"I think I know," said Elof quietly. "Look there!" High on the hillside there was activity behind that motionless front wall. Grey shields were streaming over the hill-brow and down into the centre of the shieldwall, to the west of them.
"It may be…" began Kermorvan, then he broke off. Even as the last few grey shields bounced into the line a wailing call rang out from the hill, the outer shieldwall parted and melted back, and the greys took their place. Their shields bore the same serpent pattern as the banners that lifted and fluttered overhead. There were no chants now, no dance; one more wail from above, one jabbing spear lifted in answer, and with a single shout of Hob! the grey shields swept down the hill. As they ran their line bent back from the middle into a wedge shape, and all the rest of the vast phalanx on the central slope, some nine or ten thousand men, fell in behind it. Well-nigh as many warriors as Morvanhal's whole army raced in a great spearhead towards the western edge of Kermorvan's lines, with the grey serpents tossing at its point.
"If we'd had but a few hours more for earthworks -" hissed Ils between her large teeth as she watched that inexorable rush, then she winced in sympathy as the two lines collided with a terrible juddering crash of shield on shield. So might two mountains sound that made war upon the plains, hurling down their slopes of stone. Elof held his breath, for it seemed no mere wall of human thews could sustain that impact. Even as he thought that, he heard the horns bray alarum around him, saw the outer lines seem to shudder and dissolve, falling back, aside, inwards, any way, as the great column of Ekwesh came charging through and the writhing banners came driving with breathless speed straight towards the heart of the ring, the king's rock. He cursed and snatched at his sword, but even as Gorthawer sang out of its scabbard he realised that the fragmented lines had not dissolved, only shifted once again. For a moment they had curled in on themselves, spirals of shuffling men, then suddenly they were sharp-edged squares, islands shored with shields and forested with blades, solid and impregnable among the churning Ekwesh, their charge thrown into confusion by the sudden dissipation of its target. The smaller surface the squares presented meant that only a few at a time could come against each face, and they met the same double or triple ranks as before, and an impenetrable press of men behind; the rest, angry and impatient, could only mill around and shout. The veterans of the Serpent clan alone kept their heads, it seemed; for they held together and drove hard against the inner rings that had not been pierced, but had drawn closer about the king's rock. Many fell, but the press began to tell, and Elof saw that they would burst through any moment. Kermorvan paid them no apparent heed, but strode over to the edge and called down. "Ravens all! Now is your hour! Pluck me down that Serpent!"
He gestured, horns sounded; the hard-pressed lines gave back and with a hoarse yell of triumph the Serpents came streaming through. But the old chieftain had sprung up with a cry of his own, and hammered spear-shaft against shield; his followers echoed him, and took up the cry -Kokju'awatle! The Raven is upon you! With no more ado they fell upon their fellow-tribe.
Around the rock chaos flowed, and from the throng, of a sudden, the Serpent banner burst, around it a tight knot of hard-faced men. Up the slope they charged, and throwing aside the cares of the greater battle the captains drew blade and turned to fight for themselves. Roc cast down his bow and unhooked his mace from his belt; Ils plucked up her axe. Kermorvan, drawing on his helm and fastening down the fearsome jewelled eye-mask that was its visor, turned to Elof. "Stay here; you cannot walk on this rough stone, and there is no time for your wings! None shall reach you while we are on our feet!" Then sweeping the grey-gold blade from its scabbard he bounded down the steep crag with Roc and Ils on his heels, and hurled himself into the onrush. To left and right of him he hewed with all the fierce art of his youth, harnessing the impact of each savage blow to launch himself into the next; he became the centre of a grotesque death-dance, black-armoured figures springing in then rebounding back, flung bodily from his path, or capering a moment and collapsing like clumsy dolls. From the moment of his coming the onrush was stemmed.
Elof, perched on his crutches, cursed his infirmity and all who had caused it; for though he was not naturally a warlike man, it galled him to be left helpless, watching his friends at risk. Gorthawer seemed to shiver and sing in his grasp, and he began to hobble and clamber painfully down towards the fighting, striving to see more clearly. Neither Roc nor Ils could he make out, their short figures lost in the crush; but Kermorvan, taller even than the Ekwesh, stood out clearly. He seemed at no peril; indeed the fight was swirling away from him as the Ekwesh saw him hew down their strongest by twos and threes. Elof saw him bend down then over somebody fallen, and hurried to look closer; it was Ils, with blood streaming from her leg. But then two tall Ekwesh made a sudden rush; Ils cried out, Kermorvan whirled, but a shield clubbed him on the side of the neck and sent him staggering back. One Ekwesh raised his spear to stab; Elof, still beyond sword's reach, leaned on one crutch and lashed out with the other. The stabbing arm was stopped in midair; then Gorthawer thrust deep into the bared armpit, and the man fell with a retching gasp. The other rounded on Elof, but the crutch struck him in the face and the black sword took him below his breastplate, up behind his ribs. Another ran up, shield raised; Elof slammed the crutch against it, knocking him sprawling, and thrust him through the back with Gorthawer, then wrenched it free, slashed another across the breast and with a growl of effort toppled him from the rock. Now the attackers were themselves attacked; beneath the banner a huge man, head crowned with bobbing white plumes, face and arms ringed with the swirling bluish cicatrices of high rank, roared out an order, gathered such of his men as he still could about him. As swiftly as they had come they gave back, turned and vanished into the fray.
Elof turned to his friends; Ils, forgetting her own injury, had removed Kermorvan's helm, and he was already staggering up, grimacing with disgust as he fingered his bruised neck. "Let no man call you cripple evermore. Mastersmith!" he gasped. "Afoot or awing, my friend, you are the great man-slayer I once named you!"
Elof grimaced. "Mastersmith I prefer! Are you all right?"
Kermorvan's clear laugh rang with triumph. "I am, by your good grace! And all the better for seeing how the field stands now!"
Elof knew that the old Raven had spoken truly; until first the Mastersmith, and then Louhi, had managed to tame their rivalries, the great tribes of the Ekwesh had made constant war over the scanty resources of their barren homeland. Anywhere else the Serpents might have been wary of their kin; but here they had fought their way, as they thought, into the very heart of their enemies, only to find there a strong force of their own kind. For a moment, evidently, they had assumed that these were their fellows coming to their aid; and that moment was fatal. The Ravens' attack struck them as a stunning shock, an awesome stroke of magecraft that thus stood the battle on its head; and the Ravens, with the weapons of Kerys many had adopted, were terrifying opponents. The Serpents' charge stopped dead; they lifted their shields in a feeble attempt to defend themselves, but panic blazed through their ranks, and those behind turned at once to flee. Out into the milling mass around the squares they charged, and in that disordered hubbub their fright was contagious. Heads turned, warriors already balked and frustrated by the disorder saw them flee and began to draw back themselves; the press eased and the squares, still holding doggedly together, began little by little to move. Two came together and joined, and bore down upon another that was hardest pressed; there too the Ekwesh gave back at sight of this creeping dragon-thing of shields that slowly but surely trampled over any in its path; they began to stream away. In moments the chieftains were again yelling from the hill-tops, and the men of the great onrush turned and went pounding away. But there was no dancing nor mockery now; for of that great wedge of men over half lay dead among slime and mud, the heat of their spilled blood thawing even this frosty ground. And behind that mighty heap of corpses Kermorvan's sundered lines were already forming a
new.
Elof heaved a deep sigh of relief, but Kermorvan's countenance was grim. "Why so, my long lad?" demanded Ils, leaning on his arm. "Your plan worked well. Our losses are light compared to theirs."
"Losses they remain, and there is worse to come. Nevertheless, I am thankful… But what's this?"
Through the press shouldered the leaders of the Ravens, bearing something towards the rock. Before Kermorvan's feet they unrolled it, with a bellow of laughter; the chiefest banner of the Serpents, and within, impaled upon the staff, a naked corpse, obscenely mutilated but with those chains of cicatrices still recognisable. Ils whistled, and chuckled softly in Elof s ear. "As well we didn't recruit the real savages, I guess!"
But Kermorvan remained imperturbable. Stepping down from the rock, he gave the grisly trophy grave attention, commended the talons of the Ravens who had seized the Serpent, then ordered the chieftain wrapped in his banner again and laid honourably aside with the other slain. This surprised the Ravens, accustomed to displaying the bodies of their more notable foes, but appeared to impress them deeply, the more so when Kermorvan ordered their banners to be flown above the hill with all the rest. "They have earned it!" he said, returning to his vantage, "And it will confirm the tale of those who fled. That may be of use to us; to cover their shame they will magnify the numbers they met. Among the common warriors rumour will spread that Ekwesh can be our friends and fight beside us; it may even unnerve the true fanatics a little."
"Are you so sure?" demanded Elof. "It may weaken the hold on their minds a little - but enough? And how soon?"
"Not enough to win us this battle, of course. But if we win it… Ah yes, then it may make a great difference. If. But that remains to be seen. No, my old friend, there is only one thing I am sure of, and that is that there is hard hewing ahead before the night comes."
In this Kermorvan proved himself a true prophet. There are many accounts in the Chronicles of that last and greatest of battles in the defence of Kerys, and they differ over many points; for so vast a conflict can seldom look alike to any one pair of eyes, and to each man his own standpoint must often have seemed the most hard-pressed and perilous. Yet all agree that between midday and evening four more such great onslaughts were unleashed against the combined ranks of Kerys and Morvanhal, and smaller assaults unnumbered, and that many broke through even to the king's rock. But though they differ as to how, they agree that the ranks, though sadly diminished and frequently broken, never panicked nor sought to run, and that all these assaults were turned, though at great cost; all, save the very last.
For there came a point towards evening, when Kermorvan, squinting out across his re-grouping lines, turned a weary head to his friends and said, quite calmly, "They have done bravely, very bravely. But I do not believe they can withstand the next assault."
A grim silence fell. Elof, looking out at the sinking sun glaring from a grey sky, realised that he had long ago accepted that this would be so; it had scarcely seemed to matter. Ils, refastening the bandage around her slashed leg, lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing; evidently she felt much the same. Kermorvan looked from one to another of his captains, then at the grey-gold blade he held, the blood of many men intermingled upon it; a catapult arrow whined overhead, and he nodded, as if coming to some further conclusion. Then he turned to Elof. "There is one stroke we might essay, still; but those archers on the southward hills with their long view may ruin it. I have not asked this of you before, because it was too perilous to justify; but they must be dealt with, or at the least distracted, even as the onslaught comes. At all events their attention must be held, if only for a few minutes. That you can do, and no other."
Elof grinned, felt his mouth tense and turn wolfish. He hefted Gorthawer and raised himself on the one crutch left him. "Build me a good fire, then!" was all he said.
Out on the slopes the ranks of shields were moving again, and another chant beginning, along the lines of the first but louder, more mocking; they too scented victory, fearfully depleted as their numbers were. Dey-oh-towayhiau! sang a single voice, and deep voices a guttural response Iho-te-cheugh! Then the line was repeated, but to a different response, a singing bass line Kawei-ob-hoh! Kawei-oh! to which spears were brandished, sawing the air. Then they were struck against shields - no longer merely rattled, but hammered butt-first, three savage blows that made the hide boom like a metallic drum. The ring and crash of it burst like thunderclaps among the hills and echoed shivering from the cliffs; snow dropped from ledges, rocks split and tumbled away with a roar. Though his head reeled with the noise, Elof caught the meaning of the song all too clearly.
Sheep of the valley
Come to the slaughter!
Sheep of the valley
Come and be slain! Come die!
Calves of the bison
Stand for the arrow!
Calves of the bison,
Come to the bloodtrough! Come bleed!
All eyes were on him, and he felt appallingly alone. He realised suddenly that he had no idea what Kermorvan intended; his hands full with the Ravens, he had taken little part in the actual planning of the battle. But then the fire blazed and crackled, and he had no time left to ask; he swept down his wings, held them a moment as fierce heat beat on his numbed cheeks, then swept them back with a rush that caused the draggled banners overhead to thrash and stiffen. The heat vanished with painful suddenness; he dared not linger, but raised an arm in salute to Kermorvan and his friends, and letting fall his crutches he swept up into the icy airs. A great shout went up from the ranks below as he rose, as if he was some living banner, and he knew the fleet men must be remembering how once before he had plucked victory from defeat for them, and hoping. They were a burden, those hopes; they weighed down his spirit, so that he found no release in his flight, only grim necessity. A wailing command drifted up to him, and a deep shout in answer; he looked down across the hills, and saw the great lines of shields, sweeping forward like the incoming tide. The orange sun glinted dully off his plumage; he was high enough, he would have to be. He hovered a moment, wings thrashing, gauging his time, and drew Gorthawer from his belt. Then as the Ekwesh shieldwalls reached the plain and broke into their last run,, he tilted in the air and dropped, the black blade out-thrust before him, falling as fast, he felt, as the lightning that had forged it. He did not, could not see that moment when among a shivering crash of shields the two great armies collided for the last time; but in his very bones he felt it.
There were the archers, a rough line of catapults and a few hundred men scattered widely across the hill top, taking advantage of whatever small eminence they could find. He saw one perched in the blackened carcass of a tree, and swooped towards him. The man had time to see, to whirl around, loose one wild shot and shriek; for so Elof had intended. All eyes turned to him as the black blade struck, and the fountaining body fell headlong through the branches: then the air was alive with shafts. They fell far behind him, some among the catapults. Another archer, perched on a rock, fell fight in his path and was cut down; two more dived for cover, a third was less swift and paid the penalty. Elof whirled around, wings thrashing, and headed for the catapults. Only the lightest had a chance to fire before he was among them, hewing out at their cords and the arms that drew them; windlasses spun and sang, men shrieked and fell, many under the panicky shafts of their fellows, as he passed. Compared to the slaughter on the plains below it was nothing, but it ensured what Kermorvan desired, that every eye on that southern ridge should be fastened on him as he glided up and away. His, though, turned towards the plain, seeking some assurance that his flight had worked.
He found only dismay. The ranks of Kerys and Morvanhal, so sorely tried, had broken even as Kermorvan predicted. No longer was there any calculated regrouping, no squares, no order at all; it seemed that no man had any sense of it left in him, had any thought left at all save to flee and save his own skin as best he could. Elof was appalled to see the king's rock empty, abandoned, and the many banners bob
bing this way and that near the head of the throng, fleeing desperately over the valley's edge and down onto the steep slopes beyond; they must have fled almost at once, before the collision even. The Ekwesh, abandoning their own shieldwall in triumphant contempt, were streaming this way and that after the stragglers. Where was Kermorvan, then? He would never have allowed this, if he were still in command. With leaden heart Elof soared up, fighting an urge to fall like a thunderbolt upon the Ekwesh chieftains; that would help nobody, neither his friends nor Kara - but what could, now?
Then from his greater height he saw over the valley's rim, and laughed aloud in glory and amazement. A wilder gamble he had never witnessed, nor a more marvellous feat of order. Perhaps the Ekwesh thought so also, as in their bloodthirsty pursuit they poured over the rim of the slopes, ready to butcher all they overtook. For what they found there was no terrified trail of fugitives, but the same fearsome shieldwalls they had faced ail that day long, regrouped now in three solid ranks all along the slope, with more forming behind as the seeming fugitives poured in. The rear ranks must have pulled back first, pretending to flee while the outer ranks held, and used the time to order their array; the archers could have seen that happening, and passed a warning to the main force. But because Kermorvan had unleashed Elof onto them, they had not, and the greater part of that last onslaught poured over the slope at speed like maddened beasts stampeded into a spike-lined pit.
And like beasts they perished. Many, unable to stop themselves, plunged headlong onto the spear-points; others sought to turn but slipped and fell on the trodden snow; some managed to turn, only to be knocked back down by their own eager fellows rushing along behind, or struck down by the stragglers they had thought to harry. In the blinking of an eye the slope had turned to a scarlet fall of blood, so many died in those first chaotic seconds; chaotic for the Ekwesh, for among the ranks of their foes there reigned an implacable calm, as if Kermorvan's cool mind lay like a mantle across them.
The Hammer of the Sun Page 46
