the Most High, that in half an hour, there will be a strong wind off the sea.”

“And?”

“That's it.”

Merral felt overwhelmed by a disappointment that bordered on exasperation. “That will be unusual,” he said slowly, to hide his frustration. “The best we might expect at this time of year is a gentle evening breeze. But a strong wind will cool us. Thank you, Jorgio.”

“
Tut
. My pleasure. The King, though, was very concerned that you should hear it.”

“I'm sure.”

“You were expecting something more?”

Merral looked up at the gray flood moving through the wooded slopes above. “You could say that.” He tried to smile and failed. “But, my old friend, we must be content with what we are sent.”

“Indeed. The King knows best, Mr. Merral.”

Merral considered a sharp response, but decided that this close to imminent death, questioning divine wisdom was probably unwise.

“Jorgio, just in case . . . thanks for all your help.”

“Thank
you
. But you watch for that wind.”

Before Merral could say anything more, the screen went blank.

Merral was still pondering Jorgio's words when Betafor's flat voice spoke in his ear. “Commander, there are orders being issued on the mountain. I think they are going to advance.”

Merral looked up to see the Krallen starting to move slowly downward. There was a tap on his shoulder and he turned round to see the tall figure of Azeras standing by him. He carried a large rolled flag on a staff under his arm.

“My prediction, Commander—and it may well be my last one—is that our opponents will advance to about a hundred meters away from the edge of the wood. They will then charge.” He threw his gloved hands wide. “And that will be that.”

“Thank you for that last advice, Sarudar. I take it you are joining us.”

Azeras's smile seemed formal and mirthless. “I have only my honor left, Commander. For a veteran to flee when novices fight would be shame.” He gestured to the banner. “But I will fight under my own flag. No disrespect to the Assembly, but I remain one of the True Freeborn, even if I am the last of them. I will fight under the emblem of the broken chain.”

They shook hands and Azeras moved some distance away and drove the staff firmly into the ground, but in the absence of wind, the dark blue flag hung so limply that the emblem on it was obscured.

Merral looked up at the slope, seeing the treetops shaking, and tried not to think of the unstoppable wave of teeth and claws that would overwhelm their feeble defenses in seconds. Far above on the slopes, a faint but growing howling began.

Followed by Luke, who had somehow acquired a new uniform, Merral made his way over to the tallest flagstaff on which the large Lamb and Stars banner hung immobile. He adjusted his microphone. “Men and women,” he said, hearing his words roll around the olive groves, ditches, and parapets, “despite great sacrifices in space and on the ground we will, within minutes, face conflict with a powerful and merciless foe. I do not want to offer any false hopes. Unless the Most High acts, our chances of victory today are low. He may yet intervene; that is his prerogative. We must all, though, assume that, within the next hour, our lives may be demanded of us.”

He paused, struck by the solemnity of his words, and then continued. “Yet it is a simple matter. We face evil and treacherous foes that must be stopped here or else they will take our world and, for all we know, other worlds too. We and our ancestors before us have lived in the security of the Lord's Assembly for generations; through it we have enjoyed much blessing. Now, though, we are asked to return something of what we have been given. We must fight and be prepared to die for the Assembly. I have arranged that what happens on this field of battle be imaged by remote cameras and be transmitted to the rest of the Assembly. Long years from now, men and women will watch how we fought and, perhaps, how we died. May we live up to that challenge.” He paused, aware of a silence charged with intensity. “Chaplain Tenerelt will now lead us in prayer.”