Ibryen

by Roger Taylor

  Again his reasoning could not be faulted and, reluctantly, the discussion turned to the practicalities of the task. ‘Anything that’s not essential will have to be left and everyone will have to carry something,’ Marris declared. ‘Most of our supplies are already well hidden. With a little good luck they’ll be too busy destroying our buildings and might not find them.’ He could not forbear frowning at the thought but he did not pursue it.

  ‘It’s not going to be easy. With scouting patrols all over the ridges, we’ll almost certainly be seen,’ someone said.

  Marris shook his head and frowned determinedly. ‘No. This is to be an orderly withdrawal. Normal movement discipline will apply more than ever. And if attention’s being drawn to Greskilva, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t move out unnoticed.’ He answered the next question before it was asked. ‘And even if we are seen, we still have the advantage. We’ll be a comparatively small group, well-fed, well-equipped, disciplined, and bound by a common cause. We can move far faster than they can.’

  ‘We won’t know where we’re going.’

  ‘Nor will they,’ Marris said forcefully. ‘But we’ve enough portable supplies to sustain us for quite a long time, and we’ll be heading towards Ibryen, while they’ll be moving even further from their precious leaders and stretching their supply lines and communications to the limit within two or three days.’

  Despite himself, his bewilderment at the Gevethen’s actions found voice. ‘If they have any supply lines,’ he burst out, ‘which I’m beginning to doubt. From a military point of view, what they’re doing is insane.’ He waved his hand apologetically to dismiss the topic. The last thing he needed now was to unleash general speculation about why this attack was being made. ‘We retreat as far as we have to until the first rush of their attack is spent. They can’t sustain what they’re doing for long, and when they withdraw we’ll re-establish ourselves.’ He sought to deal with another unasked question. ‘We’ve done it before and we can do it again, this time using all the experience we’ve gained over the years.’

  He was only partially successful. He and Ibryen had trained their people to think for themselves too well.

  ‘We’ll never defeat them from further in the mountains.’ The statement was unequivocal, although Marris noted with some relief that it was free from bitterness. He found it heartening too, that the speaker was still thinking in terms of defeating the Gevethen despite what was happening. He acknowledged her.

  ‘Nor they us,’ he replied, his face resolute and menacing. The power of his intent shook through the very depths of his long anger against the Gevethen. ‘And consequences that we can’t begin to foresee will follow from what the Gevethen are doing. A largely conscripted army, returning exhausted and demoralized, and unsuccessful! Returning to towns, cities, borders that have all been left unguarded. Dust blowing in the wind. Consequences.’ He nodded to himself then, clearing his throat brusquely, he allocated duties and sent the Company Leaders on their way.

  A feint in the Greskilva Valley was a sound strategy, he thought, as he watched them leave; Ibryen would have approved of it. With a little good fortune they could emerge from this not only unscathed, but with the Gevethen perhaps fatally undermined.

  * * * *

  In a strange reflection of the actions of the Gevethen themselves, Marris and the others began mobilizing their entire community. It was a dismal task and though there was little questioning of his decision, Marris was acutely aware of the gazes that followed him wherever he went: frightened, wide-eyed children; anxious mothers and mothers-to-be; fretful boys and girls, too young to fight, too old to be easily reassured; old people made angry by their failing faculties. Yet perhaps worst of all were some of the everyday sights he glimpsed in passing: a cottage door being gently locked; a child stooping to pick up a dropped toy then nursing it. The very ordinariness of such events carried them past the armour of activity he was sheltering behind and bit deep into him.

  Once or twice the cry arose, ‘We can’t defeat the entire army! We should surrender, ask for mercy!’

  Marris was strongly inclined to crush such appeals cruelly, but instead he yielded to them. ‘The Gevethen drive others before them, Count Ibryen leads those who wish to follow. Anyone who wants to go down to the army is free to do so. All I ask is that you wait until the rest of us are gone.’ The call did not take root.

  * * * *

  Satisfied that preparations were well under way, Marris strode up the short grassy slope to join Hynard. ‘Are you all ready?’ he asked, indicating the men waiting nearby.

  ‘As ready as we’ll ever be,’ Hynard replied.

  Marris nodded. The task of the men mounting the diversion in the Greskilva Valley was going to be difficult. Combat in the mountains normally consisted of swift and terrifying attacks followed by equally swift withdrawals, bow and sword being the principal weapons. Now however, once the enemy had been engaged, Hynard’s fighters would have to hold their ground for several hours in the narrow valley as though making a final, desperate stand. Unusually therefore, they were carrying large shields and long, makeshift pikes in addition to their other weapons.

  There had been no shortage of volunteers for this expedition, but the men Hynard had chosen had all served in the army or the Citadel Guards under Ibryen. Nevertheless, ‘You don’t need me to tell you that this isn’t going to be easy,’ Marris said to them. ‘We’re all lucky enough never to have fought in a major battle so the only experience of this kind of fighting any of us have had has been on the training field.’ He pointed in the direction of the Greskilva Valley. ‘However, they don’t even have that. You’re going to have to get there at the double so you’ll be tired when you arrive, but they’ll be tired, frightened, driven, and facing a well-defended position. Keep your shield and pike wall tight and high. Protect your heads. Archers, wound as many as you can, and anything they throw at you, throw back harder. Engage the enemy as soon as you arrive. We’ll go as far up the slopes as we can as soon as we’re ready, but I don’t want to start moving along the ridges until it’s dark. You hold as long as you can, but take no unnecessary risks. We should be able…’

  Suddenly, Hynard seized his arm and pointed. Someone was running towards them at great speed. Though he could not make out who it was, Marris could feel the runner’s desperate urgency. His stomach turned.

  When the runner arrived he was gasping for breath and could scarcely speak, but his fearful eyes and pointing hand were eloquent enough to confirm Marris’s worst fears. Supporting the exhausted man, he glanced towards the village and the people gathering there in the bright spring sunlight. At another time they might have been waiting for the start of a festival.

  ‘Very slowly,’ he said to the runner, with a gentleness so controlled that it almost frightened him. ‘Very slowly. Give me your message.’

  The runner gulped violently and spoke between explosions of breath. ‘They found the bodies. They’re coming up from the lower valley. All of them.’

  Marris closed his eyes and bowed his head. When he opened them, it was to see Hynard’s face, pale and full of the agony of self-reproach. He knew that his own was the same.

  ‘They’d have come looking for them anyway,’ he said weakly, knowing that the statement was as unhelpful as it was accurate.

  Hynard’s men had gathered around them. Marris straightened up. ‘Change of plan, gentlemen,’ he said quietly. ‘It seems the enemy are on their way. If they reach the Valley proper we’ll never stop them. Same plan. Do what you can. I’ll send reinforcements after you immediately and start moving out those who can’t fight.’

  * * * *

  Helsarn’s horse stumbled again, almost unseating him. He swore and swung down from the animal. It would carry him no further up the slope to the Valley where the bodies had been found. He looked back. His men were a considerable way behind. Vintre also dismounted, and joined him. It was Helsarn who had sent Vintre out with a patrol to find the four missing men. No
t from any great concern but because they were under his direct command and he feared they might have deserted, a matter which would have reflected on him personally. When Vintre returned with the news that they had been killed, Helsarn displayed the grim resolve for vengeance that was expected of him but inwardly he was elated – this was the first clear sign of the enemy’s presence.

  Unable to contact any of the other Commanders because of the general confusion, he had taken the risk of asking the Gevethen themselves for permission to send a company to reconnoitre the valley. His request had been received with a cold silence, the Gevethen and their many images moving their heads from side to side as if scenting the air for Ibryen’s presence. Then, colder than ever:

  ‘Do as you must, Commander. Find Ibryen at all costs…’

  ‘… at all costs.’

  The mirror-bearers had folded about them and Helsarn suddenly found himself faced with a row of travel-stained Commanders. The memory of the gloomy tent, so like the Watching Chamber, lingered with him even in the sunlight as he clambered over the rocks.

  ‘Do you think this is wise?’ Vintre broke into his thoughts. He was glancing around nervously.

  ‘Ibryen’s many things, but stupid isn’t one,’ Helsarn replied. ‘He’s not going to ambush a force this size.’

  ‘He might ambush us.’

  Helsarn paused and wiped his hand across his brow. He shook his head. ‘Ibryen’s people never leave bodies where they’ve been killed. They panicked. And our men must have stumbled on to something important to get themselves killed so close to the main force.’ He secured his horse to a spur of rock and started off again. ‘There’ll be no one here now – they’ll have run like rabbits. And they’ll have left tracks. There had to be at least eight of them to kill those four like that.’

  Vintre gave a grudging grunt but loosened his sword in its sheath. In common with almost everyone else there, he did not like the mountains, such was the reputation of Ibryen’s followers, but Helsarn’s judgement was usually sound and there was no denying that if this trail took them to Ibryen’s camp then the rewards would be considerable. They were certainly worth taking risks for. Also, this sortie was taking them away from the chaos of the main force and keeping most of their own men about them, which was no bad thing. The mood of the army was wildly uncertain. Old scores were already being settled in the confusion and once Ibryen was located and engaged, the opportunities would increase manyfold. At least Helsarn had always ensured that his companies were securely bound by ties of self-interest.

  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, an
other 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.