Here, Klootz snorted indignantly. Obviously, he too could understand at least some of the bear’s sarcasm. Hiero looked on, his mind more at ease than it had been for a long time. While the bear paused, considering the next thought, a vagrant message entered Hiero’s mind that was not from Gorm at all! Lazy—unknown concept—carried on my back when tired—unknown—fight! Where (/)??? needed by HIM! To his delight, Hiero realized that Klootz understood just what he was hearing and wanted his master to know it. The giant deer knew well what he was worth and was not about to be put down by his nimble-witted cohort.
Gorm continued, the silence broken only by the hiss of the little flames. Behind them, the forest wall reared up, dark and deep, a wall of black shadows. The stars blazed overhead through the gaps in the forest roof, icy-white in the night sky.
Here is what is important. I have learned, through the morse and from messengers from Brother Aldo, what has happened in the South, far away. The news is not good. We can do nothing about it, however. Our task is here. The enemy is on the march. They are moving as we sit here. They follow an arc, as do my folk, the bear people, from east to west and then south. But they move on an inner circle and have less far to go. They are no more than two easy marches behind us right now.
Maluin spoke. “Hiero, I can understand him, but I can’t talk to him. How many are coming? What does he know of their battle order?”
The answer was not encouraging. All! They bring every unit, every creature that can fight! We know many of their hidden forts and their buried places. We think they have left little but shes and young. If they be beaten, we can cleanse the North. If they are beaten! The Man-rats, the monkey-things you call the Hairy Howlers, the Devil-dogs, all will be with them. It is a great host. Can you match it? His silence then hung, pregnant with doubt, in all of their minds.
What of machines? This was Hiero. Have you any news of their powered ships? Any news of the lightning guns? Recall that thing that struck me down on the shore last year. And what of the sky? The flier that we saw long ago. Have any of those been seen and, if so, where and when?
We have watched for all of those, Gorm sent. The ship was seen once, but far to the east and some months back, not recently. We do not know how many they have. We ourselves cannot watch the sea and the islands. The Eleveners are trying, but we have no recent news. The flying thing has never been seen, save by us two on that one occasion. Perhaps they had only one and it was destroyed. The bear’s mental tone grew reflective. The Elders feel that the sky is not to their liking, perhaps, or why do they not do more with it? Why not rear broods of evil fliers of some kind? No, they like night and stealth and burrowing in the dark more than the clear air and sun. They can fight in the blaze of day, but—it is not natural to such things. They are like those two Deaths-in-the-Dark whom you slew back there in the swamp. Ambush and the stroke from behind, the unseen terror of the lightless hours, the cruel and stealthy murder of the helpless, the old and the young—those are their chosen methods!
I hope they cannot all be persuaded to fight like the enemies of God whom we just encountered!’This was the limpid, clear mind of Cart Sagenay. Hiero guessed that it would take little training to make the young priest as good a mental linguist as he was. He saw Gorm look appraisingly at the younger man.
Those, I think, were allies, and unwilling ones at that. I consider that, if we had the time, Hiero, we would find some Unclean devices, like those things they block thoughts with that they wear around their necks. Maybe they buried some such devices to hold those creatures where they had, to stay and keep watch. But we have no time for idle thoughts such as these. The enemy moves, and they are coming, direct and fast, for the main body of your forces. You know where those are. I do not. Too, there may be some good news, though vague and unclear. The Elders and the Eleveners, too, all feel the enemy is moving in haste, not along ordered lines. Something has upset them badly, and the thought is that they are striking out in reaction and not in the carefully planned way they would prefer. This may be encouraging, not so?
Hiero thought of the destruction of Neeyana and the two deadly ships and smiled. Yes, that would have upset the Unclean!
Gorm continued, addressing Hiero directly. I think you and I can guess who leads them. There may be others in the command of their troops, but you and I know who hates and fears you the most, the mind that will never rest while you live…
S’duna! Hiero stared into the orange glow of the dying fire. He could see the pale face and hairless skull of the Master of the Blue Circle, the pupilless eye-pits of evil. There might indeed be others in the high Councils of the enemy—Unclean adepts, mental wizards of dark arts, foes of all that was decent. But he knew Gorm was right. His greatest antagonist was coming with all the enormous power at his command. The Unclean had come out in the open at last, hoping to crush the Metz Republic in one brutal stroke before it could build its young strength. If the bear was right, they just could be making a mistake. Decades of raids, stealthy ambushes, plottings, and assassins in the night might not be the best preparation for open warfare. It was a cheering thought. Still, the other comment was right, too. Time was short.
Put out the fire and let’s go, he sent. We march southeast for the lakes. That’s where we’ll meet them. The Abbeys need to be told.
And may God defend the right, was the thought of Per Sagenay.
XII. BATTLE MORNING
The mist lay cool and curtained over the lake. It was the body of water, perhaps twenty miles in extent, that the Metz called the Lake of Weeping. Some women had died there long ago, supposedly of unrequited love. More important, Hiero thought, was the fact that the lake had a connection through the River of Rains with distant Namcush. The connection was by still another lake, this one called Falling Leaves, a long, slender lake. The Lake of Weeping was deep and shaped like a boomerang, the elbow pointing northeast, though the left arm, which faced almost due north, was the longer.
There were a few small islands in view, some mere stubs of rock and others crowned with trees, whose spires and branches pierced the shifting fogs over the dark water. There was movement out there, Hiero saw. Small craft rowed briskly from one islet to another. The rising mist, burned away by the sun’s coming, revealed the dark shapes of several large sailing vessels, On a number of islands, smoke rose in the morning air. Activity, but not too much activity…
Hiero was sitting astride Klootz on the end of a low promontory which jutted into the Lake of Weeping almost at the angle of the elbow. It was a handy place to be, and he had picked it himself. He was the Commander of the Center under Demero, and the old man had brushed aside any complaints about seniority before they got started. “Who knows the enemy better than you do? No one. Who has encountered more of them than anyone else and still survived? Same answer. Justus Berain says he’ll be glad to serve under you, anywhere, any time. Like to argue with him? I’m giving you Maluin and Sagenay as staff. The two Mantans won’t serve under anyone else, insubordinate devils. The whole army has word of your cats, and they can serve as runners to carry written messages. Maluin has already got a bunch of juniors to handle routine. What’s left? Nothing. Get to work, boy. I’m busy.”
Now Hiero smiled wryly as he watched through his far-looker, the small telescope he carried clipped to his saddle. He could, hear low voices among the group of young officers and NCOs behind him. He was finally beginning to realize that being a living legend was not an unmixed blessing. The awe in the eyes of the young men and women who served under him was annoying, but there was nothing he could do about it. He concentrated once more on the dispositions to his front. He had to use his eyes and those of others, for the Abbey machines had clamped an intense shield over the minds of ail in the area. Presumably the Unclean had done the same for their own forces. Time would tell who possessed the most effective mental protection.
His scouting group had fled southwest at an incredible pace after Gorm had alerted them. They had actually cut off four days on t
heir time going out, and they had been moving very fast indeed then. They needed every minute that they could get, and Hiero had driven them all unmercifully, using Klootz’s broad back to carry those who were the most tired. This was usually Per Sagenay, whose young body was not as tough as the others’ and who resented it but could only comply. But three days out from their front lines, Geor Mantan had sprained an ankle and, cursing horribly, had been made to ride as well. Otherwise they would have left him.
They had bought the Republic and its allies a week. In this struggle, that might be much. For the Otwah League’s troops were still far off and already meeting some resistance as they came. Not all of S’duna’s force had been sent west, and there was apparently a good deal wrong with security in the upper ranks of the League! just because I loathe S’duna’s filthy guts, I shouldn’t make the mistake of underrating his slimy brain, Hiero thought to himself. The bastard can think, and he knows enough to try and bleed off any help we might get, if he learns about it first. Let’s hope there’s some coming he doesn’t know about.
He looked down and saw a young lieutenant at salute. He eyed her approvingly. Save for the short leather skirt, her uniform was identical to his, and he knew his women could use their weapons and brains as well as or better than the men. Besides, she was pretty.
“Message from the Abbot-General, sir. Very hard fighting has started in the deep woods about twenty kilometers north and east. Our screens are giving back slowly, trying to see what’s behind the enemy front. The morse troops have been ordered back because the country is too broken for them. He will keep you informed as he gets more data.”
Hiero grinned down at the snapping black eyes, returned the salute and thanked her, then forgot her immediately.
It made sense to get the cavalry out. One or two might serve as couriers in the depths of the forest, but they couldn’t maneuver as a unit. Demero had stripped the North to get those two mounted regiments, and they must not be wasted.
“Per Sagenay,” he threw over his shoulder. “Bring me the map quadrant that shows the land opposite us and to the west, if you please.”
Together, they examined it. It was bog and drowned land, but not deep in water, containing only shallow, slow-moving streams which kept it somewhat drained. There were few trees, but mostly grasses and rank growths of reed. The whole section eventually sprawled down to the low-lying shore of the lake they were on, over to their left and on the longer of the two arms of the V, The shore simply became the marsh, or vice versa, for a kilometer of total distance. A bad place to put troops, it seemed, but useful for the passive resistance it made, guarding a flank, like a broad, muddy moat. Now the question was, might this fact be too obvious to another keen mind?
Hiero spoke for a few minutes with Cart Sagenay, then sent the young priest back to his own group. He scrawled something on a small belt pad of reed paper and called M’reen over to his side. The sun had cleared the last of the dawn mist off the water now, and the blue sparkle against the green foliage was almost dazzling.
Take this to our old chief the Wise One. Then hurry back. There will be much to do this day.
She was gone like her native wind, all eyes on the slender form until it vanished. Ch’uirsh and Za’reekh waited impatiently in the rear, ready for their own summons.
Edard Maluin strode over and patted Klootz absently. The blade of his billhook tapped the ground as he balanced the huge weapon in his other hand like a wand.
“What do we know about the two flanks, Hiero? The left doesn’t bother me too much. The arm of the lake there bends away from us and can be held pretty easily. The right, now, that’s different. Fallig Leaves Lake is not especially wide and it tapers into Bowstring Creek and the River of Rains. A long line to guard, all the way down to the Inland Sea.”
“The Abbot knows it, you know it, and I know it. Pretty soon, if they don’t already, the enemy will know it. We have four full regiments of Frontier Guards and two mixed regiments of militia whose women are as well trained as the men—not Guards standard, but pretty good. About seven thousand, if you count the auxiliaries, baggage, ammunition carriers, and so on. Two regiments of morse. A strong battalion of Scouts, now falling back in front of the Unclean. Certain aquatic allies, whose performance is still untested. Also what you both see and do not see out on the lake and similarly to east and west. Forget the League. They started too late and are well behind the enemy now. Maybe they’ll get here in a week or so and maybe not. What they find when they do get here is something else. There may be other help closer to hand. I don’t know; nobody knows. Gorm has gone to try and find out, but hell have to go around the fighting and the enemy flanks to do it. All very problematical. And that, my friend, is it. We have nothing else, no reserve, except a small tactical one, taken from the above. This is our first army, just as what you served in was the first navy. We’ve never moved or fought on this scale before. No one in the North has—not the Unclean, either.”
He shifted in his saddle and stared out over the water. Armies had fought in the South, if not here. He suppressed the wish for Luchare, leading a division of lancers on their hoppers, emerging from the southern wood to the rescue. Might as well ask for a flight of angels.
The morning wore on. Reports came in sporadically—estimates of Unclean strength and movements, losses of the Republic’s forces, and whatever seemed of interest. One item was of great interest. Many, many light boats were being brought up. Some were large enough for ten men, others mere kayaks, but big enough for a single person. All the Unclean units seemed to have lots of them, and they were carried well to the fore.
“They must have a pretty good idea of where we are with all that stuff,” he said to Per Sagenay. “Of course, the whole area is full of lakes and streams, but I think this was thought out more carefully. This is no baggage train, but something meant for quick assault. I want the information sent to Berain and the others at once. In fact, tell it to all units.”
M’reen, who had long since returned, came up with her two warriors. The grim faces of the Mantans were just behind.
We can hear the fighting, Hiero. Can you not do so? These two, the men with the dark souls, they can hear it too. They told us with signs.
“That’s right, Per,” Reyn admitted. “Them cats caught it first, but just listen yourself now.”
Hiero listened. There were calls from out on the lake, horns blowing, and the shuffle of moving feet behind him. Even a distant splash of oars from some guard boat came through. The he caught it. It was a hum, a buzzing in the distance. He listened harder. Now he could pick out higher and lower tones like the shrills of far-off insects. There came a very faint series of thuds, no more than vibratory disturbances of the air. It was enough.
“Take charge, Edard,” he said to Maluin. “Sagenay’s your second or what you choose. Remember what I said. No movement until the crucial time. This is going to be a close one.” He turned and looked speculatively at the twins, whose cold, set faces stared back.
“Can you two handle morses? If I can find any? Otherwise you’d be better off staying here.”
Geor spoke for both. “We can. We’ve ridden double, too, case there’s only one. Take us.”
“All right. We’re crossing the lake, down there on the left. I’ll walk Klootz until we get aboard a boat.” He signaled the catfolk to follow. He had no worries about their ability to keep up with mounted troops, and they would have been miserable away from him. He waved to the salutes of the staff and rode slowly down the twisting trail to the west, off the bluff and onto the path along the shore. The five others loped behind him.
In twenty minutes, they came to a tiny bay in which a small rowing barge lay concealed. He led the big morse aboard, and the others clambered after. At a word to the NCO in charge, the ten long sweeps began to move the clumsy vessel out into the lake on a long slant, north and west, to where the marsh and the cleaner fluid of the deep water began to mingle.
All the while, the sounds of
the battle had been growing in their ears. Clanging noises of metal came now, and the metallic, piercing sounds of enemy trumpets mixed with the sonorous Metz horns. Screams came as well, and chorused cheering. Hiero knew the orders had been sent and he knew the defense was thickening on orders as the Abbey forces drew near the Lake of Weeping. Yet the sounds of conflict were raging closer at a tremendous rate. The Unclean must be piling in all their strength, heedless of casualties, in order to make such speed. He cocked one eye at the bright sun and consulted his built-in mental clock. It was near eleven, and the timetable had not quite allowed for this burst of enemy speed. He watched the oarsmen strain at the great sweeps as they passed under the lee of a small island. They were three-quarters of the way across now and in plain view of the elbow of the lake, the curve of the northern shore stretching out of sight in both directions.
The din grew as he watched, and he saw the first Metz troops break from the forest and reach the long lines of boats drawn, up on the shore. The skeleton crews who manned them began to help the wounded aboard. The movement was swift and disciplined, and he smiled. No panic here! As each boat pulled out, oar-propelled on this windless day, more men appeared and took their places in the next. He could see through the far-looker that no boat left the shore with an empty place or without orders.
Now he could begin to glimpse the fighting for himself. He saw a rank of veteran archers halt, fire a volley, then run easily back and turn for another. Men fell in their ranks as they fought, but the others closed up. As he watched intently, an eruption of the enemy burst from the forest wall, a small pack of the Plague Hounds, with Leemutes riders screaming on their bony backs. These were Hairy Howlers, apelike brutes, brandishing clubs and axes and hurling long javelins with devilish aim. The hideous dog mutants were man-high at the shoulder and had naked hides, blotched and mottled in shades of orange and red. Their ears drooped, and they had heavy jaws and gaping maws, filled with great teeth.
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