Roger Taylor: Ibryen

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. Not 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.