Ibryen

by Roger Taylor

  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. Thereare 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.

&nb
sp; 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.’

  Even as the people were dispersing, Marris felt a desperate and icy darkness closing about him. With an invasion of this size, they must surely be discovered… and though his people could do great harm to the army, they could not hope to resist a concerted attack by such numbers. Despite himself, he uttered two silent prayers. One simple and prosaic, that the bad weather should continue. The other, from the depths of his soul:

  ‘Ibryen, come back.’

  Chapter 33

  Marris’s first prayer was not answered. After a long night of desperate planning, his body had overcome the frantic workings of his mind and he had slumped, fully clothed, on to his bed and fallen asleep immediately. When he woke, only a little while later, it was to a bright spring day. For a brief moment he luxuriated in the warm sunshine washing into his room, then, with a sickening jolt, he remembered where he was and what was happening. Despair and bitter anger flooded through him and his hands rose to cover his face as if to hide him from the outside world for ever. It was but a fleeting gesture, and the momentum of years of service and responsibility carried him through it, distressed but unhurt.

  Not that it brought any true solace – merely an element of objectivity. He could see the Gevethen’s army drying out and resting under this same sun, recovering its morale. He could see mountain peaks clear and sharp to the farthest horizons. It was not good. He knew well enough that a solitary arrow hissing unseen out of a damp mist held far greater terrors than even a dozen arrows flying from distant but all-too-visible figures halfway up a hillside. And, just as the defenders would be clearly exposed, so too would the full extent of the attacking army, with all that implied for the defenders’ morale.

  At the touch of this joyous spring sun, most of the carefully considered plans of the previous night withered and, even as he rose from his bed, he saw that only one of the few remaining could be realistically implemented. He stood for a few moments breathing slowly and deeply. It was a wise act, for had he emerged immediately into the village, his reproachful thoughts would have been read from his face as clearly as if he had bellowed them at the top of his voice. Why had Ibryen abandoned him to face this horrific onslaught – their worst nightmare come true? Why had Ibryen not considered it more seriously as a probable occurrence and made plans accordingly? Who was that damned Traveller? Was he, after all, an agent of the Gevethen? These and many other questions tumbled uncontrollably through his mind, battering him brutally and, for a little while threatening to gain dominance.

  Though it was difficult, he pursued none of them, nor wasted anything other than the smallest mental effort in arguing the injustice in them. He had lost enough good friends in his life to recognize his own responses when faced with that which could not be faced. Such thoughts must be allowed to escape, or, like swallowed vomit, they would wreak untold harm later. Like vomiting also, their passing left him trembling and a little light-headed and, as they gradually faded, he remained motionless, composing his features and filling the aching emptiness inside him with the resolve that he knew he must ruthlessly impose on the rest of the community today if they were to survive.

  As he stepped through the door of his private quarters, he almost tripped over Hynard sitting across the threshold.

  ‘Why didn’t you wake me earlier?’ he said sternly.

  Hynard glared at him. ‘You’ve only been asleep a couple of hours or so,’ he replied bluntly. ‘And you needed it. I’d have woken you fast enough if it’d been necessary.’ He pointed at the bright, clear sky. ‘What are we going to do?’

  Marris strode forward, motioning Hynard to follow. ‘Attack the army from the Greskilva Valley to draw them away, and evacuate the entire village to the south, along whatever route Ibryen’s taken.’

  Hynard halted. ‘What?’

  Marris ignored the exclamation and continued walking. ‘What’s the latest news from the look-outs?’ he demanded, over his shoulder.

  Hynard caught up with him. ‘Mainly bad,’ he said. This time it was Marris who stopped.

  ‘Mainly bad?’ he echoed inquiringly. ‘You mean, there’s some good?’

  ‘Not much,’ Hynard replied unhappily. ‘Troops are pouring into the mountains. What we can see of the road is still choked with them. But a lot of them are in a bad way. And there seems to be virtually no organization.’

  Marris’s brow furrowed in bewilderment and frustration. ‘What’s happened?’ he said, clenching his fists and looking up at the surrounding peaks as if the answer might come echoing back to him. ‘It makes no sense. The Gevethen are nothing if not patient and cunning. Yet more and more this has all the earmarks of the entire army being scratched together at a moment’s notice. I wonder if Ibryen’s…’

  He left the question unasked. The answer to it could perhaps be vital, but as it was not available the question was irrelevant. He set off again, checking the obvious with Hynard.

  ‘Even so, there are enough in good fettle and order to find and destroy us if they’re prepared to pay the price?’

  ‘Yes,’ Hynard answered coldly. ‘And they’re prepared to pay the price. They’re already paying it. People are collaps
ing from exhaustion and being left where they fall. There’ve been countless accidents, and there might even have been actual mutinies in places.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But not enough to stop the incursion,’ Hynard confirmed.

  They were at the Council Hall. Several of the Company Leaders with whom he had been talking through most of the night had remained there, snatching such sleep as they could, sprawled across benches and tables. They converged on Marris as soon as he entered, but he allowed no debate, simply announcing his decision.

  ‘The Greskilva Valley is well to the east of us. Making a stand there will start to pull the army away from where they are now, which is far too close. It’s also very narrow and steep-sided and can be defended by a small group who’ll be able to escape along it during the dark, when need arises.’

  No one could argue with Marris’s brief tactical summary, but the order to evacuate the village provoked more contention. He dealt with it as if he were explaining nothing more serious than the sowing of the year’s crops.

  ‘All the naturally defensible valleys like the Greskilva are, by virtue of that fact, uninhabitable. And all the habitable valleys, like this, can’t be made impregnable. This you know. We’ve always relied predominantly on secrecy for our safety. If that army finds out where we are – and they may well – we’re utterly lost. We can’t hope to stand against such numbers, however disorganized they are. They’ll wear us down by attrition if nothing else.’ He looked round at his listeners; men and women he had known and trusted for many years, and several of whom he had turned from being ordinary, quiet citizens, into skilled fighters. Now the value of his training, and Ibryen’s leadership, would be tested to the full. ‘You all know this too. Time we spend debating it will be wasted.’