Dark Foundations (83 page)

“I know. But I thought you ought to deal with it.”

“I will. Can I talk to your soldier?”

“No. He won't talk. He's scared.”

Merral sighed. “
That
is entirely believable. Okay, I'll look into it. I want to interview Durrance and Latrati in Isterrane. And the other matter?”

“I just thought you ought to know that Delastro and his men came on that supply flight that just landed.”

Merral finished buttoning up his shirt. “Luke, I don't need him. Certainly not now. What's he doing?”

“He's speaking to the soldiers at the strip.”

“Saying what?”

“That there must be no compromise with evil; that we need to purge Farholme from every trace of sin.”

“Does he say anything against the Defense Force or me?”

Luke shifted uneasily on his feet. “He says that purity needs to start here. He implies that we are in need of purification.”

Merral sighed. “Luke, do two things for me. First, summon him up here immediately.”

“And second?”

“Pray that I don't punch him.”

Ten minutes later, the prebendant and his two dark-suited followers arrived. Merral beckoned the cleric over to where, under the shade of an awning, a pair of chairs were placed. The followers remained at a distance, not far from a tree under which Lloyd sat, his brown bag next to him.

“Prebendant, this is a surprise visit,” Merral said as they sat down.

Delastro placed his staff across his knees and gazed coolly at Merral. “And why shouldn't a chaplain visit the scene of battle?”

“There is no reason at all. Your presence earlier today would have been most welcome. But, Prebendant, the battle is now over and most of the wounded are in hospital in Isterrane where you could easily visit them.”

Delastro sat stiffly back in his chair, brushed something off the sleeve of his dark suit, then turned his hard gaze back on Merral. “Commander, you persist in assuming my ministry is to do with the sick and the troubled. I see it more as opposing evil.”

“There's plenty of that around,” Merral said, pointing over at the distant hazy smear that was the Langerstrand Peninsula.

“Evil, Commander, can be blatant
and
subtle. It can prowl the battlefield openly and yet dwell like a hidden cancer in a man's heart.” His long fingers twisted together.

“I agree, but please feel free to be specific.”

“Thank you. The wickedness of these Krallen—these demon-spawned monsters—needs erasing utterly. Every trace of them and their works needs uprooting and eliminating.”

“By the grace of the Most High and much sacrifice we seem to have eliminated around a hundred thousand of them over the last two days. Not a bad start, wouldn't you say?”

The prebendant folded his hands, tilted his head, and fixed his green eyes on Merral. “On the surface, yes, you have done much. But is your victory all it claims to be? I hear that underneath you have compromised.” His voice was almost a hiss. “Compromised in such a deadly way that it must be opposed.”

Don't lose your temper
. “A most serious charge, Prebendant.”

“You and this dark visitor, Verofaza—a man of whom we know so little—have strange beings working for you.” There was an almost piercing intensity to his eyes and his voice seemed to tremble. “A greenish creature—very like these Krallen, it seems. And a strange man who fights under a banner other than our blessed Lamb and Stars. There is an organization that is based underground and about which we know almost nothing. And, above all, you have assistance from a mysterious and unnamed visitor from the spirit world.”

His bony hands clutched the polished wooden staff tightly. “Commander, I think some explanation would be in order, or even, perhaps, confession.”

Unable to contain his anger, Merral got to his feet. “By implying that we have had dealings with the occult you dishonor both the living and the dead who fought here today, Prebendant. As chaplain-in-chief you are under
my
authority and I now formally dismiss you.”

Delastro rose to face him, his knuckles white on his staff.

Merral nodded at Lloyd, who spoke into a shoulder microphone and reached into his bag.

“Sergeant Enomoto will accompany you and your men to the strip here. A flight will be arranged to take you back to Isterrane. This is a military area, under my authority, and I forbid you to say a word to anyone else here.”

Delastro raised his staff high and shook it.

With a casual, unhurried pace, Lloyd, the shotgun in his big hands, began walking over. One of the young men ran forward to grab him, but as his hands touched Lloyd, the gun butt swung back sharply. With a groan, the man doubled up and, clutching his stomach, fell to the ground. Without even a backward glance, Lloyd continued his measured pace.

A dozen green-clad soldiers led by Vero emerged from the house and spread out in a semicircle.

Merral turned to Delastro. “Prebendant, Sergeant Enomoto is a fine fellow, but he does take his job very seriously. He can be fiercely protective. I think you had better not make any moves that could be misconstrued as hostile. Good-bye.”

Delastro, his face pale with fury, glared at Merral. “Be warned, Commander. Evil takes evildoers.”

He swung around and, with his strange, birdlike gait, walked rapidly away toward the strip.

The other man helped up his fallen colleague and, closely followed by Lloyd and the regulars, they went after their leader.

Vero walked over to Merral. “I got most of that. Pretty much along the lines of ‘By the prince of demons you cast out demons'? Well, that's an allegation with a long pedigree.” He sighed deeply. “But, my friend, we have just witnessed another of my oversights.”

“In what way?”

Vero stared down into the gorge and Merral followed his gaze to where the shadows were deepening. “Ah. I realized that the resurgence of evil in our world would warp our relationships and the way our society is run. And it has. But until now, I had not imagined that it could affect our faith.” He gave a bitter shrug. “But why should that area of life be excluded from the contamination of sin? What richer soil for evil to take root in than that of faith and duty and prayer?”

Within half an hour, the still-fuming prebendant and his followers had left for Isterrane. After their departure, Merral walked over to the medical tents. The seriously injured had been flown to Isterrane already, leaving only those who were lightly wounded. He wandered between them, struggling to hold his emotions in check and trying to offer encouragement and sympathy. He then walked around the tents where most of the remaining soldiers were treating minor cuts and grazes, resting in the shade, or just sitting on the ground staring into infinity.

They were glad to see him and Merral listened to what they had to say. Any euphoria over the victory had seeped away and the mood was subdued and reflective. Everybody knew someone who was dead.
I can share in your grief.
I too have lost a dear friend in these last two days.
He made no attempt to probe what had happened with Latrati and Durrance—that was for another time—but he couldn't avoid hearing unease in the voices of those who had fought under Zak's command. Their concerns were delivered in hushed tones with wary glances over their shoulders. Soldiers had been forced into positions that were too exposed; the discipline was too tough—Zak was brutal.
I will deal with this,
but not today
.

The tales of the fighting and the looming issues with Zak darkened Merral's spirits and he postponed seeing Anya; his mood was too bleak. Finally, as the light faded, he was persuaded by Lloyd to go and eat.

In the mess tent that had been erected at the edge of the village he found Zak at a table surrounded by a number of his captains and associates. The tone of their conversation was boisterous, even jovial. Merral picked up his tray of food, engaged in some brief, polite conversation with them, and went outside. He found a seat under a tree, out of earshot of the chatter and laughter, and there, as the sun set in smoke over Langerstrand, ate his food in silence.

He felt depressed and images of death and destruction seemed to overwhelm him. He realized that the encounter with Delastro and Vero's analysis of it had shaken him. There was now no place in his world where corruption had not spread.

When he had finished his meal, he got to his feet and—as ever—shadowed by Lloyd, walked up to the gentle ridge amid the olive groves where they had faced the enemy and where the flagpoles still stood.

The wind had dropped and the great flags, now mere shadows in the smoky darkness, only rustled gently in the dusty, smoke-laden wind. He sat down at the foot of the flagpole bearing the large Lamb and Stars standard. Ahead, patches of orange glowed bright on the mountain—the dying embers of the once all-consuming inferno. Above, smeared by the sooty atmosphere, stars were coming out.

Eventually, Lloyd drew closer. “Just checking. You okay, sir?”

“Thanks.” Merral paused. “I had to set fire to trees, Lloyd.”

“I know.”

“Burned trees and hundreds of deaths. It's a funny way to save a world.”

“It had to be done, sir.” The words were soft.

“Thanks, Lloyd. I guess it did.”

Then, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by tiredness, Merral rose and walked back to his tent.

“Lloyd,” he said as he lifted the flap, “I don't want to be woken before dawn. Unless it's an emergency.”

Lezaroth leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling of the drab room at Langerstrand that he had taken as his operations center as he listed his woes.
I've lost a full-suppression complex by a trick and almost my entire Krallen army to essentially agricultural satellites. My attack force has been defeated by swords and a fire, and now the
Dove of Dawn
is in their hands. And to crown it all, the baziliarch is missing. Am I cursed?

He clenched his fists tightly in defiance.
But even if I am cursed, so what? I will still fight on.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

A thin, bald man—the baziliarch's intermediary—in a loose, dark blue robe came in, his pale eyes swinging nervously this way and that. He looked at Lezaroth with dread as if expecting his own death sentence to be pronounced.

“So where is he?” Lezaroth barked. “Is the . . . thing . . . dead?”

The intermediary gulped audibly. “No, sir. But I think he's wounded. He'll be hiding out somewhere in the wilds, healing.”

What time is it in the outside world?
Lezaroth looked at a clock. He was surprised to see it was nearly midnight. “Are there any precedents?”

“No, sir. But then we only started using baziliarchs after the lord-emperor's negotiations on the Blade of Night.”

“Of course. So what happened?”

“He was met by something—something or
someone
—of a similar rank on the other side. It was a hard fight.”