nodded to himself.
'We'll need to hold the ridges for that,’ Arwain said.
Within the hour a rider was heading back to Ibris's army with the news and details of Arwain's intention, a company of the bodyguard was moving forward at full speed, with a view to securing the ridges during the night, and Arwain was forcing his complaining limbs to meet the renewed pace of the column.
They rested for a little while during the night. ‘We'll be at the valley tomorrow,’ Ryllans said. ‘Perhaps fighting. A little food and sleep is essential now.’ Though it seemed to Arwain that the Mantynnai himself got little of the latter. Certainly he was always either awake or absent on the several occasions that Arwain was jerked awake by one physical discomfort or another.
He made a note to mention Ryllans’ apparent self-neglect in the morning with a view, perhaps, to a mild rebuke, but it was he who was bleary-eyed, stiff and shivering, and Ryllans who was wide awake and quietly mocking when the camp roused itself in the pre-dawn darkness.
It was an eerie awakening. Silence would be essential from here on, and the chilly gloom was alive with whispering shadows and hooded lamps, as weapons, supplies and equipment were checked, stiff joints massaged, blistered feet given their final attention before being pressed back into duty.
Then they were marching again, though not as quickly as before, and more carefully. It was more important now that the column did not spread out too far.
Trudging through the darkness, surrounded by so many companions, Arwain felt suddenly very alone. He had commanded before, but not such a lightly armed, swiftly moving and independent group. True, he had Ryllans beside him and he was more than content to note the Mantynnai's unobtrusive advice, but he knew that he must bring to the fore everything that he had ever learned about fighting, about tactics, about people, about the terrain, everything, if he was to be anything other than a hindrance, or worse, to the group.
He stared into the darkness around them. There was no moon and the stars appeared only fitfully through a light haze of cloud. And it was nearly freezing; the air was misty with the clouded breath of the walking men and filled with the muffled sound of careful treading and the occasional rasp of a foot slithering on a damp rock.
He glanced up at the sky again and as he did so, two thin spears of light skimmed briefly across his vision.
He smiled. Chance, he thought. Starflies were not common at this time of year, and they shone for barely the blink of an eye. Yet he had looked up at this one moment just in time to see two of them perform their flight across the heavens.
Thus was it going to be from now on until this cruel affair was over. There would be plans, strategies, tactics, but always chance would be there to divert the course of any combat with its arbitrary and featherlike touch; an arrow caught in a breeze, a pebble under a foot, a cry to distract the attention, a spark from a burning brand.
'In battle, as in all things, you must learn from what was, you must look to what may be, but your mind and your body must be neither clouded nor ruled by either. You are here now, and now you will live or die.'
The advice had not been Ryllans', but Ciarll Feranc's when one day he had seen Arwain training and had chosen to speak for some reason.
Ryllans had stood back respectfully. ‘I try to understand him,’ he had said when Feranc had left and Arwain had turned to him for an explanation. ‘Just remember what he said, and think about it. He's twenty times the warrior that I'll ever be.'
Arwain took the advice and, occasionally, just like the brief faint flaring of the starflies’ flight, he thought he understood.
Then, without realizing how it had come about, he felt differently about the stiffness in his limbs, about the cold striking into his hands and feet, about the burdens of leading this group, about the endless options that lay ahead. None of them was in any way diminished, but in some way he accepted rather than resisted them and they became no more onerous to him than the weight of his mailcoat and boots.
And he knew where they were. The bewildering darkness became subtle shapes and shadows that he recognized.
'We're near the mouth of the valley,’ he said softly to Ryllans. ‘About two hours’ hard marching from the city, I'd say. We'd better halt and send out scouts.'
The Mantynnai nodded, and sent out the whispered command to halt.
The column closed ranks in the darkness and, after a brief discussion with the officers, Ryllans sent a small group ahead to reconnoitre, before ordering the column forward again, slowly and battle ready.
The silence that had pervaded the marchers thus far became tense now and was permeated with soft whispers: ‘keep together…’ ‘keep quiet…’ There was an occasional muffled cry and flurry as someone was startled by a scurrying night animal, or low swooping bird.
After a while, there was a flicker from a hooded lamp ahead and, following a whispered challenge, two of the scouts returned to announce that the road ahead was clear for some way and that they had left markers. The other scouts were continuing ahead. Then the two men were gone again.
Ryllans did not increase the speed of the march, however, as haste was no longer needed, and it was important that the column kept together.
Gradually the eastern sky began to grey, but like a grim parody of a sunset, the western horizon became noticeably red. ‘Let's hope that's just camp fires,’ Arwain said.
As they eased forward, successive scouts returned to say that the road was still clear, and then, finally, that the city was still untaken. Further, the Bethlarii were not attacking; their camp was at rest. Less heartening, though, was the news that further Bethlarii troops appeared to have arrived.
Ryllans called another halt and led Arwain aside.
'We've no idea of the state of affairs in Whendrak,’ he said. ‘They might be secure and comfortable, or they might be on the verge of defeat. From what we saw while we were there, they're badly divided among themselves and I fear the latter's more likely, if only by virtue of treachery at the gate. However, that may well be academic. If the Bethlarii are bringing up fresh troops, they may be planning a major assault, or they may be intending to leave a force here to contain the city while their main army moves on through the valley. In which case they could be moving at dawn.’ He nodded towards the greying east.
'Go on,’ Arwain said into the silence.
'We can wait and see if they intend an assault,’ Ryllans continued. ‘But if they don't, if they move on, then they'll march right into us.'
'I presume we've occupied the ridges,’ Arwain said. ‘We could harass them if they move, as we decided.'
Ryllans shook his head. ‘It would've been risky against two divisions, even allowing for a couple of battalions being left around the city. But if they've been building up their numbers while we've been marching, we've no idea how many would be coming through. It may not be possible for us to delay them until the main army arrives. In which case we could lose a great many men and perhaps even find ourselves cut off for no great gain.'
Arwain breathed in slowly. They had no information on which to make a rational decision, but Ryllans’ comments were sound and, with or without information, the decision had to be made.
'That leaves us with retreat or … an immediate attack,’ he said, after a long pause. ‘And as retreat would be worse than just standing here, that means we must attack. Now. Before dawn.’ He felt at once sick and excited.
Softly, Ryllans summoned the officers again and laid the same conclusion before them. It was greeted with an uneasy silence and Arwain was glad of the darkness concealing his face. He became aware, however, of the faces of others, pale in the darkness, turning towards him.
'I see no other alternatives,’ he said, surprised at his own calmness. ‘There are people in Whendrak fighting both their own and the Bethlarii, and every moment we wait, we jeopardize them and we allow the Bethlarii to increase their force. My father's finest troops didn't make a forced march across the country to act as mute witnesses to the death of Whendrak or to stand by like keening widows as the enemy brushes us aside.’ He paused.
'They have numbers. We have surprise.’ The die was cast.
Ivaroth Ungwyl brought his horse to a halt as he reached the ridge. A bitterly cold wind struck him suddenly, making him tighten his cloak and swear to himself.
