governing houses and the other city institutions.
'This conflict, however, my friends, will be like no other there has been within our lifetimes. The Bethlarii have turned away from light, and reason, and knowledge, and have been possessed by a dark and ghastly bigotry. They will know no rest until they have spread this monstrous creed across the whole land unless they are shown the folly of their ways. And they will know that folly only when they have been decisively, conclusively, stopped.'
He paused and looked slowly over the silent, watching, representatives of his people.
'It will be a grim conflict we send our young men to,’ he went on, after a long pause. ‘And we must stand as they stand. Shield to shield. Stirrup to stirrup. We ask them to stand and suppress the weakness of their flesh in the face of missiles and charging cavalry. To stand even when their comrades fall wounded and dying about them. Thus we too must suppress our own weaknesses and petty differences and stand firm in the face of those among us who would seek to use this tragedy for their own ends, or worse, who would seek to appease this tyranny of ignorance which the Bethlarii have chosen to accept.'
There had been a little uncomfortable shuffling at these last remarks, but Ibris had won the unanimous support he had asked for.
'For now,’ Aaken added cryptically.
'Now's the important time,’ Ibris replied.
He had been obliged, however, to make a sacrifice of his own in the wake of this appeal, and standing beside him now on the podium was his wife Nefron: ‘Much recovered from the long and exhausting illness which had confined her to the Erin-Mal, and standing true and strong beside her husband in the land's great time of need.'
'Just keep an eye on her,’ Ibris told Feranc and Ryllans with prodigious emphasis.
'But …?'
'Don't worry, I'm not leaving her at my back. She'll be accompanying us to the front,’ Ibris said grimly, answering the question before it was asked. ‘For the morale of the army,’ he added significantly. ‘Or at least as near as will seem seemly of me to the people.'
Neither Ryllans nor Feranc demurred openly at this decision. Nefron gaining public esteem by such ‘courage’ was probably better than Nefron left to her own devices back in Serenstad.
'So thoughtful of you to bring me out in this bitter wind, my dear,’ Nefron said quietly to him as she smiled and raised a waving hand to the passing troops.
Outwardly Ibris ignored the barb, though, as they both knew, it struck home and, despite himself, long-buried memories of their earlier passions stirred to reproach him.
'Another cloak for the lady Nefron,’ he snapped unnecessarily at a nearby servant.
'Winter's in the air,’ someone said.
The remark made Ibris cast a brief but anxious look at Feranc, standing nearby. Though the Commander of his bodyguard never spoke of it, Ibris knew that he had a particular horror of winter combat.
Ironically, however, this was to the benefit of the army, as Feranc had imagination enough to put himself in the place of those he led. Thus he was meticulous in ensuring that clothing was appropriate and that supplies were adequate and thoroughly organized. More importantly it drew on his every dark resource to the full, to ensure that the conflict would be over as soon as possible.
Menedrion, standing beside his mother, shifted uneasily. He had little time for such ceremonies and was anxious to be with his troops.
Not that there was a great deal of ceremony about this march past. Apart from battalion and company colours and a liberal sprinkling of favours and pennants on pikes and wagons, there was no other concession to the traditional, more formal, departure of the army from the city. The matter was too urgent for such niceties and the men were in their field uniforms and setting their faces towards a rapid march to Whendrak.
Others would follow in due course and others had already left. Except for his immediate personal guard, Ibris's elite bodyguard, equipped with the minimum of supplies, were already well on their way, by forced march. They were under the command of Arwain, with Ryllans as his aide. What they found when they arrived at Whendrak would be carried back by gallopers and would form the basis of the tactics for the army proper.
The baggage train and its flank guards were now rumbling past.
Menedrion shifted again.
'Be patient, Irfan,’ Nefron said. ‘I'm sure Arwain will be able to manage without you for a little while.'
'Go and take up your position in the column, Irfan,’ Ibris said, before Menedrion could reply. Then with a nod to the officer in charge of the ceremony, he turned, said a few farewells to the various dignitaries, and, taking his wife's arm, gently escorted her down the podium steps. At the bottom he left her in the charge of her own small entourage and bodyguard.
Below them, the crowd was beginning to head back across the bridge towards the city. Some remained, however, as the rearguard passed by and for some time after even the Duke and his party had left. Mothers sent their love and hopes after their sons and tried to keep their fears from their faces. Wives held babies close, and clutched young, uncomprehending hands tightly and did the same. Young boys felt the weight of the adult fear, however, and did not play and roister with the toy swords and spears they had brought in support of their departing brothers and fathers.
Ibris and Nefron parted without speaking.
'Galloper!'
'Let him through!'
Arwain looked up with a start and cursed himself silently. How long had he been walking along in a trance? The relentless marching pace was both exhausting and hypnotic; he must have been almost asleep on his feet!
That wouldn't happen again, he resolved, as he searched for the approaching rider.
The man soon came into view and Arwain saw that he was driving his horse hard.
There was little semblance of rank and file in the column, as each individual made the best pace he could to keep in contact with the leaders, but there was still a clear order of march, and the straggling vanguard parted to let the rider through. He came to a staggering halt beside Arwain.
The horse was lathered in sweat and the rider was little better. He accepted Arwain's supporting arm as he slid, exhausted, from his saddle. A trooper ran up and took the horse.
Ryllans appeared at Arwain's side.
Before either of them spoke, the messenger said, breathlessly, ‘The Bethlarii have surrounded Whendrak. Two full divisions, as far as I could see.'
Arwain's heart sank. Two divisions! Ten times the men he had. The scale of the Bethlarii's intent and the speed of its execution chilled him. And what could he do against such odds?
'Surrounded, or taken?’ Ryllans’ calm inquiry cut across Arwain's dismay. He offered the messenger his water bottle.
The man seized it eagerly.
'Surrounded,’ he confirmed. ‘There were still signs of fires inside the city, but it must still be sealed, the Bethlarii were making towers.'
'Good,’ Ryllans said. ‘While Whendrak holds out against them, they'll not be anxious to move on through the valley. Were you seen?'
'No. I kept to the south ridge and it was deserted.'
Ryllans nodded, but said nothing. Then, dismissing the messenger, he spoke to Arwain quietly. ‘If they've not occupied or put lookouts on the ridges then they're either not expecting us yet or they just don't care. It's not like them to be so careless, but then…’ He shrugged. ‘This whole business is out of character…’ He thought for a moment.
'We've got to keep them in the valley until the main column arrives,’ Arwain said. ‘And there's no saying how long Whendrak will hold with them on the outside and some kind of uprising on the inside. They could be on the move even now.'
It was a dark thought. ‘We can't meet them with a force this size,’ Ryllans said, mouthing the obvious to clear his mind. ‘Not anywhere in the valley, it's too wide. But we can harass them, slow them down, if needs be.’ He
