Roger Taylor - Ibryen

‘Where did you find the bodies?’ Helsarn asked. Vintre pointed. Then the two of them swore simultaneously. Still some distance away but moving towards them, and moving quickly, was a large body of armed men.

First success in the battle fell to Hynard, his men reaching the top of the slope before Helsarn’s. He did not have enough men to form a shield wall as solid as that intended for the Greskilva Valley, but it was adequate and it gave them a command of the high ground.

Helsarn had descended to his men with commendable restraint, knowing that, loyal or not, the sight of Vintre and himself charging over the skyline could well send his men tumbling back to camp in panic. As it was, they formed up in as good an order as the rocky terrain would allow, and moved up the slope cautiously to establish a line opposite Hynard’s. Messengers were sent back to the base camp with express orders to take the news only to the Gevethen in person, while Vintre was sent to commandeer whichever unit was nearest for the purposes of making an initial attack. Helsarn had no intention of risking his own forces unless it proved absolutely necessary.

Hynard was glad of the delay. It enabled his men to recover from the pounding run they had made from the village. He watched Helsarn’s Guards forming their line almost with amusement. The need for hunting in the mountains had, over the years, given Ibryen’s forces more powerful bows than those carried by the army and the Guards, and Helsarn’s line was well within arrow-shot. Hynard refrained from demonstrating the point however. It would be more effective if the Gevethen’s men learned about it the hard way.

But despite his initial advantage, Hynard was far from complacent. He had a limited number of arrows and his men would be able to fight only so long before fatigue took its toll. And the same would apply to whatever reinforcements Marris sent. Worse, he knew that it would take only a moderate military thinker to realize that they could be out-flanked, even encircled, by a movement from neighbouring valleys.

He could certainly last this day out and, quite possibly, tomorrow. But after that, or if an attack was sustained through the night…?

From Helsarn’s point of view, Vintre was most fortunate in the first army unit he came to and the two men exchanged knowing glances as he gave the order to open the line and allow the soldiers through. Their blustering captain, who was, ‘Going to show these Guards how these things are done,’ was struck down by a heavy-bladed pike that suddenly appeared between two shields as he charged the defenders’ wall. Several of his men went the same way, while others, breathless from the uphill dash, fell to swords and axes before the rest retreated. Hynard’s line was undisturbed. In the lull that followed he sent out some of his men to retrieve the dead men’s weapons.

The next dash fared little better and, in the end, the soldiers retreated, leaderless and cowed, behind Helsarn’s line.

Gradually the slope up from the lower valley began to fill with a mixture of Guards and soldiers drawn there from the main force by a bizarre combination of confusion and curiosity. Helsarn searched for some time to see if there was any semblance of order in what was happening before he finally took command himself.

‘Ibryen is to be found at all costs,’ the Gevethen had said, and he would get precious little thanks if he just waited aimlessly for a more senior Commander to arrive.

Thus, in the fading light, Hynard found his line increasingly pressed as Helsarn sent wave after wave of men against it. Screams and shouts and the clash of arms echoed down the rocky slope, and bodies began to pile up in front of the shield wall. It did not concern Helsarn that the attackers were little more than disordered mobs and that casualties were appalling, it mattered only that he was in command and that the defence was slowly weakening.

‘For the Gevethen! For the Gevethen!’ he shouted as he urged men forward up the slope. ‘Bring the traitor Ibryen to justice!’

Hynard soon began to understand Helsarn’s tactics. Reinforcements had arrived as Marris had promised, but even with them he knew that his men could not stand long against such reckless assaults. And once the wall was breached, all would be lost.

Then it was dark.

Hynard had little doubt that the attacks would continue through the night and he knew for certain that even if his force managed to survive that long, they would be destroyed the following day. They had no choice but to withdraw if they were to be able to act as a rearguard to the fleeing villagers. Hynard stared down the slope, alive with torches and lanterns. Above the general clamour of the people gathered there, he could hear Helsarn’s voice shouting orders. Another attack would be coming soon. He reached a decision.

Helsarn learned of it shortly afterwards when a wind-rushing sound presaged a hail of arrows. One snagged in his cloak and, in terror, he dropped the lantern he was carrying. It shattered and burst into flames. It was not the only one and, for a moment, by countless dancing lights, he seemed to see the whole slope alive with bright arrows, falling like streaking snow; with screaming men; with wild eyes and terrified faces; with flailing arms and manic shadows; as all around him the flight down the treacherous slope began. He heard himself cursing and swearing at the fleeing men then something struck him and sent him sprawling. As he struggled to his feet, another sound reached him out of the darkness ahead.

‘For Ibryen! Death to the Gevethen! CHARGE!’

A clamorous din filled with roaring and angry cries rolled after it. And above it all came the sound of yet more arrows! As he turned to flee after his routed command, Helsarn lost his footing and tumbled into the darkness.

Hynard’s men stopped shouting and beating their shields. They had not moved from their original line. Hynard stood for a moment, listening to the sounds of flight and self-destruction rising up the slope, then he whispered a command. His men turned and moved silently off into the night.

Helsarn had no measure of the time he lay on the ground, but his mind was alert and working before his body despite the distress it was in. There was noise about him but he could not identify it nor, from where he was lying, see what was causing it. Had Ibryen’s people been more numerous than he had thought? Had they actually charged down the slope, sweeping the Guards and soldiers back down on to the main force? Fearful questions.

Yet there was no indication that he was in the midst of a triumphant army. As quietly as he could, he moved his arms and legs, testing them for injury. His head was aching, but after a little while he decided that he was whole except for some bruising. When he cautiously pushed himself into a sitting position to look around, the discomfort in his ribs told him that he had only been winded when he fell. It could have been worse, he supposed. His relief was short-lived, for as his vision began to clear, the vague shifting shapes about him became bodies; the bodies of the men he had commanded, strewn over the rocky slope in postures of death and awful injury. The flickering lights of dropped torches and spilled lanterns gave an awful, twitching vitality even to those who were motionless. And the sounds he had been hearing became the groans and cries of injured men.

From deep within, a primitive fear rose up to fill him. Had he been slain in that panic-filled gorge and sent to some ominous netherworld for Judgement? He started trembling uncontrollably. With an effort he levered himself into a kneeling position. In the distance he could make out a pool of garish light. It seemed to be pulsating, resonating to his pounding heart. He shook his head to clear his vision completely.