Текст книги "The Raven Collection"

Автор книги: James Barclay

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Текущая страница: 158 (всего у книги 235 страниц)

Chapter 28

In the end, the One-inspired storm did more than keep familiars from the air. It kept the sky dark until well after dawn. The Raven, exhausted, wounded and carrying Erienne, who showed no signs of regaining consciousness, had made tortuously slow progress through the gorse and then across open land, first west, then south and finally east and back towards the Al-Arynaar camp.

Though they kept to deep shadow, shallow valley and tree or scrub where they could find it, they ran a constant risk of encountering Lysternan or Dordovan patrols. It made the walk mentally as well as physically draining, the wild weather conditions merely compounding the problems they faced.

The first ClawBound found them after perhaps an hour. It might have been more, Hirad couldn’t be certain. The rain was driving head-on into them, the wind forcing their movement back to little more than a shuffle. He was leading, the blood loss from his chest making him light-headed, with pain spearing his lungs every time he breathed. The Unknown was at his side, one arm around Darrick’s waist. The general was in trouble, his hip having stiffened, sending an ache up the entire side of his body and into his neck and face, his blood loss from beneath makeshift bandages a cause for real concern.

Behind them, Thraun’s huge arms enveloped Erienne, keeping the worst from her, while beside her, Denser shivered with the cold and mental fatigue, his cloak wrapped around his wife. Sian’erei walked with them too, cutting a lone hunched figure, lost in dread thoughts about the death of Julatsan magic.

The panther had approached from downwind, appearing from the dark and wiping a wet flank along Thraun’s undamaged leg. Another had immediately run out of low cover to their right and not long after, came their unmistakable elven partners. Tall, long-fingered, impossibly graceful, their white-and-black painted faces unspoiled by the rain.

Hirad had felt a relief that surprised him, while The Raven were happy to have their direction changed, edging them south-east. One of the pairs walked with them, the other well ahead, scouting the terrain for cover and any sign of allied patrols. The pair with them didn’t stray from Erienne. The panther walked easily by Thraun, the elf on his other side. Normally impassive, the elf’s face wore a frown and he rarely took his eyes from her. As if he could sense the turmoil within her.

Hirad relaxed. Not just because the ClawBound would give early warning of any attack, but because he had to. He couldn’t fight his weariness any longer. His chest was freezing and a riot of pain, his whole upper body felt like he’d taken a beating with iron bars and his legs were leaden and sluggish. The only way to keep himself going was to retreat inside himself and concentrate on just putting one foot in front of the other.

Even so, by the time they had walked for over two hours, he was forcing himself to continue by sheer effort of will. He could sense The Unknown struggling too, though he had the considerable burden of Darrick to weigh him down. The general could hardly walk at all, but they would not stop, and nothing would stop them. Not the wind throwing dirt and leaves in their faces, nor the rain tearing at their clothes and chilling their skin.

‘Can you ride a horse?’ asked The Unknown suddenly, his words just carrying over the gale.

‘I would kiss anyone who presented me with one, kiss the horse and leap on its back in a single bound,’ said Hirad.

‘I look forward to it.’

Hirad raised his head. Incredibly, The Unknown was smiling. The big man nodded forward, Hirad followed the gesture. There in the path ahead, hidden from plain view by a bank of trees on the down-slope of a shallow valley, was a group of elves. Each one had a horse by its reins, the animals grazing quietly or looking about them vacantly. Actually, they weren’t all elves. One was bigger and broader; he was standing next to Rebraal.

‘Blackthorne,’ said Hirad.

‘I’ve heard that beards rub the skin of the face,’ said The Unknown. ‘Pucker up.’

Hirad laughed. It was brief, the pain flared across his chest. The elves and Blackthorne were walking the horses towards them. The barbarian stopped and looked behind him. He felt like sagging to the ground but knew he’d never get up again. Relief was stamped across Thraun’s face and Denser’s had softened just a little.

‘You boys need a ride?’ asked Blackthorne as he reached them.

‘Now you mention it,’ said Hirad.

Blackthorne’s dark eyes sparkled but his expression was grim when he took them all in.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s not waste time. You need help, all of you.’

Hirad nodded. ‘I’ll kiss you later.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Never mind,’ said The Unknown. He clasped Blackthorne’s arm. ‘We won’t forget this.’

It was a long time before Erienne even recognised that the world she knew was gone. It was a long time before she recognised anything at all. Awareness was not something she could take for granted, she thought. Or did she? This could be a dream, in which case, she was not necessarily aware. She had no sensation of breathing, movement or life. None of her external senses revealed anything to her. She might well even be dead.

In fact, the more she thought about it, the more likely that outcome became. Her memories were fragmented. Not those of her past; they were as clear as they had always been. But there had been a transition. And somewhere between Myriell’s shattering cry and the restart of her thought processes, the memories had been broken, scattered.

Parts of it were still there. Dimly-heard shouts. A pain like she had never experienced before, splintering through her mind. Voices in the darkness. A curious odour like paint burning. An enveloping of her consciousness in a strangling mesh. Contracting, contracting.

It was this she had woken to, with the thought that she must fight. With no idea of the passage of time, she was unaware how long her mind had been under attack. And it was an attack, she was sure. Like it had been waiting for a slip, the One entity inside her had reacted instantly to Myriell’s death and the removal of the suppression of its potential.

Now she could recall it burgeoning within her with a power far too strong to control or even deflect. It had used her mind as a focus and gorged itself on the elements around it. But it had not been allowed to give unfettered vent to itself. Something had blocked it from the outside. Denser. It had to be. Only he understood. Only he among those she had been standing with was capable.

For the first time in what felt like an age, she experienced warmth in her mind. She reached out and probed gently for Cleress but the Al-Drechar was not there. She might be dead too. Probably was. That meant that she, Erienne, was alone to fight the One. Not to defeat it, but to bend it to her will. She imagined it like a spider, the great mound of its body resting on her conscious mind, its eight legs gripping her and squeezing. She couldn’t hope to push the body away, not with her limited experience. But she had to stop the constriction. So, in her mind’s eye, she had to keep on prising away one of the legs, or maybe two. Keep it occupied, keep it off balance.

The question, of course, was how.

What had Myriell and Cleress told her? She struggled to remember. Her mind was clouded, the One all around her, trying to feed off her, drag her mind’s energy, leach it away and use it. It came to her. The One was not sentient and it was dangerous to think of it as such. That was what they had said. In fact, it was little more than a channeller for elemental forces as much as her mind was a focus for those same forces.

This was where she had had difficulty understanding them. It was not sentient but in one sense it had to be an entity or how had they managed to transfer it from her dying daughter to her? The point was, she had been told, that it was an unguarded channeller. Her mind had to be both guardian and focus. And it was the guardian-ship that was hardest learned, the suppression of the ability of the One to suck in energy and use it destructively.

That was what the Al-Drechar had been doing. Closing off its access to the elements. And this was what made it different from any magical power. Mana was naturally chaotic and unfocused, harmless in its natural state. So were earth, air, fire and water harmless. The One entity, though, gave them direction. And the mind of the mage in which it rested gave them focus, gave them outlet.

In order to prise one of the legs away, then, she had to force her mind to focus in the way she wanted it to. Wrest back control. Imagination was the key as it was to most magic. The ability to see the shapes the power formed and imbue them with the necessary motive force.

Actually, she thought as she swam towards some form of active conscious thought, that was a very simplistic view. Her Dordovan masters would have chastised her for it. The Al-Drechar would have praised her.

She kept the idea of the spider and its legs uppermost in her mind. The first thing she had to do was stop the dragging in of elemental chaos. That was like a gale inside her head. Once she had done that, perhaps she could begin to bend the One her way. Perhaps not. She looked deep inside herself and saw the yawning chasm the One had opened up to the flow of the elements. It was terrifying, like standing at the mouth of a volcano as the lava boiled up and knowing she had to close the crater.

She quailed from the task, immediately feeling the legs begin to tighten.

No, she said to herself and for the benefit of her unwelcome parasite. I will not yield to you. You will not have me.

And it will not, said a voice. Not with your strength. And not while I have mine.

Cleress? Delight flooded her. Another voice. A hand in the dark.

I am weak but I am here. Come on child, let us get you back to those who love you. The One blocks you. It is a case of knowing where to push and then how to hold open the door.

Can I do it?

Only you can ever know that.

Tessaya, Lord of the Paleon tribes, and leader by consent of the Wesmen nation, had been pleasantly surprised by the response of the lords and tribal heads gathered before him as dawn broke over the encampment.

His palatial tent was full of leather and fur-clad senior tribesmen, all of whom he knew by name. The air was thick with pipe smoke, sweat and opportunity. The eyes that stared back at him from beneath hard brows were concentrated with energy and desire.

Representatives of forty tribes had answered his call, spurred to action by the mode of communication, passed by the tribal Shamen through the Spirits rather than by bird or rider. War council was invoked, his message had said. Muster your men. Be ready for victory over our oldest enemy. Come and hear my words.

And they had come and Tessaya was pleased. Now they waited for those words.

‘The storms have passed and we have emerged strong and united. That you are all here and in such obvious health is proof enough. Through the harsh times, we did not fight. We shared, we survived. We are fit, our crops grow once more and our children laugh while they play, their bellies full.

‘It is not so in the east.’

Murmurs ran around the tent. He saw Riasu nod and smile. He knew more than most but less than Tessaya. It would forever be the way while he lived. Information was the key to power, not strength of arms.

‘My Lords,’ said Tessaya, holding up his hands. ‘The warring colleges are tearing the east apart. The colleges blame each other and a single small child for the forces that raged against them. I prefer to think the Spirits have exacted their vengeance. Now it is our turn.

‘It has set college against college, mage against mage. It has set man against his brother. But more, it has weakened them and the fabric of the society of which they are so proud. They sneer at us across the Blackthorne Mountains, terming us savages. Yet who is it whose children die in the streets in front of their fine-built houses? Who is it who determines to war until the last man lies dying in his own blood?

‘We may not have the minds of mages. We may not have the great cities and ports. But we have something far more important.’ He thumped his chest. ‘We have heart.’

The Lords in front of him roared their approval. He waited for the noise to die down, draining his goblet and refilling it, enjoying the atmosphere. It would not be so easy from here.

‘The true test of a people is that they can thrive in adversity. We have done so. We have emerged stronger but I also like to think we have emerged wiser.’

The assembled tribesmen quietened further, sensing they were not to hear exactly what they expected.

‘The wars of six years ago have taken their toll. We are no longer a numerous people, able to mass tens of thousands of willing warriors for the fight. Indeed, had we taken Balaia in the last invasion, we would have lost it again when our enemies regathered. The Wytch Lords sought dominion by destruction. My vision is of a place where the Wesmen tribes can prosper, becoming stronger every day. A place where our children can run free and where each of us here present is spoken of as our Gods are today.’

He paused and smiled, noting their reactions. Some were confused, others disappointed, most angry.

‘So, are we to fight the colleges?’ asked Riasu.

Tessaya nodded. ‘No Wesman will ever offer them the hand of peace. For us nothing but their elimination will make our children truly safe and let us build our world. The colleges are a curse on this land. In that, if in nothing else, we agree with the Black Wings. But they would have been our masters in an unequal alliance. The reason their bodies smoulder still is that the Wesmen will be mastered by no one. No one.’

Faces were relaxing, expressions softening.

‘I will invite your thoughts in a moment,’ said Tessaya. ‘And I will invite your support also. In this fight, we must stand together and not stray from our singleminded path.

‘Julatsa is still ruined and only hanging on to its status by the merest thread. Every piece of intelligence I have points to Xetesk being on the verge of collapse under the onslaught of Lystern and Dordover, who are in uneasy alliance and supported by elves who will return south when their work is complete.

‘I propose that we strike now at Xetesk. We take the city as we did Julatsa. We destroy the college as we did Julatsa. When Xetesk is gone, the balance of power will shift. Dordover will fight Lystern for dominion. All we have to do is wait for them to weaken each other while we reinforce and plan. When the time is right, we will move north and take them, one by one.

‘But we will not repeat the mistakes of our past, when our lust for victory drove us on and on, ever thinner in strength. We will not fragment and we will not overstretch. So when the colleges are gone, we will stop, build our lives and share our new lands. And we will trade with the Barons and Lords of Eastern Balaia, letting their greed help us grow to dominance. What say you?’

‘We are a warrior race,’ said a voice from the back. It was Quatanai, a man with plenty of popular support. ‘It is not our way to farm ourselves into decadence.’

‘Neither is it our way to live in cities,’ said Tessaya. ‘Why should we tear them down when they can work for us? The colleges must be destroyed because magic must die. But beyond that, it is surely better to parley from a position of strength, make the Eastern Balaians trade with us on our terms.’ He smiled. ‘How many of us do not enjoy Blackthorne’s wines?’

He heard chuckles and affirmatives and shrugged his shoulders, his palms up.

‘Who here knows they can ferment the grapes better than the Baron’s men? It is simple, my Lords. We keep what we need, destroy what we do not. Anything else is a waste of our blood and I will not have my people die needlessly. Not now, not ever again.

‘Now, are you with me?’

The massed cry of ‘Aye!’, the clashed goblets and the cheers told him he had them, for now at least. But he didn’t fool himself that they bought all that he had said. For them, the chance to strike the killing blow against magic was enough. The test of his leadership would come should that battle be won.

Tessaya caught the gaze of Quatanai, saw his thoughts as plain as if he had spoken them aloud.

He would have to be careful.

Chapter 29

‘Denser!’ Thraun’s voice was low and urgent.

It was mid morning. The sounds of fighting at the east gates of Xetesk rolled up the gentle slope, filling the air with discordance. From where he had been lying, Denser had guessed that the combat was mainly magic-based, the two opposing armed forces having all but fought themselves to a standstill.

But this morning, both sides would have renewed hope of a breakthrough. With no Protectors in the Xeteskian lines and no elves in the allied lines, both were weakened in muscle and in spirit. Mere men opposed each other now. And those with the greater will, who had remained the stronger through the days of battle, would prevail.

Denser scrambled to his feet. Above him, the trees were calm and a warm sun dried the sodden ground. While he had been resting on leather under his elven-made bivouac, the mana had coursed into him through the dark gateway Xeteskians had used for centuries, and the mana storm had blown itself out.

Thraun was sitting by the embers of the night’s fire, one leg stretched in front of him. The trouser had been cut away and he wore clean bandages through which a hint of blood had soaked. Next to him lay Erienne, beautiful but so pale in the broken sunlight. He stroked hair from her face and looked up at Denser.

‘She is strong,’ he said. ‘I told you.’

Hope gripped Denser. He dropped to his knees at her side and stared at her face. Beneath their lids, her eyes were moving.

‘Erienne,’ he said, leaning in close, his lips brushing hers, feeling their warmth. ‘Can you hear me, love?’

‘She fights,’ said Thraun.

‘How long has she been like this?’

Thraun frowned, struggling to frame the words. Denser prompted him.

‘An hour ago? Just now?’

Thraun nodded. ‘Now,’ he affirmed. ‘The sun helps her.’

Denser understood. Thraun had refused to leave her side when Denser had been forced to rest to regain mana stamina. She had slept in his arms under a leather and leaf shelter, his warmth about her. They went back a long way. Thraun had been a good friend of Alun, her first husband, and now the troubled shapechanger was uniquely positioned to understand her pain. Like him, she was possessed of a force she hated and craved in equal measure.

‘You think Cleress is there?’ he asked.

Thraun nodded again. ‘Her spirit is calm.’

‘Thank you, Thraun,’ said Denser. ‘What would I do without you?’

Thraun shrugged. ‘Raven,’ he said by way of explanation. ‘You must rest more.’

Denser couldn’t refuse. He looked into Thraun’s eyes and saw the frustration boiling there. He didn’t think Thraun would ever quite recover himself. The worst thing was that Thraun knew it too.

‘I know it’s hard,’ he said, climbing slowly to his feet and putting a hand on his chest. ‘But in here, you are everything you always were, and we’ll never forget that.’

He walked back towards his bivouac. Placed at the heart of the elven camp, they were shielded from the prying eyes of the Lysternans near them. It was probable that the allies suspected they were here, or at least very close. The mana storm would have seen to that. But the camp was sealed by TaiGethen and ClawBound. None would dare cross the line. The elves would not hesitate to fight back.

He paused by the sleeping forms of Hirad, Darrick and The Unknown. Men pushed right to their limits and now paying the price. On their arrival back in the elven camp it had been immediately apparent that all needed spell treatment in addition to their bandaging and wound cleansing. Their plan to leave at next dusk was simply not practical.

Darrick was the worst. He’d collapsed from his horse the moment they’d stopped. His blood loss was serious, the wound across his hip deep and open through his forced action. The spell had knitted the damage, bandages held the wound closed but only time would replace the blood. He would be weak for days.

Hirad’s armour was being repaired elsewhere. What was left behind was a shirt barely recognisable as such. Both arms were ragged, his chest was bandaged from throat to gut and his forehead too was hidden beneath clean coverings.

The Unknown had fared better in the fights but had followed that exertion by all but carrying Darrick for over two hours into the teeth of a gale. His was a muscle weariness only rest would relieve.

Strange. Before meeting the elves of the Al-Arynaar and TaiGethen, there was no way The Raven would have slept without one of their number on guard. How necessity bred reliance and trust, how the world moved on. Denser dragged the leather from his bivouac and lay down in the warm open air. He began to relax into himself, seeking the demon gateway from where the mana flowed to feed Xeteskian mages at rest. The demons would close it if they could but until that day, it was the best source of stamina replenishment a dark mage had.

Dimly, he heard the soft padding of a panther, no doubt come to check on Thraun and Erienne. That was why The Raven could rest. Denser closed his eyes.

‘She is so close,’ muttered Vuldaroq. ‘And we are powerless.’

He pushed a forkful of food into his mouth and chewed slowly, looking up and across the table at Heryst only when he’d swallowed. He reached for his wine glass and sipped.

Lystern’s Lord Elder Mage had arrived in Dordover the previous evening to discuss the next moves in the war. So far, the allies had been less than convincing in their efforts to overcome the defence of Xetesk. They had been surprised by the tenacity of the enemy and had been forced to commit too many men to the watcher ring around the city. Rightly they feared the excursions of familiars and assassins but had failed to stop the attacks by both demons and Cloaked mages. They had also failed to stop supplies entering the college, and The Raven were still free.

The strained relations with the elves hadn’t helped. They couldn’t deny their intervention was valuable, even critical, to the effort. But it wasn’t as a partner in belief. The elves had their agenda. And now they’d taken what they wanted and were moving on. That changed the battle plan, as did the worsening of the Julatsan mana focus.

Vuldaroq found himself wondering about the benefits of Julatsa failing terminally. Heryst, he was sure, was not.

‘We will bide our time and wait for our opportunity,’ said Heryst. ‘She and The Raven have the protection of every elf on the battlefield. We cannot act now. She’s going nowhere except, presumably, Julatsa. We can wait.’

‘Tempting, though, isn’t it?’ said Vuldaroq.

Heryst smiled briefly. ‘You and I can sit here and say that. My commanders on the east gate front would say otherwise. I suspect we do not have the warrior or mage strength there to take them on though we outnumber them almost three to one. And even if we did, we would have to leave the east gate unguarded to do it. Like I say, we wait. She will fall to us eventually.’

‘And when she does, we must be agreed on how she is handled,’ said Vuldaroq.

‘She must be treated as a joint asset, Vuldaroq. We have been through this already. Please don’t claim fealty over a woman who does not see herself as belonging to any of us.’

Vuldaroq held up his hands. ‘Another time, my Lord Heryst. Other matters are more pressing.’

‘We agree there.’

‘Now, clearly your forces at the east gate will be most affected by the departure of the elves to Julatsa. And, with Izack’s very astute decision to reinforce the north front with Lysternan forces, you are further weakened there. I have some reserve still in Dordover that I can offer to you. What do you need from me? Men? Mages?’

Vuldaroq smiled inwardly at Heryst’s reaction. How easy it was to disarm a man who expected nothing from you.

‘That is a most kind offer. I thank you for it.’

‘Surprising too?’ Vuldaroq couldn’t help himself.

Heryst raised his eyebrows. ‘It is not your most common stance,’ he said. ‘We are, I believe, faced with a critical decision. My commanders, who have briefed me extensively, are in no doubt that the war will turn upon it. It has doubtless been on the minds of you and yours.’

Vuldaroq inclined his head, sure of Heryst’s direction. He was not disappointed.

‘Xetesk wants Julatsa gone and the elves threaten that. Their move north will not go unchallenged and that has an effect directly on us, which is why Izack has reinforced the most likely place for an attempt to break the siege.

‘But, in my opinion, we have to take wider factors into account. I am not sure that providing extra strength at the east gate is the best use of our forces, not least because they may be too late. After all, the breakout is liable to be staged very soon, and there is no doubt that we will struggle to contain them, given the information we have about their reserve strength.

‘As you’ll be aware, Baron Blackthorne has joined the struggle on our side and has brought with him seventy swordsmen and eight mages. This represents almost all of his trained guard and he has taken the gamble of leaving his lands guarded by Baron Gresse whose small militia is already stretched over almost the whole of the south. Why are they doing it? Because while this war goes on, the economics of the entire country are destroyed more each day.

‘And they are not alone in their anxiety. Havern is sending men, so is Orytte, so is Rache. Many other Barons aren’t capable of sending anyone, of course. But again, reinforcing the east gate might be pointless. It may be that riding north to Julatsa is the better decision.’

‘Sorry,’ said Vuldaroq, raising a finger. ‘You sound as if you don’t necessarily agree with the turn of events.’

Heryst refreshed his water glass. ‘It adds a layer of complexity. Blackthorne has agreed to put his men under the command of Izack and indeed is not planning on staying too long on the field himself. That’s because he feels he needs to exercise his diplomatic skills in the heart of the country. He, as you know, along with Gresse, is an exception. Both are Barons working for the common good, not purely self interest. Many of those deciding to join the battlefield have more personal agendas to complete.’

‘But you can’t deny that more forces committed to bringing down Xetesk has to be a good thing from our point of view.’

‘Are you really convinced of that, Vuldaroq? I suggest you familiarise yourself with the histories of some of the relationships between those ostensibly coming to help us. We may be here to restore the magical balance by first deposing the current Circle Seven but there are landed Barons out there who would like to see all the power of the colleges subservient to them. We must be careful that we remain the directors of this war.’

Vuldaroq smiled indulgently. Heryst sometimes thought too hard. On the other hand, it wouldn’t do to unnecessarily raise his suspicions.

‘I have been open with my talks with any Barons or Lords,’ he said. ‘Any forces I am hiring are signing themselves to serve under my battlefield commanders. You do not have to worry about their conduct. We are all after the same thing.’

‘Are we?’ Heryst’s smile was thin.

‘Who among us does not want peace for Balaia?’

‘Vuldaroq, that is not in doubt. It is the nature of that peace which taxes me.’

‘Then we must strive to ensure it is a peace which suits us all,’ said Vuldaroq, feeling a growing irritation. ‘But we are diverted from our task for today. You were talking about the east gate before outlining our options as you see them?’

‘I was,’ said Heryst. ‘If I don’t have enough men to preserve the balance now, there will not be time to reinforce. However, I have hope. I may have lost the elves but I have gained Blackthorne’s men and magic, and Xetesk has lost the Protectors. We have no choice but to fight there and occupy as many Xeteskians as we can.

‘We have no more men to commit in time. Indeed I suggest that we never really had enough to force a significant breach in Xetesk’s defences though we have all fought hard.

‘You mention Baronial forces joining you. Like I have said, I have others joining me and their management is very important. But the decisions to be made are tactical. The most critical is this. Do we assume the Xeteskians will break through whatever our strategy and therefore let them out and take them on open ground? We still have the time to organise that. Plans are in place.

‘But can we prosecute such a fight successfully? Can we contain them on the open field? And if we can, where do we draw our line? Who should be in overall command? There is more, Vuldaroq, but this will do as a beginning.’

Vuldaroq was impressed and annoyed in equal measure. His commanders had not brought up all these questions, some of which were blindingly obvious issues.

‘Are you sure none of your people have been in contact with Darrick?’ he asked.

‘I think not,’ said Heryst. ‘And I resent the suggestion that he is the only man capable of assessing our tactics. Many of my commanders have served under Darrick in the past. His knowledge has been passed on. I won’t deny we could do with him but he made his decision and will live or die by it.’

‘And what is the considered opinion of your command team as to our next moves?’

‘Our first priority is to give the elves as much time as possible to get away to Julatsa. They are preparing to leave now and will begin travel at dawn tomorrow. We have to hope we can hold the Xeteskians inside the city. We cannot risk Xetesk beating us in the open. If they do, we have nothing left.’

Vuldaroq considered. It was the most sensible solution but also the one Xetesk would expect.

‘It has little surprise in it to upset Xeteskian plans.’

‘And little room for them to surprise us. Even if they did break out east, for example, we would have considerable forces blocking their path.’