Dream Finder cohs-1

by Roger Taylor

  Watching him flee, the archer took careful aim and shot him also.

  There was a strange, timeless interlude in the battle around this beleaguered figure, as the Serens retreated and the Bethlarii column moved forward, inexorably cutting him off.

  The companions of the dead Bethlarii stood well back, prowling like predators waiting for their prey to weaken; discipline swept aside for the moment by the need for personal vengeance against this one representative of their enemy.

  Seemingly indifferent to their presence or what must surely be his impending death, the man waited, an arrow nocked and the string of his bow slightly drawn, again as if he were merely waiting at the shooting line for permission to continue.

  At one point a group of the Bethlarii ventured nearer, shields raised. But still the archer waited, motionless, until they charged along the ledge, then with the leisure that had hallmarked his previous actions he shot the leader in the leg. The barbed-iron point, crafted and hardened in one of Menedrion's workshops, entered the man's thigh and emerged, blood-red, at the back. He crashed down with a terrible cry, his shield and sword flying from his grasp. Even before he struck the ground, however, the archer had nocked another arrow and raised his bow to take his next victim. The other Bethlarii dropped down behind their shields immediately.

  Rolling over in agony, the injured man looked up at the waiting archer.

  Their eyes met. Then, without lowering his bow, the archer shouted, ‘Take him away.'

  There was a hurried discussion among the waiting Bethlarii, then two of them scuffled forward, still crouching behind their shields, and dragged their companion away.

  Below, the Bethlarii column moved relentlessly on and the Serens retreated before it.

  Interest in the lethal archer flagged gradually, as the gravity of events below eventually drew the Bethlarii away, albeit reluctantly. They left him with menacing gestures and grim promises that they would return.

  When they had gone, the archer remained where he was for a little while, and then slung his bow over his shoulder, turned round, and began scaling the rock-face.

  The Serens were now in ordered but complete retreat, the archers acting as rearguard and still taking a sufficient toll of the Bethlarii to slow their progress. It was dangerous work, and two more archers lost their lives in the process.

  Then the valley broadened out and, for the first time, the Serens stood exposed in their entirety. The realization that they had been struck such a savage blow, and delayed so severely in their pursuit, by such a small force, fuelled the anger of the Bethlarii to near frenzy, and they began to move forward at speed.

  Marshalling the archers, both Arwain and Ryllans noted the change immediately and simultaneously reached the same conclusion. Their own men were tired, cold, and hungry after the forced march, the nerve-wracking assault on the camp and the equally nerve-wracking retreat. They could not outrun the much fresher Bethlarii for very far.

  'They'll hack us down piecemeal if we continue,’ Ryllans cried above the din of the nearing Bethlarii. ‘We'll have to stand.'

  It was something they had planned for but had desperately hoped to avoid. The Bethlarii, however, had adjusted to their harassing tactics more rapidly than they had envisaged, and this was the inevitable outcome.

  Arwain nodded and gave the order to his signaller.

  At the sound of the horn call the Bethlarii faltered momentarily, fearing some further ambush, even though there was patently no cover for one, nor any larger force waiting for them.

  It seemed to Arwain, as he and Ryllans ran back with the archers, that the retreating infantry halted almost with relief at being given the opportunity to stand and fight. This was also a factor they had ignored in their calculations, and it put some heart into him. Retreat was intrinsically debilitating and Ibris's bodyguard were not chosen for their stupidity; all of them knew the consequences of being caught in loose formation by a superior force while together, tired or not, there was at least some chance of survival.

  Arwain cast about him quickly to ensure that none of the archers was straggling, then, like a dutiful sheepdog, he followed after them, urging them forward while his mind repeated his wife's name over and over, like a protective litany.

  The already forming shield wall opened to admit the returning rearguard and closed behind them rapidly. A single glance showed Arwain that the contingency orders were being obeyed meticulously. The men were forming a triple-ranked square with some four platoons at the centre ready to move to any threatened section of the wall.

  Still breathless, Arwain and Ryllans moved round the square rapidly, bringing power and energy from their very depths to fire the men.

  'Hold! Whatever happens, hold! Time is everything. The army's coming. Hold!'

  'Archers! Select targets of opportunity. Especially priests and officers.'

  Then the Bethlarii were on them.

  Despite the array of spear and sword points darting and thrusting into their front ranks, the Bethlarii pressed forward in their anger and, almost immediately, the shield wall yielded a few paces. Men from the centre rushed to the weakening section, some helping their comrades to push their spears forward or to hold their shields, others using their own spears and swords to lunge and hack at those Bethlarii who had managed to force their way to the wall.

  Archers, as ordered, waited, searching the heaving throng of roaring men for those on whom to best spend their remaining arrows.

  The square held, but only just. It had been the right decision to stand and fight. The Serens were faring far better in this close-ranked defensive position than they could possibly have done had they been fallen upon from behind by the far more numerous Bethlarii. But it needed no fine judge of men or military tactics to see that their defeat, and possibly total annihilation, was simply a matter of time.

  Their first furious charge having failed, the Bethlarii withdrew a little way and began to spread out to surround the square on all four sides.

  Arwain and Ryllans took the opportunity to renew their exhortations to the men, ‘While they wait, while they think, while you hold, Ibris and the army draw nearer.'

  Inwardly, however, Arwain knew that the next assault would be far more dangerous than the first. Then, the Bethlarii had struck in almost blinding anger and passion. It had cost them several men killed and many badly hurt and they had inflicted virtually no harm on their enemy. Now, however, their officers had obviously gained control again and the Serens could look to a much more disciplined and methodical attack.

  Archers, long pikes, or delay, he thought to himself. The long pike was the weapon for massed shock troops and, not unexpectedly, he had seen none at any time during the pursuit. And the passions of the Bethlarii were too high for them to wait until the Serens were too tired, cold and hungry to stand. That left …

  'Archers.’ It was Ryllans, calling to their own men and also drawing their attention to the Bethlarii's next tactic. Bowmen were rapidly assembling along the Bethlarii front opposite one side of the Serens’ square.

  Ibris's archers needed no detailed instructions, they knew well enough what was about to happen and that they were the only ones who might stop it. A sustained arrow storm would break the square more surely than any charge.

  They pushed through to the front rank and began their own assault before the Bethlarii were properly prepared.

  Mantynnai-trained, Ibris's personal bodyguard were marksmen. They released no arrow storm of their own, but merely a handful of well-aimed shots before retreating to the back of the line again. Most of the arrows struck their targets, killing some of the Bethlarii archers and wounding several more.

  Briefly the rage of the Bethlarii surged through again and there was an angry move forward. Some frantic shouting halted it quickly, however, and after withdrawing a little further for a while, more archers were brought forward again; this time behind a strong shield wall.

  The square quivered as the first volley came over. High-held shi
elds and a forest of waving spears stopped or brought down many of the arrows, but three men were injured.

  The physician rushed to help the men, the reserve guard and the archers hurriedly picked up such of the fallen arrows as they could, and Ryllans and Arwain moved hither and thither, encouraging the men.

  Another volley came, and another. With each one, jeering cheers rose up from the Bethlarii ranks. Two more Serens fell.

  Somehow, Arwain managed to transform his terror at this fearful rain into anger. As he did so, he felt his vision clear and, almost to his surprise, he saw the attack for what it was, namely, not very effective. The Bethlarii had insufficient archers to end this matter quickly and, despite the casualties, the atmosphere in the square was becoming one of participating in a dangerous sport rather than defending against an overwhelming attack.

  'This isn't going to break us,’ he said to Ryllans. ‘They must see that by now. Do you think they're waiting for more archers from the camp?'

  Ryllans shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘They want us now.'

  Then he took Arwain's arm. ‘They're going to charge soon,’ he said, nodding to the Bethlarii forces on the flanks of the square. Another volley came over, to be met again with waving spears and high shields. This defensive response was possible because the enemy before them was some distance away. However, it left the front vulnerable and, Arwain realized, it was possible that the Bethlarii at the side could charge in when a volley was released and penetrate the temporarily weakened line. It would need careful timing, but …

  Ryllans shouted to the officer in charge of the archers. ‘Time to send them their own back. Deal with them one at a time.'

  The officer nodded and the Serens’ archers moved forward again to retaliate.

  Using the enemy's own arrows, groups of them began to shoot simultaneously at the shields protecting individual Bethlarii. It was a tactic that was wasteful of arrows, and not many of the Bethlarii archers or their shield men were hurt, but it was profoundly intimidating and soon their line was badly disrupted, and the lethal rhythm of their volleys, broken.

  'Fast!’ Ryllans shouted when he was satisfied with the disarray among the enemy. ‘Reserves move forward and replace centre ranks.'

  Arwain shot him an alarmed glance. This was no time for parade ground exercises! Before he could protest, however, the changeover was under way and the weary front-rankers were retiring thankfully to the centre.

  A strange silence suddenly descended on the battlefield as the Bethlarii too watched this unexpected manoeuvre.

  A light came into Ryllans’ eye. ‘Go and negotiate,’ he said suddenly, to Arwain.

  'What?’ Arwain responded in disbelief.

  'Go and negotiate,’ Ryllans repeated. ‘And take your time. Quickly man, while they're wondering what's happening.'

  The Mantynnai seized his Lord's arm and pushed him towards the front of the square. ‘Something green-white! — white, something white, for a flag of truce,’ he shouted to the men around him. A soiled rag was thrust into his hand and he tied it around a spear shaft and pushed it into Arwain's hand.

  'Give me your sword and shield,’ he said, taking them before Arwain could demur. ‘Say anything, but say it slowly. And confidently! The archers will cover you.'

  The front rank opened to let Ibris's bemused son through. Arwain felt the focused anger and hatred of the watching Bethlarii like a physical impact. He stepped forward a little way and then slowly looked along the enemy line as if he were a visiting dignitary conducting a formal inspection.

  Then, raising the spear with its ragged flag, and taking a surreptitious deep breath, he stepped forward again.

  The valley turf was damp and crushed, and in places had been torn into muddy strips. After about twenty paces he stopped and drove the spear into the ground. Then he waited. Each heartbeat brings my father nearer, he kept repeating to himself, though his eyes were still scanning the Bethlarii front line, waiting for one of the archers to draw his bow. His legs were shaking and he had to remind himself that this was so that they could move the quicker if need arose. The knowledge did not help a great deal.

  The strange, waiting silence continued for some time, then a figure emerged from the Bethlarii ranks. He was tall and powerfully built and his dress identified him as a priest.

  This religion must pervade their whole society, Arwain thought as the man walked towards him.

  He stopped after some twenty paces, as Arwain had done. Wait, Arwain thought. Let him set the pace, I'll follow as slowly as I can.

  The Bethlarii priest spoke immediately, however, and his words offered little hope of delay.

  'We will allow you some time to make your peace with whatever pagan gods you worship, Serens,’ he called out, his voice loud and commanding. ‘Then we shall end this foolishness and crush you as we would crush any irritating insect.'

  Arwain ignored the taunt. ‘I am Arwain, son of Duke Ibris, priest. I do not debate with underlings, priest. Return to your prayers and leave this matter to soldiers.’ He made a dismissive gesture and, looking past the priest towards the waiting solders, shouted loudly, ‘Someone fetch an officer of my standing so that we may speak together with authority.'

  The priest angrily came forward several paces. Arwain moved forward also.

  'Careful,’ he heard Ryllans hiss behind him.

  'I am one of the chosen of Ar-Hyrdyn, unbeliever,’ the priest said, his eyes blazing. ‘We have his authority in all things. But the lowest among us here has authority greater than that of the bastard son of a usurper and his band of murderers.'

  Again, Arwain ignored the priest and shouted past him towards the soldiers. ‘I have never heard it said that the Bethlarii were either dishonourable or foolish? Surely such a great warrior people as you will not allow itself to be led by these prating charlatans, like so many sheep?'

  He paused briefly and waited until the priest was about to reply. Then he continued. ‘You men all know that Whendrak is a neutral city. Some of you might even have been there when this was solemnly agreed between my father and your Hanestra, and by the acclamation of your army, many years ago. You know that to attack it as you've done is to break your most solemn and binding oaths, and our actions last night were but to remind you of the consequences of pursuing such wickedness. Withdraw now or the further consequences will be a thousand times worse. Your land will ring with the keening of your widows and mothers, their losses made doubly awful by the knowledge that their men were oath-breakers and, worse, fools, for following these black-hearted priests and their ignorant superstition.’ Abruptly, he sneered. ‘Ask yourselves, men of the spear and the sword, what kind of men are they that say they speak to your great war god in dreams? Once you would have stoned them as blasphemers, or banished them as lunatics…'

  At the word, dreams, however, the priest had started violently and, to Arwain's surprise, the front ranks of the Bethlarii actually retreated a few paces.

  'Enough,’ the priest roared furiously. ‘It is you who blaspheme, impugning his chosen. We will allow you no such further opportunity.’ Then, turning and striding back to his own line, he shouted, ‘Kill them all!'

  There was no debating or preparing the order of battle. Instead, the Bethlarii levelled their spears and, with a roar, began charging towards the square on all four sides. Arwain forced himself to walk back, taking up the spear as he passed it. The shield wall opened to admit him and as it closed behind him, he found himself facing Ryllans. He shrugged apologetically.

  Ryllans took his arm reassuringly and gave him his shield and sword back. There was naked fear in his eyes as the din of approaching Bethlarii increased. ‘Forget your training now,’ he said. ‘What you've truly learned, you'll use without thinking. Anger and determination are your only true allies.’ And, as he spoke, the fear disappeared.

  'Hold your positions!’ he bellowed. ‘They'll tire soon enough. Let them break themselves like waves against our rocks. Hold! Hold!'

 
The impact of the Bethlarii charge, however, was terrible. Arwain felt the ground shake under his feet. Two sides of the square buckled inwards, several men falling, and it seemed for a moment that they would break entirely. But again the reserves in the centre ran to the weakened sections and succeeded in beating back the encroaching enemy.

  For a while there was a desperate and bloody stalemate, with the Bethlarii, like a storm-tossed sea, roaring and screaming as they struggled to beat down the bristling hedge of thrusting spear points and hacking sword edges that was the Serens’ shield wall.

  Arwain and Ryllans strode around the square, directing the reserves, hurling back the enemy's spears, and, above all, encouraging the men ceaselessly.

  Gradually, however, the fury of the Bethlarii seemed to become increasingly demented, and the square began to contract under the weight of the onslaught. Twice, individuals actually succeeded in mounting the shields and spears to leap screaming into the square. A reserve officer dealt with one, and Arwain the second, pinning him to the ground with a spear.

  Desperately Arwain glanced at Ryllans as the square began to waver. A Lord's son, he had fought previously as a cavalryman, and he was unfamiliar with this close-quarter combat. But he could tell that this was no ordinary infantry battle. The Bethlarii were possessed; fighting as if their lives were of no import; fighting as a crazed rabble. It was the very antithesis of the disciplined, ordered infantry fighting that had been the hallmark of such confrontations in the past and which could guarantee individuals on the victorious side, at least, a high probability of survival. This thunderous riot around him was madness! Truly the unreasoned product of some grotesque religion.

  Ryllans, however, was teaching, as all good teachers do, by example. He was moving unerringly to those parts of the wall that were weakest and laying about him with a purposeful, cold-eyed savagery that made all who met his gaze falter and grow sane for the moment.