died at one another’s hands stood together, comrades at last. No life lay in their eyes, but blind patience only.
When Kallan stepped back, Moranar reappeared, his face the same, obediently waiting. Andiene’s voice was proud. “Does it not make a brave showing for any spies?”
Kallan looked at her wildly. “What are these? Where did you conjure them from?”
She laughed. “Nothingness. Air and nothingness. Do not fear. I have not called up the spirits of the dead, but their likenesses only. Nothing but your memories made visible. I could have used my own memories, but you have known many more warriors than I have ever seen.”
The phantom army stood quietly, a well-trained host. Kallan looked at the faces more closely. They were filled with shadowy pain. The tinge of his memories, or some more subtle thing? Did it trouble the dead to have their guises used thus? Then he turned back to the camp, and his own troops, men who breathed and lived and were full of dread at the sight of the shadow army that waited on the hillside above them.
It was not easy to reassure them. Kallan kept guard that night. No movement on the dark hillside. The men were too afraid to try to flee. On the upper slopes, the quiet shapes of the dead blotted out the stars. Kallan watched and did not sleep.
“Why did you summon them so soon?” he asked in the morning.
“They will protect us,” Andiene said. “We need fear no ambush. The spies will keep their distance, and he will know I have an army to be reckoned with. Your men will grow accustomed to them.”
Her gaze drifted to where Syresh and Lenane sat. “What troubles them, do you think?”
They had joined the camp arguing softly, continuing their dispute through a quickly eaten breakfast. Then Syresh’s voice rang louder. “Not so!” he said. He caught hold of her hand and held it above the campfire. “You are witnesses, all of you.” Lenane looked at him in amazement, but made no move to pull away.
“You are all witnesses,” he repeated, and indeed he had the attention of all of them, his old comrades, and the new band that Kallan had brought.
“We have shared our bed, and we have shared our food, and we will walk together through winter and summer, and all that I have I bring to you.”
Lenane opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She swallowed once, twice; Kallan could see the motion of her throat. Her face was filled with disbelief, but at last she spoke. “We have shared our bed, and we have shared our food, and I will walk with you through winter and summer, and whatever I have, I bring to you.”
Kallan spoke softly to Andiene. “In Mareja he has a mother and father, proud and stiff-necked, ready to kill the witnesses to such an ill-matched marriage. But they cannot kill us all!”
Then he smiled as he looked at them, a proper pairing, it seemed, the two least touched by sorrow, grief, and guilt. He was filled with gratitude to them, too, that they had given such a joyful distraction to the others. The men of Oreja laughed and joked and seemed almost to have forgotten the silent ones behind them.
Kallan kissed Lenane, as was his right, and said, “All this great work accomplished so easily, with no show of claws!”
Syresh heard it and turned, ready to fight if necessary, but saw that both of them were laughing.
But the laughter died when they broke camp, for the ghostly army followed after them, marching silently, their feet not bending a blade of grass as they passed. A true army would have filled the air with talking, curses, the ringing of metal. But these were silent, and the true men were silent too, oppressed by the ones that followed them.
In a week they came to the wide valley that lay below Mareja, that Kallan had sketched in the earth for Andiene, weeks before. When he looked to the west now, he saw the dazzle of light upon the water.
The blaggorn grew scanty in the valley. No bands of thornfruit hedges crossed it, nor did any lanara trees grow in it. Rusty flowers sprang in the grass, sangry and carniven, blooming in remembrance and prophecy. The city shone golden in the setting sun.
“Tomorrow,” said Andiene.
“What colors have you chosen?” Kallan asked. “I have worn the colors of two kings, and Syresh, young as he is, of two also, but I