Roger Taylor - Ibryen

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.

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.’

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.