Trudi Canavan - Priestess of the White

Danjin felt a stab of sympathy for her and, surprisingly, anger. It seems I agree with Auraya that the ban on using Dreamweaver services is ridiculous . The vorn still lurked nearby. Raeli did not turn her back on it as she tore a strip of cloth from one of the dead servant’s tunics and used it to bind Songmaker’s wound.

“If the White want you to remain here, they had best send you a priest—and soon,” she said. “I can ward off one or two of those creatures, but I doubt I could manage more.” Her gaze hardened. “Tell your leader my people will be here in a few hours. Remind him that we do not take sides; that we will offer our help to all. Should the Pentadrians accept us, but not the Circlians, that is none of our doing.”

Lanren stared back at her, then nodded. “Several priests are already on their way.” The sun hung low in the sky by the time the Dreamweaver caravan stopped. Their numbers had grown to a hundred or so. Leiard knew there were more Dreamweavers coming to the battle than those he travelled among. Other caravans had stopped in nearby valleys. Scattered, they lessened the risk that the Circlians—if seized by some crazed fanatical urge after the battle—could rid the world of hundreds of Dreamweavers in one strike.

They had halted an hour’s walk from the battle and Arleej had gathered a group of twenty to accompany her to the scene. Most of the others would come when the battle was over. A few would stay to defend the tarns should opportunists decide to loot them.

Leiard had joined Arleej’s group. He had brought Jayim with him, knowing that the boy would sneak after them if he was left behind. Now, as they reached the scene of devastation, he sensed Jayim’s curiosity and anticipation change to horror.

The valley was dark with churned mud, charred grass and corpses. A constant roar, muffled by distance, reached them. It was made up of screams, yells, the clash of weapons and shields, and the boom and crack of magic. Five white figures faced five black ones across the valley. The air between them flashed and writhed. Great scorch marks littered with corpses indicated where their sorcerous battle had spilled past protections.

Leiard remembered other battles. Smaller ones, but just as gruesome. They were not his memories, but they were vivid. Sorcery and death. Waste and pain. He saw that there were new elements to this battle. Black beasts—the vorns Auraya had once described—roamed through the Circlian army, deadly and hard to kill. Siyee wheeled and dived above the heads of soldiers and sorcerers. Smaller black shapes harried them, tearing their wings or attacking in numbers to drag their victims to the ground.

As he watched, three Siyee dived out of the aerial battle to swoop over the heads of the Pentadrians and send down a faint rain of missiles. One Siyee then fell as archers sent a volley of arrows in reply, but they had left several victims behind them.

Yet each death was devastating to the Siyee. There were so few of them.

I have to hope the Circlians win, he thought suddenly. Or this may be the end of the Siyee.

The greatest tragedy is that they are here at all, Mirar said darkly. This will be your former lover’s greatest crime: to make a peaceful people warlike and lead them to extinction.

“So here we are. What do you make of this, Leiard?”

He turned to find Arleej standing beside him.

“Foolishness,” he replied. “Waste.”

She smiled grimly. “Yes, and I agree. But what do you make of the two armies? What are their strengths and weaknesses? Who will win?”

Leiard frowned and considered the battle again.

“It is a typical confrontation. The sorcerers fight from the back, protecting their army from magic as well as themselves. The stronger of the minor sorcerers remain with them, adding their strength.”

“You mean the White?” Jayim asked. “And the priests and priestesses.”

“Yes,” Leiard replied. “Those whose role is more physical than magical fight their own battle, hoping always that the sorcerers will protect them. Soldiers, archers, mounted fighters, war-platten drivers, Siyee, vorns, the black birds. They may not have strong Gifts, but they will use what they can.”

“The Siyee are like archers,” Jayim said. “Flying archers.”

“Yes,” Arleej agreed. “They’re relying on surprise to attack and get away before the Pentadrian archers have time to retaliate.”

“Which is the same strategy the vorns are using,” another Dreamweaver noted. “But they don’t have anything like the black birds to deal with.”

“The Siyee are holding their own against the birds,” Leiard stated. “The birds don’t appear to attack when they’re alone, only as groups, but that makes them more vulnerable to missiles.”

“What happens if the Circlian army loses, but the White win?” Jayim asked.

Leiard smiled grimly. “If the White defeat the Pentadrian sorcerers they can then kill the remaining Pentadrians—or demand they surrender.”

“Would they abandon their own soldiers in order to use all their magic to kill the black sorcerers?”

“Perhaps as a last resort.”

“I . . . I don’t understand. Why do they bother bringing soldiers into battle at all? I can see how the priests help the White by giving extra magical strength, but I can’t see how soldiers make any difference.”

Arleej chuckled. “You must look to the motive for war. It is nearly always about taking control so the maximum reward can be reaped from the defeated. An invader is thinking beyond the battle. After victory they must maintain control. Even if they are powerful sorcerers, they can’t be in more than one place at once, so they bring helpers. Minor sorcerers. Fighters. People who are lured by the prospect of loot and land.

“The defenders know this and so raise an army as insurance in case they lose. If the defenders’ army kills as many as possible of the invaders’ army there are fewer of the potential conquerers left to impose control on their people. The conquered people have a better chance of rising up against their conquerors later.”

Jayim nodded slowly. “And if they wait until the sorcerers finish their fight, and their side loses, the enemy’s sorcerers will kill them anyway. So they may as well fight now.”

“Yes.” Arleej sighed. “Though most soldiers do not realize this. They do what they’re ordered to do, trusting in their leaders’ judgment.”

“Sorcerers have been known to give the remaining fighters the opportunity to surrender,” Leiard added.

Jayim stared out at the battle and frowned. “Are we . . . are the Circlians winning or losing?”

Looking at the valley again, Leiard considered the two sides carefully. He had noted that the ordinary soldiers were struggling, but hadn’t been concerned because, as he’d told Jayim, victory or failure did ultimately depend on the White.

The Circlian priests and priestesses appeared to be suffering greater losses than the sorcerers supporting the Pentadrian leaders. There were far more white-robed corpses than black. As he watched, he gradually saw why this was so.

The vorns. They were so quick and effective at killing that from time to time they were able to get behind the Circlians’ defenses and surprise a priest or priestess. In addition, none of the Circlian forces were as effective at removing the enemy’s sorcerers. The Siyee were the only fighters able to attack them, but the black birds were keeping the Siyee in check.

“The Pentadrians have the advantage,” he said.

Arleej sighed. “The hardest challenge a Dreamweaver can ever face isn’t prejudice or intolerance, but to stand back and watch your own country lose in a war.” She looked at Jayim. “We do not take sides. If you step in and fight, you are no longer a Dreamweaver.”