Roger Taylor - Ibryen

But to let them escape was unthinkable.

The look-out went sprawling. Both men involuntarily breathed in sharply. The man staggered to his feet but fell again. Then he was crawling. He was sitting with his back to a boulder and his sword drawn as the four soldiers closed on him. The first one to reach him casually kicked the sword aside and raised his own.

Marris felt Hynard’s grip tightening about his arm.

The blow never fell however. One of the other soldiers seized the raised arm and took the sword. Angry voices drifted to Marris and Hynard, then the first soldier was knocked savagely to the ground and his sword thrown contemptuously after him. He lay still for a moment, until, shaking his head and using his sword for support, he clambered slowly to his feet. The look-out was dragged upright, but collapsed immediately with a cry of pain. There was another brief debate then two of the soldiers dragged him up again and, draping his arms around their shoulders, began carrying him.

This time it was Marris who swore. ‘No choice now,’ he said bitterly. ‘If he’s taken back to their base camp they’ll torture the location of the village out of him.’

Hynard bared his teeth in an expression of grim but reluctant acknowledgement. There was no need to discuss tactics. Speed, silence and an unhesitating resolution to kill were all that were needed… dark attributes that their years resisting the Gevethen had enhanced in them all too well.

They neither spoke nor moved until the returning party had gone past them, then, silently drawing their swords, they crept after them, hands trembling. The four soldiers were walking in a closer group now, two of them half-supporting, half-dragging the look-out while the other two walked behind. Their swords were sheathed but they were obviously anxious to be away now their chase was successfully concluded for they were talking very little and kept glancing up the rain-misted sides of the valley. Hynard and Marris drew steadily closer; at the nerve-wrenching last, matching them stride for step for some twenty or thirty paces for fear that too soon a final charge would announce their presence.

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. There are 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.’