Roger Taylor - Into Narsindal

He gritted his teeth and leaned forward. ‘A great array was to meet the enemy, then retreat, reform, retreat again, luring them ever deeper into our land. And then we would hold them. We had line upon line of traps and defence works laid for them. And line upon line of spearmen and archers and slingers and great artillery machines. Lines that seemed to stretch to the very horizon. The mountains guarded our eastern flank and the forest and the river our western.’

He looked earnestly at Gulda. ‘We were not children and callow youths,’ he said. ‘We were battle-tried and hardened; all of us. We knew that for all the splendour of the sight and the hopes we held high, this would be a long and grim battle; one in which there would be no respite until the end, and one in which we could not falter or all would be lost. Even the initial retreats would take a sad toll. Each stand would have to be more desperate than the last or Sumeral would sense the trap and retreat.

‘Then they were there.’

He stopped and, gazing upwards, shivered. ‘I re-member a cloud passed over the sun and I felt a cool breeze on my face like a bad omen just as a look-out cried, "Enemy ho."’ He turned towards the fire. ‘We’d all seen them before, they were ever a foul, frightening sight, but they were even more so in the clear light of Orthlund. They seemed to bring their own ghastly night with them. The dust of their march, the forests of tall pikes, the awful carrion birds that flew with them. The mockery of their golden flag with its single silver star-the One True Light as they called it.’ Hawklan’s lip turned up in contempt. ‘The pulsing rhythm of their stamping feet, and their endless chanting. The very sight of them had scattered armies in the past.

‘But not us. We knew them for what they were. Men and Mandrocs and other, fouler, creatures of His inventing. Fearsome and terrible, but all of them fallible and none of them proof against sword and spear. And though we could see Him shining among their ranks we knew that Ethriss and the Guardians would be guarding us somehow from the awesome power that He and His Uhriel could use. Men must fight men. We would hold.’

He pointed his finger in emphasis. ‘And we did. Day after aching day. I’ve never seen such slaughter. We stood firm, taking few casualties at first while they kept walking forward into our volleys of arrows and shot, falling like corn under the scythe until they had filled up our trenches and pits with their dead and dying and could walk over them. Though He never ventured so close. Time and again the archers and slingers broke open their infantry and our cavalry smashed into it, but… ’ Hawklan shook his head, his eyes distant. ‘They never truly broke, never scattered and ran. They retreated, taking dreadful losses, then another group would take their place while they reformed.’

He fell silent and for a long time sat motionless, staring into the fire. Neither Gulda nor Andawyr spoke.

‘But we would have held them,’ Hawklan continued eventually. ‘We knew how they would fight, possessed by their Master’s will, and we were prepared. Though we’d not truly realized the sickening weariness of it all. Night after night we’d sit and watch their distant camp fires and try to rid ourselves of the clinging horror of it all; try to cheer each other with talk of victory, and what we’d do afterwards. But it was to little avail; the nearness of His presence was like a miasma hanging sickly in the air.’

He paused again and looked up at his listeners. ‘And day by day we gained an increasing measure of His true nature. When His men died, they became… normal again… free of His firing spirit… free to die lost and bewildered in a foreign land far from their homes and loved ones… ’ His voice trailed off briefly. ‘We didn’t understand the Mandrocs,’ he went on after a moment. ‘They were just demented savages to us, but I suppose it might have been the same with them too.

‘But we would have held them,’ he repeated. ‘We had the equipment and the will. Soon the army of the Alliance would smash into their rear and then… ’

Half-heartedly he struck the palm of his hand with his fist.

His brow furrowed. ‘Then, somehow, there was confusion and disarray on our left flank. Somehow it had been turned and they were pressing home a powerful cavalry assault.’ He put his hand to his forehead and bowed his head, searching yet again for some memory. ‘How could that have happened? I remember… ’ He looked up almost weeping. ‘Ethriss! Where are all their names, their faces? My friends? My kin? Where are they? I remember… towards evening… the infantry managed to reform and throw back their cavalry as night fell, but we’d taken heavy casualties and our left flank had been pushed far back.’

Some of the distress left his face, though now it was drawn and grim. ‘No one knew what had happened. Suddenly they were there. A great force had come from nowhere and was driving through our flank guards. "Only the night has saved us," someone said. "They’ve broken a gap we can’t defend. They could be moving through right now, to take us in the rear at sunrise, if not sooner." I could do no other than order an immedi-ate retreat. The anvil had broken before the hammer had even struck.’

Hawklan stopped speaking, and showed no inclina-tion to start again.

‘What else do you recall?’ Gulda prompted gently after some time.

Hawklan’s eyes opened, wide and weary. ‘Riding, walking, encouraging, fighting endlessly… but always retreating; all the time retreating. We stood here and there, but they were too many for us, away from our entrenchments. I remember passing towns and villages; some were already deserted; some had thrown up rough fortifications manned by the old folk, and children… ’ His face became pained again. ‘I wouldn’t let any of the army join their kin in these towns. "We must keep together while we can. The Alliance army will strike soon and the enemy will have to turn to face them. Then we’ll be on their rear ."’ He shook his head sadly. ‘We told the people to flee to the mountains or to the river, in the hope of crossing to Eirthlund.’ He paused again.

‘I remember Anderras Darion, sealed and shrouded in mist, as we marched past one dark day. It was raining… as if the whole sky were weeping for our plight.

‘I remember red night skies to the south, vying with the sunsets, as the enemy sacked the towns and villages.

‘And the Alliance never came.

‘That dreadful army pursued us relentlessly, draw-ing ever closer. Only our total extinction would stop them.

‘And I remember their terrible birds, swooping down on us, screaming, clawing.’ He shuddered, then, unexpectedly, he smiled, and reached up to touch Gavor. ‘But as we were driven into the northern mountains, some power sent us a rare ally.’ Hawklan leaned forward, anxious to describe this brief triumph. ‘When we woke one morning, the birds were waiting for us as usual, perched all about the high rocks and crags, flapping their ragged wings and shrieking to one another the way they did, as if they were goading one another on. The din grew and grew, and we took our swords and pikes to deal with them, but as they rose into the air, a great fluttering black cloud welled up high above them from the tallest of the peaks.’ Hawklan raised his hands, suddenly the fireside storyteller. ‘A great multitude of ravens. Without a sound, they fell out of the sky onto Sumeral’s appalling creatures… ’ Gavor clicked approvingly. ‘It had a strange beauty all its own. The ravens were smaller… but such fliers… swooping, diving, twisting… Soon the air was full of clouds of feathers, falling like snowflakes, and splattering skeins of blood, and tumbling dying bodies.’ His lips drew back in a triumphant grimace and his fingers curled. ‘ We dealt with those that were not dead by the time they hit the floor.’