by Roger Taylor
Feranc bowed. ‘All is clear then,’ he said flatly.
Ibris pulled open the flap of the command tent, and looked out across the rolling Bethlarii pains.
'All is clear,’ he echoed.
Chapter 36
The busy confusion of the large camp gradually grew quieter as the last light of the setting sun faded. Dark strands that had been staining the red and pink clouds stretched across the horizon, slowly spread to make them cold, grim and distant.
Stars began to appear in the purpling sky, while more homely lights were struck inside the rows of tents and wagons. Fires were stoked to help keep the chill of the coming night from bearing too hard on the many sentries posted about the camp.
Lamps, too, were lit in Ibris's command tent, reshaping its dull greyness with new and warmer shadows. Ibris was lounging back in a large chair while Menedrion, Arwain and Ryllans were sitting to one side of him. Ciarll Feranc, silhouetted against a particularly bright lamp, was bending over a table, examining a map. A large fire burned in the centre of the tent, its fumes rising into a decorated cowl that carried them out into the night.
The group's deliberations were interrupted discreetly by an announcement from the guard at the door, and Antyr entered accompanied by Estaan. They brought with them a brief swirl of cold air, and the fire flared up momentarily, releasing a soft puff of smoke into the tent. Menedrion scowled at the decorated cowl and then leaned forward to strike it with the flat of his hand.
Behind Antyr and Estaan came Pandra, his posture a little self-conscious, as it invariably was in the Duke's presence.
Ibris motioned them all to sit down then stroked the heads of Tarrian and Grayle which appeared suddenly on his knees. As usual the two wolves flopped down across his feet.
'To continue, gentlemen,’ Ibris said. ‘It seems that we're ready to begin our march towards Bethlar. Politically, the attack on Whendrak gives us the right under the terms of the treaty. Militarily, our force is large enough and growing daily and we've received no indication that the Bethlarii are using this as a diversion while they mount a major attack elsewhere. Morally…’ He shrugged sadly. ‘Who can say? We've lost two of the three heralds we sent out with messages for the Hanestra asking for a meeting, and the third only escaped because someone shot at him prematurely.’ He paused and shook his head slowly. ‘It's unbelievable,’ he said, almost to himself. ‘Killing heralds now…'
Then he let out a sharp breath and pressed on. ‘All the evidence that our advance patrols are bringing back confirms that the Bethlarii seem to be mobilizing the entire people. In theory we could just wait, fight a defensive war until their country collapses about them, but we may be more vulnerable than they are to such a sustained drain of men and women from their normal lives. Besides which if we let them finish their mobilization we'll be facing a truly huge army. Attack now is no more than self-defence…'
His doubt hung heavy in the air, but no one spoke.
He dispelled it himself. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he sat upright abruptly, disturbing Tarrian and Grayle.
'How are things on our second front?’ he asked Antyr.
Antyr hesitated briefly before replying. ‘Nothing untoward has happened recently, sire.'
Ibris's eyes narrowed. ‘But …?’ he asked, catching a doubt in the Dream Finder's voice.
Antyr hesitated again and looked round awkwardly at the listening group. ‘I don't know,’ he said. ‘Nothing has happened, but there's an unease in the…’ He moved his hands vaguely.
'In the what?’ Ibris asked, before Antyr could continue.
'In the mingling of the dream ways … the … night thoughts … over the camp … it's difficult to explain,’ Antyr answered. ‘It's as if a great storm were going on somewhere … or were about to arrive. The atmosphere's jagged, tense…'
'Several thousand men expecting to march to war soon are hardly going to be at their most relaxed, Antyr,’ Ibris said.
'No,’ Antyr said, shaking his head. ‘That's disturbing but not unexpected, as you say. But this is beneath and beyond. Faint and distant, but all-pervasive. I can't say what it is or what it means, I've never felt anything like it before. It worries me.'
Ibris frowned and turned to Pandra. ‘Have you noticed this strange … atmosphere … pervading the, whatever they are, the night thoughts?’ he asked.
'I feel nothing but the doubts and fear that you yourself described,’ Pandra replied. ‘But I don't have either Antyr's skill or his sensitivity. My not noticing something doesn't mean it isn't there.'
Ibris's frown deepened. ‘Wolf?’ he said in some irritation.
'Listen to Antyr, pack leader,’ Tarrian replied. ‘And don't be so angry just because you didn't get the answer you wanted. You hired him to do a job and he's doing it.'
'I appointed him,’ Ibris interjected sharply, thrown off-balance by Tarrian's offhand manner.
'Oh, so that's why Aaken's so slow paying his wages? It's an honorarium? Prompt payment isn't dignified. I understand now. Very complicated, humans.'
Despite the grimness of the moment, Ibris found his irritation evaporating at Tarrian's tone. He chuckled softly.
'I'm sorry, Antyr,’ he said after a moment. ‘I wouldn't rail at a messenger because he couldn't see through a mountain, so I should have listened and thought before I spoke. Tell me what you can, however vague. I'm still concerned about the warning that Whendrak is the lure. I see no military traps waiting for us so I'm waiting for some other revelation.'
Antyr's forehead furrowed with effort. ‘I've no reason for saying this,’ he said softly. ‘No logic, no observed sightings, intercepted messages. But I can't help but feel that the trap, whatever it is, is already beginning to close.'
All eyes turned to him. Even Ciarll Feranc inclined his head towards him as he maintained his scrutiny of the map on the table.
'Somewhere, something dire is happening,’ he went on before anyone could speak. ‘But it's not here. Here you must do what you can see to do. Wherever this trap lies, it's beyond your finding for the moment. I … we … will watch the dreamways and give you what warning we can, and what protection we can.'
Ibris leaned back, his face anxious. ‘I'm at a loss,’ he said. ‘You tell me to go to battle with the Bethlarii while some other ambush is under way. What am I to make of that?'
Antyr met his gaze. ‘Just that, sire,’ he said, his voice quiet but unequivocal. ‘You've an enemy that you can see. Fight him with all your skill or you'll be defeated. You've also an enemy you can't see.’ He waved a hand across Pandra and the two wolves. ‘We will watch for him, and advise you as well as we're able. Until that time, you can do nothing about him. Nothing!'
'Your mind is clear enough about that, I see,’ Ibris replied. He looked round at the watching faces.
'Do any of you wish to add anything to this advice?’ he asked.
Ryllans indicated Estaan. ‘We've been constantly on the alert for … strange … happenings ever since Antyr's encounter with the Dream Finder Nyriall, but we've felt nothing.'
Ibris glanced at Feranc. ‘I've sent further messengers to Viernce,’ he said, without looking up from the map.
'Enough of all this,’ Menedrion burst out impatiently. ‘We're all agreed about this dream nonsense, and we're wasting time pursuing it further. Nothing's happened so far, and if something's about to then we can't do anything else but wait and rely on…’ He waved vaguely at Antyr and Pandra.
'More importantly…’ The vague gesture became positive, and pointed in the general direction of Bethlar. ‘There's an army of lunatics out there, growing day by day, and if we don't deal with them very soon, we'll none of us have any dreams to worry about in future.’ He leaned forward, clenching his fist to make his point. ‘We should move against them immediately. Hit them hard, hit them fast, hit them now! Then, we can fret about our dreams at our ease.'
'Succinctly summarized, Irfan,’ Ibris said, smiling to take the edge off the irony in his voic
e. ‘Anyone else got anything to say?'
There was no reply.
'Very well, gentlemen,’ he said, standing up. ‘We march tomorrow.'
Captain Larnss yawned mightily. Ye gods, this was a boring job. Nursemaiding all these volunteers and reservists at the back of beyond on the off-chance that the Bethlarii might spring a sneak attack across the northern border while the army was looking for them at Whendrak. Some hopes!
He was beginning to wish they would. Anything was better than this trial by tedium.
'A good career move for you, Larnss,’ he had been told. ‘Not many captains of your age get such a responsibility.'
'Career move,’ he had retorted, somewhat indiscreetly. ‘I'm hardly going to cover myself in glory in front of the Duke while I'm up there, am I?'
'Men in the right place can prevent a battle, captain, and staying alive is glory enough for most people in a war. Besides, the Duke knows the value of those who wait prepared at the edge of the conflict.'
'That's very poetic. But I'd rather have my present responsibility and be in one of the divisions marching to Whendrak.'
'Here are your orders, captain. Safe posting.'
As if it could be anything else up here. Rendd, of all places. Serenstad's most northerly ally. Sheep, sheep, more sheep, and a goat. Give him city life any day. An up-and-coming officer already moving into the fringes of court life, he shouldn't have been dumped up here. Not for the first time since his arrival he began to search through the names of his superiors for the most likely culprit.
'Companies one to five ready to commence patrol, sir.’ The voice made him turn a further yawn into a taut-lipped expression of acknowledgement and, fastening up his tunic, he stepped out of his tent to examine his charges.
Companies indeed! They were scarcely more than glorified platoons. As he walked along the waiting ranks, he tried to work up a sneer for these local volunteers, gathered traditionally into companies by family and district. But they'd been reliable and conscientious so far, and more than anxious to oblige this young fellow from the city. He could not deny that it made a refreshing change from the ambitious back-biting that often typified life in the Serenstad force.
They're not such a bad lot really, he admitted grudgingly. Just farmers and artisans looking to do their bit. Not exactly the legendary warriors of heroic saga, but they were his to make what he could of. It could've been worse. He could have been sent to Farlan and been given the job of trying to organize sailors and fishermen into a fighting unit.
He was about to take his horse from a waiting groom, when, on a whim, he dismissed the man. Be prepared to do as your men do. That much he'd learned from studying Ibris and Menedrion. This patrol was to be a comparatively short one and was to be made on foot, so he too, would walk. It would do him no harm. Indeed, the walking might help him shake off the lethargy that the slow pace of this place seemed to be inducing in him.
The Rendd reservists set off on their patrol.
Once or twice during the day, Larnss regretted his decision to walk, as the locals, used to the hilly terrain, maintained a very commendable pace. It took him some effort to keep his discomfort from showing in his face.
The patrol was, of course, uneventful and they began pitching camp beside a wide, boisterous stream, just before sunset.
While the work was proceeding, Larnss walked up a nearby hill and surveyed the countryside. There was little to be seen except rolling hills in every direction, although to the north-north-east? — he fancied that the sky seemed red. Endir was it, over there? He could not remember, and without giving the matter any further thought he turned back towards the camp. A fine drizzle started to fall.
As he strode down the hill, he frowned in a mixture of irritation and dismay. Before him lay a rambling string of tents spanning across a sharp bend in the stream.
Orders from Serenstad had been quite explicit: all camps in border areas were to be laid out with a defensible perimeter, and appropriate sentries mounted.
Managing to control his initial response he took the officer responsible on one side and explained to him the inadequacy of his response to orders that might well have been initiated by no less a person than the Duke himself.
'Letting the men put their tents up where they want, won't do,’ he concluded. ‘Apart from the standing orders, this is a border area. What if there's a sudden attack?'
'Sudden attack, sir? Here?’ the man interrupted, laughing good-naturedly.
Larnss’ face hardened and he levelled a finger at the suddenly solemn officer. ‘Yes, a sudden attack, here,’ he said angrily. ‘We're at war, for your information. It's not for us to decide what might happen, it's for us to behave like soldiers and be ready for whatever does happen. Groups like us are spread out all along the border in case of some Bethlarii treachery.’ He modified his own commandant's words. ‘The Duke knows the importance of those who wait prepared at the edge of the conflict, that's why I've been sent all the way from Serenstad.’ He glanced up into the increasing rain. He'd had enough doing as the men did for one day, and he certainly didn't intend to get soaked with them while they re-pitched the camp. However, the matter couldn't be let lie …
'Now you can go back to the men and tell them that as our perimeter's been doubled, so has sentry duty. Perhaps then, tomorrow, they'll appreciate the value of observing the Duke's orders and lay the camp out as a proper defensible enclave. And if there's any complaining, we'll put stakes around it … or a ditch … or both. Dismiss.'
Do them no harm, he thought later, as he extinguished the lamp and lay back in his blankets. In fact, it had been very useful; given him a chance to display his authority quite legitimately. And he'd done it quite well, he decided.
He toyed with the idea of waking early and making a spot inspection of the doubtless negligent sentries, but his aching legs and admittedly not unpleasant fatigue told him that this was little more than idle dreaming.
He yawned and stretched, then closed his eyes. The blankets were warm and though the ground was hard, he was both too weary and too contented to care. This might not be such a bad posting after all.
The sound of the rain on the canvas was oddly comforting and, as he drifted off to sleep, its steady drumming rose to fill his mind and displace all other … sounds … distractions … thoughts …
Drumming, drumming.
Drumming.
Grey wakefulness slowly penetrated into the sound.
And more!
Shouting!
Larnss leapt up, suddenly wide awake, just as the flap of his tent was torn open by a wide-eyed and breathless reservist.
Larnss did not wait for him to find his voice, but pushed past him and out into the dawn.
For an instant he thought he was dreaming. Pouring around the broad shoulder of the hill, and making for the camp at full gallop, was a vast horde of horsemen. The drumming hooves filled the air, almost drowning the shrill cries of the sentries dashing through the camp desperately rousing their companions.
Larnss’ mouth dropped open. He had seen the Serenstad cavalry at practice and that was a formidable sight, but this …
This was unbelievable.
But it was there! And it would be on them in minutes. Stark reality swept aside Larnss’ initial shock.
Drawing his sword, he ran through the straggling camp, slashing open tents and brutally kicking awake any who had not already been wakened.
'To me! To me! Spears and shields! Form up, as you value your worthless lives. Form up!'
His junior officers frantically following his lead, the five companies attempted to form a line across the bend in the stream, but the speed of the approaching horsemen and the size of the widespread camp resulted in their only having time to form three ragged squares: two against the banks of the curving stream, and the third in between them.
Larnss, in one of the outer squares, was petrified. Questions flooded into his head. Who were these attackers? Bethlarii surely. But with such
a huge cavalry force? He squinted into the approaching mass, but he could see none of the characteristic markings that he had been told typified the Bethlarii regiments.
And how could he and his men hope to stand against such a force? Their position was surely impossible against such numbers. The horsemen could move through the gaps between the squares and surround them almost completely. And the stream, though quite fast and deep, was certainly fordable and of little real defensive value.
'Hold!’ he shouted, trying to beat down his terror.
Then, to his horror, he saw the centre square waver ominously.
He had a vision of them scattering and splashing through the stream, to flee across the countryside while the great tide of riders surged through the opening they had left.
Without thinking, he forced his way through the uncertain shield wall of his own square and dashed across the gap towards the centre one.
Matching the speed of his arrival at the centre with shouts of encouragement interspersed with imprecations, curses, and blows, he stilled the mounting panic.
'Hold or die. It's that simple!'
Then, suddenly. ‘Look, they're slowing.'
Somehow he managed to make this sound like an angry reproach to his quavering men rather than the cry of surprise that it actually was. A glance around, however, showed him the cause of the riders’ loss of momentum.
They were charging into a narrowing field. Already, he noticed, some of the side riders were drawing back to avoid being edged into the stream, while the remainder were having to rearrange themselves to avoid collisions with each other.
The Rendd reservists, Larnss’ first command, had been given a little time.
Larnss seized two men. ‘You, left flank at the double. You, right. Anyone who's got a bow there is to defend the gaps. Shoot for the horses. The more we bring down, the less room they have for manoeuvre. Move!'
The two men needed no encouragement and scurried across the gaps as the few in the centre square who had bows began stringing them and preparing to implement Larnss’ shouted instruction before he ordered them to.
