by Roger Taylor
They moved on in silence until they came to the top of the slope and the valley began to open in front of them. They soon moved out of sight of their men as the slope levelled out.
'Where did you find the bodies?’ Helsarn asked. Vintre pointed. Then the two of them swore simultaneously. Still some distance away but moving towards them, and moving quickly, was a large body of armed men.
* * * *
First success in the battle fell to Hynard, his men reaching the top of the slope before Helsarn's. He did not have enough men to form a shield wall as solid as that intended for the Greskilva Valley, but it was adequate and it gave them a command of the high ground.
Helsarn had descended to his men with commendable restraint, knowing that, loyal or not, the sight of Vintre and himself charging over the skyline could well send his men tumbling back to camp in panic. As it was, they formed up in as good an order as the rocky terrain would allow, and moved up the slope cautiously to establish a line opposite Hynard's. Messengers were sent back to the base camp with express orders to take the news only to the Gevethen in person, while Vintre was sent to commandeer whichever unit was nearest for the purposes of making an initial attack. Helsarn had no intention of risking his own forces unless it proved absolutely necessary.
Hynard was glad of the delay. It enabled his men to recover from the pounding run they had made from the village. He watched Helsarn's Guards forming their line almost with amusement. The need for hunting in the mountains had, over the years, given Ibryen's forces more powerful bows than those carried by the army and the Guards, and Helsarn's line was well within arrow-shot. Hynard refrained from demonstrating the point however. It would be more effective if the Gevethen's men learned about it the hard way.
But despite his initial advantage, Hynard was far from complacent. He had a limited number of arrows and his men would be able to fight only so long before fatigue took its toll. And the same would apply to whatever reinforcements Marris sent. Worse, he knew that it would take only a moderate military thinker to realize that they could be out-flanked, even encircled, by a movement from neighbouring valleys.
He could certainly last this day out and, quite possibly, tomorrow. But after that, or if an attack was sustained through the night...?
* * * *
From Helsarn's point of view, Vintre was most fortunate in the first army unit he came to and the two men exchanged knowing glances as he gave the order to open the line and allow the soldiers through. Their blustering captain, who was, ‘Going to show these Guards how these things are done,’ was struck down by a heavy-bladed pike that suddenly appeared between two shields as he charged the defenders’ wall. Several of his men went the same way, while others, breathless from the uphill dash, fell to swords and axes before the rest retreated. Hynard's line was undisturbed. In the lull that followed he sent out some of his men to retrieve the dead men's weapons.
The next dash fared little better and, in the end, the soldiers retreated, leaderless and cowed, behind Helsarn's line.
Gradually the slope up from the lower valley began to fill with a mixture of Guards and soldiers drawn there from the main force by a bizarre combination of confusion and curiosity. Helsarn searched for some time to see if there was any semblance of order in what was happening before he finally took command himself.
'Ibryen is to be found at all costs,' the Gevethen had said, and he would get precious little thanks if he just waited aimlessly for a more senior Commander to arrive.
Thus, in the fading light, Hynard found his line increasingly pressed as Helsarn sent wave after wave of men against it. Screams and shouts and the clash of arms echoed down the rocky slope, and bodies began to pile up in front of the shield wall. It did not concern Helsarn that the attackers were little more than disordered mobs and that casualties were appalling, it mattered only that he was in command and that the defence was slowly weakening.
'For the Gevethen! For the Gevethen!’ he shouted as he urged men forward up the slope. ‘Bring the traitor Ibryen to justice!'
Hynard soon began to understand Helsarn's tactics. Reinforcements had arrived as Marris had promised, but even with them he knew that his men could not stand long against such reckless assaults. And once the wall was breached, all would be lost.
Then it was dark.
Hynard had little doubt that the attacks would continue through the night and he knew for certain that even if his force managed to survive that long, they would be destroyed the following day. They had no choice but to withdraw if they were to be able to act as a rearguard to the fleeing villagers. Hynard stared down the slope, alive with torches and lanterns. Above the general clamour of the people gathered there, he could hear Helsarn's voice shouting orders. Another attack would be coming soon. He reached a decision.
* * * *
Helsarn learned of it shortly afterwards when a wind-rushing sound presaged a hail of arrows. One snagged in his cloak and, in terror, he dropped the lantern he was carrying. It shattered and burst into flames. It was not the only one and, for a moment, by countless dancing lights, he seemed to see the whole slope alive with bright arrows, falling like streaking snow; with screaming men; with wild eyes and terrified faces; with flailing arms and manic shadows; as all around him the flight down the treacherous slope began. He heard himself cursing and swearing at the fleeing men then something struck him and sent him sprawling. As he struggled to his feet, another sound reached him out of the darkness ahead.
'For Ibryen! Death to the Gevethen! CHARGE!'
A clamorous din filled with roaring and angry cries rolled after it. And above it all came the sound of yet more arrows! As he turned to flee after his routed command, Helsarn lost his footing and tumbled into the darkness.
* * * *
Hynard's men stopped shouting and beating their shields. They had not moved from their original line. Hynard stood for a moment, listening to the sounds of flight and self-destruction rising up the slope, then he whispered a command. His men turned and moved silently off into the night.
* * * *
Helsarn had no measure of the time he lay on the ground, but his mind was alert and working before his body despite the distress it was in. There was noise about him but he could not identify it nor, from where he was lying, see what was causing it. Had Ibryen's people been more numerous than he had thought? Had they actually charged down the slope, sweeping the Guards and soldiers back down on to the main force? Fearful questions.
Yet there was no indication that he was in the midst of a triumphant army. As quietly as he could, he moved his arms and legs, testing them for injury. His head was aching, but after a little while he decided that he was whole except for some bruising. When he cautiously pushed himself into a sitting position to look around, the discomfort in his ribs told him that he had only been winded when he fell. It could have been worse, he supposed. His relief was short-lived, for as his vision began to clear, the vague shifting shapes about him became bodies; the bodies of the men he had commanded, strewn over the rocky slope in postures of death and awful injury. The flickering lights of dropped torches and spilled lanterns gave an awful, twitching vitality even to those who were motionless. And the sounds he had been hearing became the groans and cries of injured men.
From deep within, a primitive fear rose up to fill him. Had he been slain in that panic-filled gorge and sent to some ominous netherworld for Judgement? He started trembling uncontrollably. With an effort he levered himself into a kneeling position. In the distance he could make out a pool of garish light. It seemed to be pulsating, resonating to his pounding heart. He shook his head to clear his vision completely.
As his eyes came properly into focus, his trembling began to ease. The light was the main army far below. For a moment he was tempted to run towards it and safety, but even as the impulse came to him, other considerations made themselves felt. He picked up a still-burning torch and looked around. Not only was there no sign of any triumphant army about him, such bod
ies as he could see were all either soldiers or Guards. He felt suddenly cold. Ibryen's men had never charged! They had unleashed their arrow storm, thrown up a great shout and ... Helsarn's grip tightened about the torch in rage ... fled into the darkness. Most of the damage he was standing in had been self-inflicted.
Almost immediately, a newer fear rose to displace the fading remains of the superstitious one that had just possessed him. It was no less awful. Whatever had happened here, it was a direct consequence of the disordered way the whole expedition had been mounted, but he would be blamed for it unless he could find a demonstrably plausible explanation.
A movement nearby startled him. Drawing his sword, he spun around. Holding both sword and torch in front of him he saw one of his Guards, arm raised to shade his eyes against the light. He was bloodstained and barely able to stand. The idea of deserting to avoid retribution had been forming in Helsarn's mind, but the sight of the Guard brought another one.
'Where's your sword?’ he demanded.
The Guard looked at him vacantly
'Where's your sword, man?’ Helsarn shouted.
'I ... I think I dropped it,’ the man stammered.
Helsarn sheathed his own and, taking the man's arm, shook him powerfully. ‘Find another, quickly. Get a torch and get everyone on their feet who can stand. Do you understand? We must re-form the line and get to the top of the slope.'
Then, in an act of genuine leadership, Helsarn was moving through the carnage, dragging to their feet all who were capable of standing, and filling the shocked and wounded with his determination. Vintre, also only bruised and winded, was retrieved from under the body of a large soldier behind whom he had sheltered when he heard the second arrow storm being released.
'We withstood the enemy's charge, counter-attacked and beat them back,’ Helsarn told him urgently. ‘We stopped at the top to regroup and to prevent the advancing army from being ambushed.’ The message was passed rapidly to the others—few were naive enough to question it. Most understood the Gevethen well enough to know that the choice facing them was that of being wounded heroes or executed cowards. The knowledge proved a better goad by far than any cursing, and Helsarn and Vintre soon found themselves herding their rump command up the slope like willing sheep.
On the way, Helsarn paused by a body to smear his sword and face with blood. As he did so he looked back down at the lights of the main army. Something was moving there but, not being able to make it out clearly, he turned and pressed on upwards.
The top was deserted as he had surmised. He had his ‘gallant survivors’ spread out a picket of torches then withdrew some way behind it. There could still be solitary archers out in the darkness and there was no point in taking unnecessary risks.
'Swords drawn, eyes front,’ he ordered.
He and Vintre exchanged glances. The line of exhausted and wounded men looked good. That, and their story might do much more than save their necks.
Helsarn looked back but the lights of the army were no longer visible due to the curve of the slope. He wondered how far the panic had spread, and what appalling damage had been done by the mass flight down the rocks. What a mess. What had possessed the Gevethen to mount this insane expedition?
He glanced back again.
The primitive fear that had seized him when he first recovered, returned in full terrifying force. Shapeless, shifting, and blacker than the night itself, a huge shadow was moving towards him.
* * *
Chapter 34
Helsarn's shaking grip tightened about his sword as the apparition drew nearer, but his knees served him better—they began to buckle. Thus when the Gevethen and their myriad images appeared at the heart of the approaching shadow, he was already almost kneeling. He was also almost pathetically relieved to find himself facing a known fear rather than an unknown one. Even so, the sight before him was profoundly disorienting and it took him some time to realize what he was looking at. What he had perceived as a shadow was a huge canopy supported on long, black poles. These were being carried by servants who moved with the same silent and blank-eyed purpose as the mirror-bearers, though it was hard to distinguish them in the darkness. Other servants carried the edge of the canopy, like a grotesque bridal gown, where it drooped to the ground. In its shade within shade were the Gevethen and the mirror-bearers and yet more servants, these latter carrying lanterns, albeit they seemed to deepen the darkness rather than throw light. Also there was Jeyan, her face unreadable and her uniform mud and blood-spattered from the journey. Helsarn had a fleeting vision of countless bodies covering the lower part of the slope. The Gevethen and their entourage must have simply walked over them.
The canopy passed over Helsarn and Vintre like an ominous cloud and the atmosphere about them became like that of the Watching Chamber. Helsarn quickly gathered his wits.
'Excellencies,’ he said urgently. ‘I must ask you to take care. There may well be archers nearby.'
'We are protected,' came the reply, voices colder than ever. 'None may approach.' A long line of Gevethen tapered into the distance, then became a circling crowd.
Helsarn prepared to account for what had happened, but the question that came was not what he had been expecting. 'Is the traitor Ibryen found yet?'
'No, Excellencies,’ Helsarn stammered. Then, such dependence had he placed in the tale he was to tell, that part of it blurted out anyway. ‘His men fled when we held their charge and counter-attacked, and we were too depleted to follow them.'
'Advance!'
Helsarn and Vintre had almost to leap out of the way as the Gevethen suddenly moved forward. Helsarn had just enough time to shout a command to his makeshift line to open before the Gevethen walked over them also.
In the absence of any orders, he took up a position at the front of the canopy and to one side. As he did so, he saw for the first time the long ragged crowd of Guards and soldiers struggling up the slope.
* * * *
Hynard paused and, screwing up his eyes, peered into the distance. It took him some time to make sense of what he was looking at, and when he did, he could scarcely believe it. He could not see the Gevethen themselves, shaded as they were by their dark canopy, but the torches of the following army were spreading out across the valley floor like a glowing river.
It was a severe shock. After the panic-stricken rout he had witnessed, he had not expected any pursuit for several hours, and then perhaps only by a small force.
What he was watching did not seem possible.
For a moment, he considered leaving a few men to mount a harassing action, but he knew it would be a pointless gesture against such a force. However this recovery had come about, all he could do was make the most of such time as he and his men had gained, and follow after Marris and the others. It wasn't possible that this vast army could move across the ridges with such speed.
He was thus still quite optimistic as he pressed on back to the village.
The first blow to this optimism came with an unexpected challenge at the outer perimeter. ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded of the woman occupying the post.
'Everyone's still here,’ she replied. ‘They didn't think you'd be able to stop the army. And with Ibryen gone they decided to stay and fight to the end rather than scatter into the mountains with all of you dead.'
Hynard felt the cold mountain air filling him to choking point and, for a moment, he could not speak.
'Did Marris have nothing to say about this?’ he asked through clenched teeth when he had recovered.
'He was quite angry,’ came the reply.
Hynard took another deep breath and out of the desperate confusion suddenly thundering through his head, snatched one simple, dangerous order. ‘Strike your lanterns, but keep them low, and double after me as fast as you can.'
As he ran through the night, Hynard's mind sped over countless alternatives, chief amongst which was the hope that by the time they reached the village, Marris would have managed to talk some sens
e into the others and get them under way.
It was not so. They were greeted by a Marris who was verging on the distraught. Like most practical men, he did not bear helplessness well. ‘I could do nothing,’ he said, at once furious and almost tearful. ‘I don't know what's wrong with them. They just set their minds to staying. Perhaps too much has happened too quickly.’ Even as he was talking though, he was shaking off the mood, and Hynard was given no opportunity either to reproach or to console.
'Still, we can go now,’ Marris announced.
It was too late however. The time that Hynard had won was lost as the villagers began the slow trek towards the ridges, and their vanguard was barely up the lower slopes when the army swept into the valley, the Gevethen's black canopy billowing ahead of them like a great bat.
As the army circled about them, all those villagers who were armed formed an inner circle around the old and the young. Arrows nocked, swords, axes, pikes ready, they waited. As did the army.
'Why aren't they attacking?’ Hynard hissed to Marris.
An opening appeared in the ranks of the army and the Gevethen's eerie chamber floated into it. As the Gevethen themselves came into view, several of the villagers raised their bows.
The soldiers facing them did the same.
'No!’ Marris shouted to the villagers.
'Where is the traitor Ibryen?' Colder and more inhuman than even he remembered them, the Gevethen's voices made Marris's flesh crawl. No preamble, no bargaining, he noted. Everything now would be balanced on the finest of edges. And all he had was the truth.
'He's not here,’ he replied. ‘He's been gone for several days. He ...'
There was a sharp command, then the sound of a single arrow. An agonized cry followed by others, full of pain and rage, came from the crowd of villagers. Marris's voice tragically over-topped them all as again he restrained his archers.
Jeyan, standing by the Gevethen, flinched despite her control. It seemed that the Gevethen were becoming increasingly unstable as they neared their goal. The journey up from the base camp had been a nightmare; trampling over dead and dying bodies, the mirror-bearers still somehow performing their bizarre duties sure-footedly over both flesh and rocks, and the black canopy flapping like a funeral flag. Now this. She pressed her hand against the knife secreted under her tunic, but still she could feel the unseen force that restrained her when she came too near the Gevethen.
