She threw the bucket into the well, holding the rope. Everyone heard the slap it made as it hit the water.
She waited a moment, and then lifted the now heavy bucket, looking inside. The water was crystal clear. Amber reached into the bucket with her hand, and lifted her hand to her lips, taking a sip.
It was the sweetest water she had ever tasted.
"It’s good," she said. She looked up at the townspeople, smiling. The first time she had smiled in days. "It’s good!"
Suddenly everyone wanted to taste the water. The bucket was tossed into the well again and again, passed from person to person with broad grins.
There was a sudden commotion from the Dunfolk.
The townsfolk stepped back from the well. Amber looked up. The Tartana was standing nearby. Behind him, through the trees, stretching for as far as the eye could see, were the Dunfolk. They were like a sea of people, men, women and children. All come to see.
The townsfolk stepped back further, leaving Amber alone at the edge of the well.
The Tartana stepped forward, his eyes on Amber, an inscrutable look on his face. He waved one of his arms forward.
Ten young Dunfolk women came out of the crowd, each carrying a small sapling in her arms.
Amber stepped back, and as she looked on, they planted the saplings around the well. The women then withdrew.
The Tartana moved closer to Amber. He was so small that he had to look up to meet her eyes. Without knowing why, Amber sank to her knees.
He placed a wreath of flowers around her neck.
Then all of the Dunfolk cheered. The Alturans cheered along with them, and smiles were everywhere.
The Tartana threw the bucket into the well. Still on her knees, Amber could only look up in astonishment as the Tartana withdrew the bucket, and grinning mischievously, upended it over her head.
52
The greatest test of courage is to bear defeat without losing heart
— The Evermen Cycles, 19-9
MIRO paced the balcony outside the great hall, looking out over the town of Mornhaven. His hands were held in fists at his sides. He fumed.
"What did you expect?" a voice said.
He looked up. Bartolo had followed him out, leaving the lords inside to bicker. Behind him Miro could see Captain Beorn, a survivor of the terrible defeat at Ralanast.
"You should do something, Marshal," Captain Beorn said. He was a scarred soldier with a grey beard, a veteran who had risen his way through the ranks after years of service. Miro still couldn’t believe he had such men serving under him. "Most of the officers will back you."
After the doomed battle for Ralanast matters had gone from bad to worse. The army was in complete disarray, the men fleeing for their lives, running for the safety of the Ring Forts. With many of their leaders killed or wounded, Miro had been forced to assume command with the aid of the thousand men who had stood with him at Bald Ridge. Those men had passed through fire, and come out tempered like strong steel. They contrasted with the terrified soldiers who had seen such terrible defeat at Ralanast.
When he’d finally reached Mornhaven the force he’d assembled on the way were more than twenty thousand strong. He’d had no choice but to promote men from the ranks and create a leadership structure. To his complete shock he realised on arrival that his men was the only intact force to make it. The rest of the lords, captains and marshals were either dead, lost, or in despair. It had broken Miro’s heart to see brave soldiers with such weak leadership.
To his surprise he had been included in the hasty conference that had been called at Mornhaven Town Hall. Great things were expected to come out of it, and even Miro had hoped some cohesion and decisiveness would finally come about. High Lord Tessolar would be coming from Sarostar — perhaps he would give the army the strong leadership that Prince Leopold had so far denied them.
Miro had been given chambers in the east wing of the majestic town hall. When he had taken his bath he’d found the raj hada of a marshal lying on his bed linen. It was a strange way to give a promotion. Even the captains who had shown up requesting orders seemed confused.
Bartolo and Beorn stood silently, watching him.
"What are you suggesting? That I somehow have Prince Leopold removed from command?"
"Well the High Lord certainly isn’t going to do it, not to his nephew," Bartolo said.
"The men will support you. They will follow a Torresante. They have had enough of Leopold," Captain Beorn said.
For a time Miro was silent as thoughts ran through his head.
"Come on, Marshal. Are you saying you think their plan is a good one?"
"No," Miro said, shaking his head. "I am not."
Word had just come that the elementalists had joined the war. The Primate’s taint was spreading. With five houses allied against them and the back of the army broken, they didn’t stand a chance.
"What about Wondhip Pass? The Petryans could be in Sarostar in a week!"
"I know. I know," Miro said.