Roger Taylor - Into Narsindal

Loman and the four Lords surveyed the enemy line as the army drew nearer. It was truly enormous. Loman thought of a debate they had held at Anderras Darion concerning the social disruption involved in fielding a large army. They had concluded that Narsindal had become a warrior state and that to delay attacking it would benefit Sumeral and drain themselves. It had been one of the many small milestones they had passed on the journey to this point.

And the conclusion had been largely correct, Loman thought. Except that they had not foreseen the awful flux that Sumeral would have used to join together the many disparate and quarrelsome Mandroc tribes. Oklar had almost destroyed the Fyordyn by slow and subtle corruption of their ancient, civilized, ways from within. Creost had unified the semi-civilized Morlider by a combination of traditional tribal brute force, and self-interest against a common foe. Sumeral, however, so Oslang surmised from his observations of the night-raiding Mandrocs, had united the Mandrocs by becoming a god to them as He had during the First Coming.

Thus, obedience to His word would transcend all independent thought, all reason, all past traditions, everything. It was as savage and cruel an invention as war itself and its effectiveness was a shuddering affirmation of the power of ignorance. Who knew now what empty promises filled the minds of these de-mented creatures as they hurled themselves so frenziedly on to their enemies swords?

A rider came into view. It was Yengar, bringing final details of the enemy’s disposition.

Loman raised his hand.

Commands echoed along the line and there was sound like the retreat of a wave down a pebbled beach as the advancing army halted. The forest of raised pikes wavered momentarily, like a field of tall grasses shaken by a sudden wind, then the air was full of the sound of thousands of waiting people, and the steadily falling rain.

Yengar saluted Loman and the Lords. ‘Nothing’s changed,’ he said. ‘One huge line of infantry, mainly Mandrocs, fronted by a pike line, and flanked by Mathidrin cavalry-of sorts-perhaps only a fifth of our cavalry strength. And a few archers.’

Loman nodded. ‘What about the discipline of their infantry?’ he asked.

‘Minimal, as far as we can tell,’ Yengar replied. ‘There seem to be one or two orderly pike phalanxes. Ex-militia and High Guard probably, but I think the intention is to overwhelm us by sheer numbers.’

Loman looked at Yengar closely. ‘That much we envisaged, but you seem more uneasy than that,’ he said.

Yengar pulled a wry face. ‘Something’s not what it seems,’ he replied. ‘But I can’t put my finger on it.’

‘Be explicit, Goraidin,’ Eldric said, frowning a little, but Loman raised a cautionary hand.

‘Let it go for the moment, Yengar,’ he said casually as he turned round to look at the Cadwanwr. Armed and armoured at Loman’s express command, and to their own initial amusement, they were situated amongst the rearguard infantry and were quite indistinguishable from the rest of the troops.

Loman made a small hand signal and Oslang re-plied.

No attack had been launched by the Uhriel.

Loman turned back to Yengar thoughtfully.

‘Did you see the Uhriel?’ he asked.

Uncharacteristically for a Goraidin making a formal report, Yengar’s reply betrayed his own feelings. ‘Yes,’ he said, almost snarling. He pointed, but even for Loman it was difficult to make out individuals. ‘All three are standing in the centre as we are here, but riding… ’ His lip curled; Loman waited. ‘… things… things that might have been horses, once.’

‘You recognized them for certain?’ Darek said, cran-ing forward and staring through the rain.

‘Oklar without a doubt, Lord, though he was out of his brown robe, and fully and foully armoured,’ Yengar replied. ‘The other two were also armoured but I knew them from the descriptions we got in Riddin.’

‘What about Him?’ Hreldar asked.

Yengar shook his head. ‘Even to my eyes, those three stood stark and unnatural against all the others,’ he said. ‘There was no fourth figure.’ He paused and then spat. ‘But His flag was there. The One True Light-a silver star on a golden field.’

The Lords seemed disturbed by this display of emo-tion from their Goraidin, but Loman nodded and looking round again, smiled. ‘Your people carry your ancient flag too, Goraidin. The Iron Ring on a red field. And the Muster have the flags of their houses.’ He winked. ‘And the flags of their cousins, and cousins’ cousins,’ he whispered.

Yengar’s sourness faded before Loman’s light touch and he laughed a little. ‘But no flag from Orthlund,’ he said.

Loman smiled and shrugged. ‘We never got round to it,’ he said. ‘We’re not soldiers really. We’ll ride to His flag and kill anyone who stands in the way.’

Yengar laughed out loud, then stopped abruptly. He closed his eyes briefly. ‘The ground,’ he said. ‘The ground a few hundred paces in front of their line. It’s been disturbed and they’ve tried to cover it up I’m sure. There’s something wrong there. Yes-definitely.’

‘Pits, trenches, to stop the cavalry?’ Loman offered.

Yengar shook his head. ‘It could be, but I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘The rock’s very near the surface here. We found it difficult to cut good observation trenches, that’s why we couldn’t get too near.’ He gathered up his reins. ‘I’ll see if we can get closer. Don’t send anyone in until you hear from us.’

Loman nodded and Yengar galloped off.

‘Good advice, I think, Lords,’ Loman said to his companions. ‘Shall we continue slowly?’

The great line clattered into motion again.

‘No changes of heart about our tactics, Lords?’ Lo-man asked as they rode forward.

All four shook their heads. ‘More than ever, we’re right,’ Hreldar said. ‘From what we’ve seen of the Mandrocs I can’t see them yielding until they’ve been utterly crushed. And against that number we’ll have to crush them quickly if they’re not going to curl round and envelop us.’

Loman looked up into the rain. The sky overhead was grey and lowering.

Is there enough water there to wash away the blood that must be spilt today? he thought. Hawklan, An-dawyr, in the name of pity, stop this if you can. I want to get back to my forge and my true life.

It was the only time that day that Loman allowed his thoughts such a longing departure from the field.

‘What’s Yengar doing?’ Arinndier asked, peering into the distance.

Loman wiped the rain off his face and followed the Lord’s pointing hand. He had presumed that Yengar would fade quietly into the landscape to rejoin his colleagues in some secret observation post, but the Goraidin was trotting straight towards the enemy’s centre.

Loman turned and signalled urgently to Oslang. The Cadwanwr broke ranks and galloped forward.

‘Protect him,’ Loman said pointing towards the distant figure of Yengar.

Oslang opened his mouth to speak.

‘He’ll take his chance against arrows and swords,’ Loman said urgently. ‘But protect him from the Uhriel. It’s important.’

As he spoke, Yengar halted some way in front of the great horde. The allies’ army continued to move relentlessly forward.

Yengar drew his sword, made a sweeping ceremo-nial salute, and began to parade up and down in front of the enemy. The rumble of distant voices began to make itself heard over the footsteps and rattling tackle of the advancing army.

‘I don’t believe it,’ Arinndier exclaimed. ‘He’s doing a formal sword drill.’

As they watched, Yengar continued brandishing his sword and moving his horse to and fro: cut to the left, to the right, change hands, repeat, protect the head, protect the flank, change hands again, swing low out of the saddle to take a fallen weapon, to the right, to the left, on and on, the manoeuvres becoming progressively more complex and faster. The horse too twisted and turned, as it galloped round and round in increasingly wider patterns. Then, with the horse rearing, he hurled the sword into the air several times, each higher than the last, finally sending it up in a great spinning arc, and galloping beneath to catch it as it tumbled back down.