Roger Taylor: The waking of Orthlund

‘Subtle,’ Darek said wryly.

Arinndier took the comment at face value. ‘Subtlety takes time, Darek,’ he said. ‘We avoided the issue so far only because we knew the answer. We’ll just have to barge in. One of us can go and make a judgement on the spot.’

Eldric nodded. ‘It’s as good an idea as any,’ he said. ‘We really don’t have the time for sending scouts, messengers and all the niceties. The sudden appearance of a large "friendly" force should provoke a fairly genuine response.’

Darek chuckled. ‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘I can hear Irian now.’ Then, more seriously: ‘But I agree, Valen and Shalmson could be problematical. That said, I can’t see that either Irian or Tel-Amreo would have settled easily for some bland neutrality. Their High Guards will probably still exist in one form or another, and that could be useful; but by the same token, Dan-Tor will have reached the same conclusion and their estates could be infested with Mathidrin. What do we do then?’

Arinndier shook off the remains of his reluctance. ‘As agreed at the outset,’ he said sternly. ‘If we encoun-ter any Mathidrin, we engage without warning.’ He drove his fist into his hand with a resounding smack. ‘Every one we can deal with in the countryside is one we won’t have to deal with at Vakloss. That’s why I said send two squadrons. No one amp;mdashMathidrin or turncoat Lord amp;mdashis going to have that many men routinely mobilized.’

Darek raised a placatory hand. ‘And Shalmson? Valen? What if they have changed sides? I can’t see them asking their men to consult their consciences. They’ll have had little say in the matter. And rough though they might be they’re entitled to a choice. We can’t just attack them without warning.’

Eldric and Hreldar looked at Arinndier. He pulled an uncertain face. ‘If that’s the case,’ he said, quietly, ‘then I suppose we’d better offer them an opportunity to remember their Oath of Loyalty before we engage.’

Darek’s comment reminded all of them that soon they would be facing many of their own countrymen in pitched battle, and the atmosphere in the tent became gloomier.

‘Not our choosing,’ Eldric said after a short silence, answering the unspoken doubts that hung in the air. ‘But it’s all we can do. Admittedly this attack is our will, but it’s also the King’s last command. Let’s hope speed and ferocity will lessen the resistance.’

Darek acknowledged the remark, but returned to his concern. ‘And if Valen or Shalmson stay in their castles?’ he said. ‘What then? We’ve no siege train with us.’

‘If we move fast enough, I don’t think that’s likely,’ Arinndier replied. ‘They might know in Vakloss that we’re coming by now, but I doubt anyone’s bothered to detour across country to tell anyone else.’ He shrugged. ‘But if it does happen, then we will have to tie down some of our men in blockade. It’ll take fewer to do that than it will to defend our backs.’

Darek nodded resignedly, and the tent became si-lent.

Eldric looked round at his friends. ‘Are we all agreed then?’ he asked.

Each of the three Lords signalled his agreement in the manner of the Geadrol; a simple horizontal move-ment of the right hand. The silent, familiar gesture brought a lump into Eldric’s throat unexpectedly. ‘Good,’ he managed awkwardly. ‘We’ll work out the details the first thing tomorrow. Now let’s get some sleep.’

Urssain walked out of his ornate command post and strode past the saluting sentries. A few strides took him towards the edge of a rocky outcrop that overlooked the intended battleground.

The night was still, but there was a cold, wintry sharpness underlying the autumnal calm. Below, spreading far ahead of him and extensively to both the right and the left, were countless scattered lights: globes, campfires, radiant stones, blazing torches amp;mdasheven some of the old-fashioned torches that the Ffyrst’s globes had replaced. It was almost as though the stars of a bright summer night’s sky had fallen to the ground.

Around him rose a sound like waves pounding a distant shoreline. It was the noise of the army; people even more numerous than the myriad lights. Some would be on duty, guarding the perimeters to prevent desertions, checking and moving arms and supplies, pitching tents, tending the horses, attending to newly arrived companies, and the countless other tasks that the serving of an army demanded. Others would simply be waiting; waiting for their next duty, waiting for sleep, for morning, for them .

And all invisible in the darkness that separated these fallen stars, Urssain thought.

Suddenly he felt alone and very small, daunted by the realization that this vast flickering sea of lights was but a fraction of the true energy and power that lay spread out before him; the greater part of it was quite invisible.

A chilling thought came to him. Is it always thus? Do we only ever see just such a shimmering, deceptive, outline of reality, while knives and malign intent lurk in the darkness?

He stood motionless, momentarily disoriented by this unexpected and disconcerting vision, and not knowing how to respond to it. Then the thought and the shadow were gone, like some passing twinge of pain; gone and almost immediately forgotten except for a faint, lingering after-image of uncertainty.

Nerves, he thought reassuringly. He should recog-nize them by now, he’d been in enough battles, hadn’t he? Though admittedly, none had been as big and ordered as this, and he had never held so exalted a position. His certainty returned and his brief unease was replaced by excitement.

Even the news that the Lords’ cavalry had suddenly attacked the local garrisons billeted at Irian’s and Tel-Amreo’s estates did not concern him too much. It had always been assumed that those two Lords would turn on the new regime when an opportunity presented itself and it came as no great surprise when a messenger, having run headlong into the retreating Mathidrin, returned with the news that many of the High Guards of the two Lords had mysteriously ‘reappeared’ to help with the rout. All that had been allowed for and the Ffyrst’s army would still be greatly superior in numbers to that of the attacking Lords.

Although he had been able to gain no direct infor-mation about the strength of the Lords’ army prior to the attack, Urssain, with Dan-Tor’s guidance, had estimated it, including a liberal allowance for volunteers from the High Guards of other Lords. Now, the reports he had received bore out this calculation very closely, including the contribution made by Irian’s and Tel-Amreo’s Guards.

In a couple of days, the Lords would arrive, ex-hausted after their protracted forced march, to find themselves facing an army at least twice the size of their own. An army rested and waiting, and which had but to hold its defensive line until the attackers were so debilitated that they could be crushed with ease. It would be both interesting and instructive to stand by Dan-Tor and watch him crush, once and for all, this irritating residue of Rgoric’s old regime.

Looking again at the vast camp spread out in front of him, Urssain tried to visualize the scene.

There would be row upon row of infantry, cavalry, archers, as far as the eye could see. And opposite them would be the Lords and their pathetic entourage.

He smiled to himself. It would be a considerable learning indeed.

The only real cause for concern was not the ap-proaching enemy, but his fellow officers. The time before battle was, almost traditionally, a dangerous time in the Mathidrin. The break in normal routines and the pending mayhem provided opportunities for the settling of old scores and the clearing of ambitious pathways which could not be passed by. Various individuals, mainly lone sentries, had already been found murdered and it was unlikely there would be time to inquire into these deaths fully, especially as they involved only troopers.