Délin looked as though he was brooding upon a troubling thought, and he took his time to reveal it to Ifferon. “If it comes to it … will you die like Telm did?”
“I think that is more in Agon’s hands than my own,” Ifferon said. “I do not like to think of it, and I am not sure if I could ever be a willing sacrifice. Maybe I am still a coward at heart.”
“A coward would not be here, having uneasy dreams on the eve of battle,” Délin said. “A coward would be sleeping sound in a land far away, like so many kings and queens, so many lords and ladies. Yet we fight the real nightmares of the world, that others might sleep safely. So we are always making small sacrifices in the name of good.”
Their conversation died down, leaving behind the stillness of the dark, where the only sound was the flickering of a few failing fires and the whittling of wood as Elithéa continued to craft into the deepest stretches of the night.
* * *
Day did not dawn before all were roused by the watchmen, who spied the advance of the enemy from the south. Some glanced with sleep-clogged eyes to see if they could judge the numbers, while others like Délin began to issue a rapid series of orders, like arrows from a bow.
Ifferon looked to the south, and he saw a darkness approaching, a darkness dappled with a flicker of many lights, as if the night sky had fallen to the earth and was now rolling towards them. Yet Ifferon wished it was the darkness of the night, for this, he knew, was worse. From the north an army of knights had emerged, but from the south came a different army, with a different purpose.
When finally the dark mass drew close enough that it no longer blended into a single unit, Ifferon could hardly believe his eyes, for the Dark Men must have numbered in their thousands, swarming the land like a black river that had broken its banks. Further still in the distance Ifferon thought he could see more black shapes, and he wondered if they were just the trees or the mountains, or if they were more Nahamoni—or if they were something else, something worse.
Délin was already on horseback, as were many of the other knights. His horse now bore a blue caparison with white frills and small white sword emblems dotted throughout. It also bore a large metal champron to protect its head, with a ridged crest adorned with three miniature swords, like the crown of a king. Ifferon was so entranced by the design that he barely noticed that Trueblade also wore this same design on his helmet, which was more ornate than the one he had worn before. His cloak also matched the caparison, and it blew in sympathy with the many banners the Standard-bearers held.
Though many of the knights wore helmets that hid their faces, Ifferon could almost see their stern eyes peering through the steel. He could certainly see the looks upon the horses’ faces, as if the Nahamoni were the Gormoloks or their kin, and their glares were stern enough for both horse and rider.
Brégest pulled up close with a second horse in tow, covered in elaborate barding and a white caparison. “This is no time for hiking,” he said, handing the reins to Ifferon. “You do know how to ride, I presume.”
Ifferon nodded, but he was not so sure. It had been many years since he had ridden a horse of his own, and though he thought he might never forget, there was always the thick of battle to challenge his memory. He tried to climb up on his horse, but he struggled, for his new armour was heavy, and he had barely grown accustomed to standing still in it, let alone riding a horse into battle.
Thalla drew up on horseback, and she looked like a natural. Ifferon could almost imagine her and Yavün riding through the fields on a summer’s day. Yet he knew it was likely Herr’Don who had given her these lessons, and regretted giving her anything at all.
Geldirana and Affon rode upon the same horse, but Elithéa refused to force any animal to bear her weight, and she made sure to deride all of those who did, especially the knights with their heavy armour. Thúalim joined her on foot, though he said nothing to explain his decision.
“Leave the fight to us,” Délin said, which did not go down well with many. “Protect Ifferon and you will be doing a greater service than our swords and lances will.”
“I’ll protect him by killing the enemy,” Affon said.
“Why bring her here?” Délin asked Geldirana.
She almost slew him with her eyes. “I seem to recall that you brought an even younger child to my battlefield at Nahragor. Here now, I return the favour on your front line, and she has earned her right to be here more than most, and will slay more tonight than your boy will slay in his entire life.”
Délin glowered back, but said nothing. He turned back to his knights and signalled for them to line up in formation. In moments they were assembled into a wedge. There they waited, like the tip of an arrow drawn tight inside a bow.
* * *
In time the Nahamoni drew close enough that their grizzled features became clear, and Ifferon almost wished for them to become a single mass of shapeless darkness once again to avoid seeing their scarred faces, and to avoid being scarred by their evil glares. They shouted and taunted, and they waved their weapons madly in the air, as if the sky were their enemy.
At the head of the regiments of Nahamoni marched two giant men, twice the height of the others, twice the width, and from the looks of them, many times the ferocity. One was completely covered in ink markings, and he was bald. The other bore no markings, but instead had many scars on his pale body. Otherwise they were of similar build and appearance, and to some they might have even seemed like twins. These were the Nahamoni leaders, their generals, and they were here to lead their armies to war.
Délin raised his sword, and the flags were waved and the horns were sounded. And so the knights began to trot out towards the advancing army, gaining speed with every step.
“For Corrias! For Issarí!” the knights cried in chorus.
Despite Ifferon’s pleas, Geldirana and Affon led their horse out to flank the enemy, with a volume of weapons to match a number of knights.
“Blood for the Garigút!” Affon cried alone.
* * *
The battle was a bloodbath, and though it started with the colours of many banners, it ended with the colour red. The knights did not wait for the enemy to make its move, but began their charge from horseback, drowning out the beats of their horses’ hooves with a chorus of horn cries that rent the earns of all who heard them. Lances were thrust forth, blades were swung low, and the armies clashed like a clap of thunder from the angry sky.
The initial force of the knights’ charge crushed the first ranks of the enemy, and those who ran towards the stampeding horses went down quicker than those who dug in deep with spears, which snapped like the bones of their bearers. Chaos rode a horse of its own, and it was called Panic, and he drove down those who were not killed by the knights.
Geldirana and Affon were espied here and there, mowing down small battalions as if they were solitary soldiers. Only two sat upon that one horse, and yet it seemed that there were the hands of many, waving with flail, striking with mace, and slicing with sword.
Though Ifferon hung back with many of the others, he could not escape the battle, for arrows began to fly in all directions, many into the sky, as if aimed at Althar, and many towards the pavilions, where no doubt the enemy deemed the knights were housing their generals and other important officers. Yet this was not the case, for Délin led the charge, and he bore down upon those archers more than others, greeting their dishonour with his sword.
But the mass of the enemy was too much, and even as the knights wheeled around to give themselves new speed, the Nahamoni numbers swelled, until it seemed that none of them had fallen at all. The knights charged again, but this time the horns were fewer, and this signalled to the ears and hearts of all more than the sight of their dwindling numbers could. So the ranks of the knights grew thin, while the Nahamoni replaced all of their dead with a steady stream of reinforcements.
Ifferon and his companions were about to dive into the fray when Délin led the remainder of the knights bac
k to the pavilions, exhausted and defeated. Less than two dozen remained, while at least a thousand of the enemy still stood, emboldened by the blood of their comrades.
Délin dismounted harshly and cast off his helmet. “They are too many,” he said, and he took a gulp of water from his flask. “All of Nahlin must be emptied to make such a host. Would that I had the numbers that Boror has to fight them.”
“Can we retreat?” Ifferon asked, and even as he spoke Geldirana and Affon returned, for they were almost toppled from their horse. “Can we retreat?” Ifferon repeated.
“No,” Brégest said. “We have been surrounded, and we have too few horses left to break their ranks, or bear away our forces.”
“Can we at least get Ifferon out?” Délin quizzed.
“Not without heavy losses.”
“We may need to make that sacrifice,” Délin said, “to stave off greater losses.”
But the opportunity to flee was slain like a charging knight, for the enemy drew in closer, and the knights could see that their ranks were too many to pierce, even if they threw all of their might against one point.
“So favour flees instead of us,” Délin said. “We cannot meet this force with strength.”
“I will not surrender,” Elithéa said. “I would rather die.”
“They might be most obliging,” Thalla said.
“I can blind some with a spell,” Thúalim said, “but not all of them, and not enough to change our fortune.”
“Then we must buy time,” Délin said. “We must pay with our pride.”
Brégest must have known what this meant more than the others, for he immediately protested against it. “We cannot do that, Trueblade. Honour demands we fight until the end.”
“And now is not the end,” Délin said. “Let us save the fight until then.”
“Even if we wave the white flag, how do we know they will stop waving the red one?” Ifferon asked.
“All now is a gamble,” Délin said. “And we bet our lives.”
So the Chief Standard-bearer Ergrid conducted his most humiliating duty: replacing the flag of Arlin and the banner of the Knights of Issarí with the white rag of acquiescence, the cloth of capitulation. In all the long history of the Knights, they were rarely forced to raise this flag in place of their own, and those few who still lived felt a devastation beyond death.
“Our prides can take this hurt,” Délin said, “if it will give us time to defeat Agon.”
“How can we fight the Beast when we too are in bonds?” Brégest pleaded.
“Some will come,” Trueblade said.
“What if they do not?”
“Have faith, friend, if not in them, then in me.”
Nervous glances were exchanged, and Ifferon could see in their eyes that they had never before questioned Délin like they did now. Even Ifferon could not see how any would march to their rescue, when so few had marched to war.
An answering flag was waved by the Nahamoni, but this one was black, and it did not mean surrender, but instead was a summons to discuss their terms. Délin and Brégest rode out to meet the two giant generals, who stood gloating in their victory.
“Don’t say the knights don’t have wisdom,” the pale giant said. “You know when you’ve been beat.”
“Our terms—” Délin began, but he was cut short.
“You ain’t got no terms,” the dark giant interrupted. “Surrender or die are your options.”
“You must abide by the laws of war,” Délin said.
“And whose laws are those?” the giant asked.
“They belong to all of us.”
“And who’s gonna enforce ‘em?”
“There are places worse than Halés,” the knight replied, “for those who break the codes of battle. There is space with the Elad Éni in the Void.”
The Nahamoni were a superstitious people, and the mention of the Elad Éni had a clear effect upon the giants, for they looked nervously to one another, before returning their hardened gazes to the knight.
“We’re the most obligin’ hosts,” the pale giant said with a grin, and he extended his arm as if inviting them into his parlour.
“We’ll treat you just right,” the dark giant said, and his grin was more menacing.
“Our surrender is on the condition that none of our people are killed,” Délin said.
“If you don’t surrender, all of ‘em will be killed,” the dark giant said, and it seemed that he almost hoped the knights would lower their white flag.
“Perhaps we are of more use alive than dead,” Délin said.
The giants looked to one another and mumbled something about the Slave-lands and a “slave bounty,” which seemed to capture the greed in their hearts, which revealed its nature in their glimmering eyes.
“Right then,” the pale giant said. “Let’s have your wrists.”
Délin held his arms up. “When you shackle me, it will seal our contract, and both our fates.”
This unnerved the pale giant more than the other, for he turned the manacles over to his twin, who glowered at Délin before fastening them about his wrists. Brégest followed, and he looked at Délin and shook his head. Délin could almost feel the shaking heads of the others further behind him, and it felt worse than the steel around his wrists.
VII – PRISONERS OF WAR
It did not take long to round up the survivors and put them in chains, but not all of them went willingly. Elithéa fought off her assailants fiercely, perhaps because she did not want to be so soon returned to a cage, and she battered many of them with the staves of her newly-crafted thalgarth. It took several dozen to eventually restrain her.
Geldirana might have done even more damage, but she gave up willingly, and Ifferon could see in her eyes that it took great restraint on her part to let her hands and feet be bound. Affon had no such restraint, for she bit the hands of any who grabbed her, and she only quietened when Geldirana gave her an admonishing glare.
Thúalim caused an even greater stir, for every time they manacled his wrists, he would appear moments later in total freedom, with no sign that he had ever been shackled. So they began to fasten his ankles also, but this only made the insult more wounding than before. Délin tried to urge the Al-Ferian to simply give in and save his tricks for later, but the memory of the loss of Rúathar and so many of his people at the Mountain Fortress made Thúalim defiant. So he taunted his jailers with his freedom, until finally the dark giant seized him.
“Escape this,” he said, and he plunged a dagger into the Magus’ chest. Thúalim collapsed upon the ground, where his blood mingled with the blood of others, and where suddenly all eyes could see the many shackles he had previously escaped from.
The knights cried out, and some of them began to kick their jailers in protest. They stopped only when the Nahamoni began to issue lashes from their whips.
“You have no honour!” Délin shouted. “May the Void have you!”
“That conjuror conjured his own end,” the pale giant said. “Do as we say and you’ll live long enough to die in Nahlin.”
* * *
Thalla managed to escape in the commotion, hiding amidst the many large boulders and dead bodies that were strewn across the plains. The stench was horrific, and it seemed to forever linger in the prison of her nostrils, but Thalla felt that anything was better than being locked inside a cage.
I have to do something, Thalla thought. She peered out from behind the large rock she hid behind in the flurry. Her breathing had barely returned to normal from when the battle begun, and though part of her wanted to race out and confront the enemy, another part wanted to stay where she was and avoid joining those knights who had been captured—or those knights who had been killed.
She saw Délin, bruised and beaten, but she could not see Ifferon amidst the rows of armoured bodies. She could barely tell who was alive, who was unconscious, or who was a difficult meal for the carrion circling high above.
She ducked behind t
he boulder again, her back against the rock. She began to wonder what kind of spells she might cast, and she began to consider the possibility of lighting every candle in her mind, and sending a blaze of fire into the armies around them, even though she knew that she would die in the process. At least she would go out fighting. At least she would take many Nahamoni with her when the fires went out.
She peeped out again, and just as she was about to race out to the armies, and to her doom, she caught a glimpse of something flickering on the ground several metres to her left. She thought it was a shard of steel from a weapon cast aside in battle, but her gaze was drawn by it like a fish is drawn in from a lake. There, almost in arm’s reach, was a Beldarian. There, almost within her grasp, was the Soul Pendant of Thúalim, whose body lay mangled a few feet further on.
She hid behind the rock again and began to ponder. The Beldarian was clearly still intact, and so she knew that Thúalim could not yet go to his final rest. So she should destroy it, to free him from his prison. And yet it was the key to her own prison, dangled before her while the jailer turned his back. The warden was called fortune, and when it turned its smile away from someone else, it turned its smile upon her.
I do this for them, for my friends and comrades, she thought, but she knew it was not wholly true, and she wondered why she felt the need to lie to herself, when her conscience could not be silenced. Yet it could be shackled; it could be held back long enough that the voice of doubt might be replaced by a voice of regret.
So she reached out her arm from behind the rock, like a fishing rod of her own, and she fished in the dirt as the Nahamoni continued their interrogations only metres away. But her arm could not reach, and so she was forced to stretch out further, her chest pushed flat against the ground, until she almost felt the scouting eyes of the Dark Men around her. She extended her hand again, and this time her fingers grazed the chain, but they did not grasp it. She breathed in dust, and she felt she needed to cough to clear her lungs, but she fought the urge as she felt the wandering eyes draw closer to her. Then she caught the chain with her index finger and dragged it slowly towards her as she pulled herself back behind the rock. She pulled it out of view just in time, for a guard walked past and peered into the distance, as if he had noticed something.
The Children of Telm - The Complete Epic Fantasy Trilogy Page 63
