Roger Taylor - Into Narsindal

It was an impressive display and an involuntary cheer went up from those in the army who could see what was happening.

Yengar completed his performance with another ceremonial bow to the enemy, backing his horse away as courtesy dictated.

There was no response from the Mandroc army other than what appeared to be jeers and cries of abuse but, as Yengar finally turned to leave, Oklar raised a hand towards him. Loman became aware of Oslang beside him breathing deeply.

Yengar’s horse suddenly tumbled, throwing him. The Goraidin rolled over several times and lay still. The sound of a distant triumphant roar reached the advancing army and there was a brief but perceptible surge in the enemy ranks. Oslang winced as if he had been struck, then he swore and, closing his eyes, extended both arms with his hands palm upwards. It was a gentle, open gesture, but Loman sensed the power being released next to him and found himself holding his breath.

Then he saw Oklar clearly. The Uhriel’s horse reared, and Oklar himself raised a hand suddenly as if to protect himself from an unexpected blow. Yengar’s horse struggled to its feet and began running away from the enemy. As it passed the motionless form of the Goraidin, Yengar surged up and began to run alongside it. For a moment, he seemed to be struggling for a grip, then he bounced twice off the sodden ground and swung up into the saddle.

As Yengar galloped a zig-zag course away from him at full speed, Oklar regained control of his mount, but he did not seem inclined to resume his assault on the fleeing Goraidin.

Loman looked at Oslang.

‘He may have been bound at Vakloss, but he’s bound no more,’ Oslang said, squeezing his palms together as though in pain. ‘And he’s angry now. He didn’t expect to be so accurately thwarted in his petty spleen.’ The Cadwanwr scowled. ‘I presume that was done for a good reason, Loman, but send no more out on such antics,’ he concluded. ‘The cost of protecting them is too high, and they’ll learn too much about us. I must return to the others now. The assault will begin in earnest soon I fear.’

‘It was for a good reason, Oslang,’ Loman said qui-etly. ‘Thank you for what you did.’

Yengar did not return directly but seemingly fell exhausted from his horse near an advanced group of skirmishers who ran to tend to him. Eldric started forward, but Loman stopped him. ‘He’s all right,’ he said. ‘He’s found something and he doesn’t want to be seen bringing it directly to us.’

The army moved on, and the rumble of the Man-drocs grew louder and louder. Gradually, the familiar ‘Amrahl, Amrahl’, began to punctuate the noise at regular intervals.

After a while, Yengar, on a different mount, emerged casually from the ranks alongside a messenger and rode up to Loman.

He was still trembling.

‘That was bravely done,’ Loman said. ‘But you owe your life to Oslang as well as to your horse and your wits. Thank him when you see him.’

‘I will,’ Yengar replied. ‘It’s Oklar’s touch that’s still making me shake. It was appalling. I’ve never been so frightened.’ He shuddered. ‘Then someone… some-thing… lifted it from me like a spring breeze. I’m sorry if it’s caused problems but I couldn’t think of anything else to do. We couldn’t get closer and I needed to see that ground. To be honest, I didn’t think he’d bother to attack one foolish posturing soldier.’

‘Never mind,’ Loman said. ‘What did you find?’

A few minutes later, after some coming and going of riders, the four Lords, their red cloaks resplendent even in the grey rain, were galloping to their respective units.

The chanting, with its periodic responses of, ‘Am-rahl, Amrahl’, grew louder and louder, and a rhythmic accompaniment of stamping feet and swords banged against shields began to complement it. It was a prodigious, intimidating noise.

Loman grimaced then leaned over to one of his messengers and asked him a question. When the man answered, Loman motioned him towards the swaying mass of pikes following behind. The messenger galloped over to the nearest company leader.

Very soon the sound of the Fyordyn’s Emin Rithid rose up to oppose the Mandroc’s rumbling paean. It spread rapidly through the ranks and the pace drum-mers began to beat a determined tattoo about its imposing rhythm. As it reached the flanking and rearguard cavalry, the sound of the Muster’s horns joined it in a sonorous counterpoint.

The length of the line meant that those near the flanks were singing well behind those at the centre, but the sound was massive and stirring and as it washed to and fro along the line like a great wave, Loman smiled.

‘Gavor, my old tormentor, wherever you are,’ he said to himself. ‘You would appreciate this piece of theatre.’ Then, more darkly, ‘And the one that’s about to follow, if we can do it right.’

For, just as Oklar had sought to destroy the Fyordyn High Guards by fire, so now he intended to destroy the allies.

He had failed in Fyorlund because of the discipline of his enemy. Now, one brave man out of the thousands on that plain had perhaps seen his scheme.

Steadily, the army drew nearer to Sumeral’s waiting horde, and Oklar’s fearful trap. Loman watched the skirmishers slowly falling back as he had ordered.

Then, the time was right.

Loman sent a signal down the line, and with a great shout, a section of the Lords’ cavalry began to gallop forward raggedly.

The chanting from the Mandrocs rose in anticipa-tion as the noisy charge gathered momentum, but as the two leading riders reached the area where Yengar had performed his spectacular reconnaissance, they turned away suddenly and each threw something in the general direction of the enemy.

As the two objects landed, they burst into flames. But the two riders saw nothing; they, along with their companions, were galloping back to the lines desper-ately.

Loman saw Oklar raise his hand, but he was too late. Almost immediately the whole area was engulfed by a roaring white sheet of flame.

Involuntarily the entire allied army halted and took several paces backwards with a precision that no Drill Sirshiant could ever have inculcated.

Somehow, Loman managed to control his startled horse, though he found himself gaping as he stared up at the huge fiery wall that was tearing through the ground between the two armies. He looked from side to side and saw the flames were spreading along the entire length of the two armies.

Had they continued to advance, the whole army would have been utterly and horribly destroyed in the conflagration.

A vision of his forge back in Pedhavin came to him vividly; of times when in thoughtless absorption he had set his hand to metal just cooled below red heat. Even at this distance from the flames, the heat beat on his face appallingly. He had heard of the blazing destruction of the warehouse at Vakloss, but had taken tales of the escapade with some scepticism. Now however…

Something dark stirred deep within him.

Turning quietly to the wide-eyed signaller at his side, he sent a single message to every company. ‘See the true nature of our enemy. His device has failed through our knowledge of the ways of His servants. Now He has only wild numbers, bathed in ignorance, to fight for His corruption, while we have discipline, skill and knowl-edge, to fight for our simple right to be. Look to one another today and light be with you all.’

Then, the army, hidden from the enemy by Oklar’s own massive wall of fire, turned and began marching quickly to the left, while the High Guards’ cavalry and some of the Muster trotted to the right.

Loman smiled broadly as the two riders who had ignited the trap fell in beside him. ‘You’re becoming rarely gifted incendiaries,’ he said, shouting a little to make himself heard over the din of the roaring flames.