by Roger Taylor
And, for all the assurances he rehearsed, he still felt the unease he always felt when the weather closed in like this. At times it was an invaluable ally, enabling his people to move quickly about the mountains with much less fear of discovery and to launch sudden ambushes and vanish almost immediately. But that was when the enemy's position was known. The danger when it was not known was that it could be they who were laying the ambush. On the whole, Marris preferred to see what was happening, despite the increased risk it brought to moving safely.
'Are you ready?’ Hynard came out of the Council Hall still fastening his cape. He gave the valley a glance similar to the one Marris had given it, then, at Marris's nod, the two of them set off. They did not speak as they walked through the silent village. This was partly due to the mountain discipline that was always with them, but also due to the fact that they had little to say to one another. Whether it was just the absence of Ibryen and Rachyl or the strange reasons that had been given for their going, it was not possible to say, but the whole community had been subtly unsettled and the two men were not immune. Both of them had set their faces resolutely against worrying and while both succeeded in looking unconcerned, both actually failed. The net result was an alternation of awkward silences and bursts of forced heartiness.
Not that either had any serious concerns—yet. Those they would have given voice to immediately. After all, Ibryen had said he would be away for a month at the most and what was to be served by fretting after only a few days? Yet the two absences dragged—made looking forward difficult—introduced too many unresolvable, ‘What ifs?'
They walked on through the rain in silence and were challenged successfully at each of the outer perimeter guard posts.
Hynard smiled as they left the last one. ‘I wonder if this alertness is due to Ibryen's “Vigilance must be re-doubled", or your suddenly doing three times as many tours of inspection?'
But Marris did not respond. He was staring into the mist, preoccupied.
'I said ...'
Marris raised a hand.
'What's the matter?’ Hynard asked softly, abandoning his light-hearted taunt.
Marris curled up his nose in irritation. ‘Something feels bad,’ he said, looking from side to side as if that might help him see better through the mist. Hynard did not ask for clarification. He sensed nothing himself but Ibryen's followers trusted one another's instincts and he stayed silent.
The two of them stood for some time, then Marris shook his head, though his expression was more concerned than ever. ‘I can't hear anything,’ Hynard whispered, to prompt him.
'Nor I,’ Marris said after a long pause. Then he shrugged. ‘Probably imagination,’ he decided, though without conviction.
Hynard looked at him doubtfully. For a moment he considered offering Marris another taunt about his lack of imagination, but Marris's mood was contagious. Instead, he opted for action. ‘Let's check the north end ridge-post while we're here,’ he said. ‘This rain's in for the day, there's no chance of us being seen.'
It would probably be dark when they returned, making the journey difficult, but Marris nodded his head and moved off without further debate.
Despite the poor visibility and the unlikelihood of there being any Gevethen troops or spies in the area, the two men moved with increasing caution as they neared their destination. They stopped from time to time and listened, but nothing was to be heard except the sound of the rain and the many streams that tumbled down the valley sides. Each time Hynard glanced at Marris however, the older man still looked uneasy.
They both stopped suddenly. Hynard pointed as the movement which had caught their attention occurred again. It appeared to be a solitary figure. Both of them crouched down slowly and edged their way to the shelter of some nearby rocks. The figure continued towards them.
'It's no stranger, moving so quickly and using the cover like that,’ Hynard whispered.
'It's a runner from one of the ridge look-outs then,’ Marris replied. ‘What the devil's he playing at?'
He was about to stand up and hail the figure when Hynard seized his arm and pointed frantically. Coming into view were other figures. There were four of them altogether and they too were moving quickly, though not in the manner of one of Ibryen's people. And they were noisy. Not that they were shouting, but to the ever-sensitive ears of Marris and Hynard, the clatter of their weapons stood out above the murmur of the valley as clearly as if they had been ringing hand-bells.
'Ye gods, they're army,’ Hynard hissed as they drew closer. The two of them became very still, making themselves indistinguishable from the rocks they were sheltering amongst. Marris glanced after the fleeing look-out, his mind racing. Ibryen's conjecturing had been right then, the Gevethen were launching an early attack to draw attention away from difficulties in the city. But patrols had never ventured into this inconspicuous little valley before. And what was that idiot of a runner doing leaving his post when they were about? Worse, what was he doing leading his pursuers back towards the village? More immediate concerns pushed the questions aside. The man was passing them now and it looked as though he was going to pay a harsher price for his folly than any reproach he could have expected from his peers.
'They're going to catch him,’ Marris said. ‘He's hurt. He's limping.'
Hynard swore softly. It was the limit of their debate. They did not need to discuss the seriousness of what was happening. Having seen someone, the four soldiers would have to be killed, even though that would risk bringing others after them. Normally, in some distant valley, that was no great problem, but here, so close to the village...
Marris clenched his fists at the thought.
Yet what could he and Hynard do? For the two of them to attack four was out of the question. To stand any chance at all it would be essential to fall on the men suddenly and silently, and radically improve the odds before the attack was even suspected. Yet placed as they were, even that hazardous option was impossible. The soldiers were too far away and too spread out.
But to let them escape was unthinkable.
The look-out went sprawling. Both men involuntarily breathed in sharply. The man staggered to his feet but fell again. Then he was crawling. He was sitting with his back to a boulder and his sword drawn as the four soldiers closed on him. The first one to reach him casually kicked the sword aside and raised his own.
Marris felt Hynard's grip tightening about his arm.
The blow never fell however. One of the other soldiers seized the raised arm and took the sword. Angry voices drifted to Marris and Hynard, then the first soldier was knocked savagely to the ground and his sword thrown contemptuously after him. He lay still for a moment, until, shaking his head and using his sword for support, he clambered slowly to his feet. The look-out was dragged upright, but collapsed immediately with a cry of pain. There was another brief debate then two of the soldiers dragged him up again and, draping his arms around their shoulders, began carrying him.
This time it was Marris who swore. ‘No choice now,’ he said bitterly. ‘If he's taken back to their base camp they'll torture the location of the village out of him.'
Hynard bared his teeth in an expression of grim but reluctant acknowledgement. There was no need to discuss tactics. Speed, silence and an unhesitating resolution to kill were all that were needed ... dark attributes that their years resisting the Gevethen had enhanced in them all too well.
They neither spoke nor moved until the returning party had gone past them, then, silently drawing their swords, they crept after them, hands trembling. The four soldiers were walking in a closer group now, two of them half-supporting, half-dragging the look-out while the other two walked behind. Their swords were sheathed but they were obviously anxious to be away now their chase was successfully concluded for they were talking very little and kept glancing up the rain-misted sides of the valley. Hynard and Marris drew steadily closer; at the nerve-wrenching last, matching them stride for step for some twenty or thirty p
aces for fear that too soon a final charge would announce their presence.
In the end, it was Hynard's victim who sensed danger to the rear rather than from the side. As he turned suddenly, his vision was filled with Hynard's eyes, wide and intense, coming rapidly closer. They were the last thing he saw, for an arm and a sword-length in front of this frightened and frightening gaze was the point which passed through his throat. As his companion spun round, Marris's descending blade struck him on the side of the head.
The two soldiers supporting the look-out fell before a murderous knife and sword attack from Hynard as they tried to disentangle themselves from their burden and draw their swords. Marris had scarcely freed his own sword from the second soldier's split skull before they died.
Then there was silence.
Hynard, shaking violently and breathing heavily, pushed his sword into the thin turf then bent double and rested his head on the pommel. Slowly he sank to his knees. Winter and the peace it brought was over; Spring had come again ... and the killing.
Marris too, knelt.
'Commander Marris.’ It was the look-out. Marris looked up sharply. His face became angry as he focused on the cause of this blood-letting. It was a young man whose face he knew but whose name he could not remember.
'What in thunder's name were you ...'
The look-out was waving him silent desperately and pointing along the valley. ‘Commander. The army's moving along the lower valley. Thousands of them. Thousands. I've never seen so many. And little patrols scouting everywhere.’ He screwed up his face in pain and put a hand to his leg. ‘I was coming to warn you when I missed my footing on some loose stones and ...’ He realized he was standing on one of the bloodied corpses and started back, wincing as the movement hurt him. ‘... and this lot heard me. I'm sorry.'
Marris was in no mood for apologies. The whole incident had probably been caused by this hysterical youngster panicking at the sight of a routine army patrol. ‘How many?’ he demanded roughly.
'Thousands,’ the look-out repeated. He sensed Marris's doubts and, regardless of the bodies, he dragged himself forward and took hold of Marris's arm. ‘I counted,’ he insisted. ‘Like you told us. As well as I could, when the rain shifted. Ranks and files, in so far as they had any, I counted. Over five hundred that I saw, and there were as many already gone and more coming, a lot more.’ His tone was full of pain and fear but he was coherent enough. Hynard looked up and stared hard at him.
'Who else was on duty with you?’ he asked.
'My father and uncle,’ came the reply. ‘They sent me down to bring the news while they kept on watching. I gave no signal when I was being chased. I didn't want them to be ...'
'It's all right,’ Marris intervened, beginning to repent his earlier suspicions. He turned to Hynard. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked. Hynard had pushed the hood of his cape back and rain was running down his face. He looked down at the dead men. The rain had already washed most of the blood off them. He nodded slowly. ‘Get up to the ridge-post and find out exactly what's happening,’ Marris went on brusquely, to help him. ‘I'll take this lad back and rouse the village.'
'What about these?’ Hynard indicated the bodies.
'They'll have to stay here. We'll move them later if we can.'
* * * *
Some hours later, a weary and stone-faced Hynard returned with confirmation of the young look-out's story. By then however, he was but one of several, for shortly after Marris's return to the village, frantic runners had started to come in from other distant look-out posts with the same news.
When Hynard arrived at the Council Hall it was filling rapidly and the atmosphere told him immediately that his news had preceded him in some way. He went straight through to the room where he knew he would find Marris. The door was wide open. He made to close it as he entered.
'Leave it,’ Marris said, looking up from the table. ‘You saw those faces out there. Close that door and we'll have a panic on our hands.’ He took in Hynard's appearance. ‘The lad's story was right?’ he asked, though his tone indicated that he already knew the answer.
Hynard nodded. ‘They're still moving along the lower valley. And he wasn't exaggerating. There are thousands of them.’ He dropped heavily into a chair opposite Marris and flicked a thumb towards the open door. ‘Did you tell them?’ he asked, almost in disbelief.
Marris ignored the implied reproach and prodded the map in front of him. ‘Here, here, here and here,’ he said. ‘The same story. Hundreds, if not thousands of troops marching into the mountains, and scouting parties everywhere.’ He put his hands to his head. ‘They must have drawn every soldier and Guard in the land to raise a force of this size. It's incredible.’ The hands came down and slapped the table. ‘How could Iscar have missed something like this? They must have been planning it for months.’ Hynard offered no reply and Marris grimaced guiltily. ‘That's unfair of me,’ he said softly. ‘Iscar takes risks enough for us. This has obviously been kept very secret.’ He paused. ‘Though I can't think how.’ He shook his head, then waved the puzzle aside. ‘Still, I don't think advanced knowledge of an expedition this size would've been of much use. In fact, just waiting for it to come might have broken our morale. At least we've been spared that.'
'We need Ibryen,’ Hynard said.
'We need the Dohrum Bell to fall on the Gevethen,’ Marris snapped angrily. ‘Ibryen's not here, nor is he likely to be for perhaps two weeks or more. And without any disrespect, I doubt he'd know what to do any better than we do in the face of this. It's not something we ever seriously envisaged—not on this scale anyway.'
The untypical outburst shook Hynard and gave him a measure of Marris's anxiety. For a moment he felt a surge of anger in response but he restrained it. ‘You know what I mean,’ he replied. ‘Ibryen's worth a hundred swords in morale alone.'
Marris nodded unhappily. ‘Then we'll need several hundred Ibryens,’ he said flatly. ‘But I've already sent runners after him, for what it's worth. Rachyl will have marked their track. Maybe we can get him back within the week.’ He glanced at the door and lowered his voice. ‘At least that's what we can say, if necessary.'
'And in the meantime?’ Hynard asked.
'In the meantime, we use our wits and survive,’ Marris announced.
* * * *
It was from Marris that Ibryen had learned much about dealing with his people, but the old man's skill was tested to its limit as he faced the burgeoning panic of those who had gathered in the lantern-lit Council Hall.
'Ibryen's abandoned us ... betrayed us!'
There were not many such cries, but they were potentially disastrous. With difficulty Marris swallowed the anger that the remarks ignited within him and focused it into a quiet but ruthless rebuttal which was many times more effective than any ranting denunciation. It was thanks to Ibryen they had survived so far at so little cost. It was Ibryen who worked while they rested, who lay awake planning while they slept, who carried the burden of responsibility for the whole community but who accepted no privileges for himself. Ibryen, who was even now searching for a way that would defeat the Gevethen. Larding his reply with personal reminiscences directed at the complaining individuals, the crushing of such comments proved to be comparatively easy. Less easy was the quietening of the concerns of the majority, not least because they were his own also. As he spoke, an almost offhand remark from one of the runners who had brought the news, returned to him. ‘They look very tired.'
He leaned across to Hynard who was standing nearby. ‘What state was this army in when you saw them?’ he asked.
'Hard to say from the ridge-post,’ Hynard replied. ‘It's very high. But, thinking about it, they weren't moving quickly, and their lines were broken and disordered—more so than the terrain demanded. There was nothing textbook about them.'
'The ones I saw looked exhausted.’ It was another of the runners, catching Marris's drift.
Marris laid a grateful hand on his shoulder and turned back to
the gathering. ‘I'm telling you nothing you don't know when I tell you that we had no forewarning of this attack. Not only is it earlier than usual, it's of unprecedented size. I thought at first that it had been kept very secret, though I couldn't think how. Now I'm coming to the view that something has made the Gevethen panic—has made them scrape together their entire army in just a few days and drive them into the mountains to find us. Why else would they be exhausted and in bad order?’ He let the point sink in. ‘Perhaps, unknown to us, Ibryen has already assailed them in some way. That was what he set off to do.'
'That doesn't help us,’ came an immediate response. Other voices picked it up.
'You'd rather face that army when it was fresh and in good order?’ Marris retorted fiercely. He pointed towards the invisible invaders and hardened his previous doubts into certainties. ‘We'd have heard if they'd been preparing such a campaign,’ he said. ‘They couldn't possibly have kept it secret—we've too many friends left for such a thing to go unnoticed.'
'The Count said they might do something to distract the people from Hagen's death.'
Marris gave a conceding nod then rejected the idea. ‘This is no casual spectacle to distract gossip-mongers and those the Gevethen perceive as troublemakers. The Citadel Guards can handle almost anything that's liable to happen in Dirynhald. This is panic. Considerable panic.’ He paused again, weighing the mood of his audience. Then, conspiratorially, ‘What we have to be careful about is that we don't do the same.'
'Right now, panicking seems like a good idea.'
It was an acid observation from someone, but Marris seized it like a dog bringing down a hare. His sudden and unexpected laughter induced the same from much of the crowd and almost instantly the tension that had filled the Hall was gone. As the laughter faded, he spoke with a confidence that defied any disagreement.
'You've all done enough fighting to know that it's the one who stays calm—who keeps his nerve—that wins. We know the terrain; the mountains are ours. If the Gevethen want to pack them with tired and fearful soldiers, then that's to our advantage. When we catch them in the narrow passes and the first ranks turn and run—and they will—they'll crash into those following and the panic will run faster than any of them. The Gevethen could have made a mistake that will bring them down.’ He did not pause to allow any debate. ‘I want all the Company Commanders here as soon as possible to plan our best response. We seem to be spoilt for choice. The rest of you go back to your normal duties, but be ready to move at a moment's notice. Send out extra runners—we need to know what's happening as soon as it happens.’ He ended on a cautionary note. ‘Runners, and anyone else who's moving about—be doubly careful. Look-outs and guards—be doubly watchful.'
