Chapter 33
As Arwain dispatched the gallopers to carry the news of the intended attack back to Ibris, his thoughts became as dark as the surrounding night.
'It's no worse than any ambush,’ part of him said.
'It's murdering sleeping men,’ said another.
'You'll not murder many. You'll be lucky if you reach the camp unseen, and if you do, the alarm will be sounded within minutes. Then you'll be fighting for your lives. Outnumbered more than ten to one now they've brought new troops up.'
'But killing men unshriven…'
'There's no good way to die in battle. And they've done it to us often enough in the past.'
'We aren't them.'
'Ah, are we not? We've never done it to them in the past?'
'We've changed.'
'Indeed?'
Silence.
'But you've just sanctioned this deed? Will you account for it when the time comes?'
'The time is now, and I account for it now, to the one who matters the most: myself.'
'Too easy.'
'Killing them may save us, and many others.'
'May is a frail word on which to place this dark and joyless burden; from which to claim necessity.'
'It's all we have. All I have. The treaty, the paper wall that kept us apart, is breached. Breached by them, utterly, and without a vestige of provocation.'
'Not enough.'
Stillness. Then, ‘The last religious war was savage beyond belief. We must defend ourselves.'
'But an unprovoked attack?'
'The assault on Whendrak is provocation by virtue of treaty and historical fact. Serenstad must defend itself, and we, here, cannot risk waiting the enemy's pleasure.'
Silence.
'They'll come definitely, if you attack.'
The arguments began to circle. ‘Yes, but probably quickly, with a small force that we may be able to contain. And if they send a large force, it'll have been delayed and it'll move more slowly.'
'May? If?'
Arwain closed his eyes. For a moment, his mind was choked by a great, entangled, knot of causes and effects which disappeared back into time and far beyond the boundaries of his knowledge.
They ceased suddenly as if they had been severed by a swift sword cut.
'What we do is necessary. It's necessary because we're here, and all other alternatives that we have from here lead … may lead … as far as we can see, to destruction.'
Unsought and unexpected, a vision of his wife, and a great longing for her, intruded on his thoughts and made him falter. But his debate had a momentum of its own, and the vision was swept away even as Arwain reached out to it.
'What myriad happenings brought us here, brought the Bethlarii here, is beyond my sight and my understanding, let alone my unravelling. What we're going to do is necessary and its necessity is the true measure of war.'
The debate faded. Arwain reached up and wiped his brow. It was damp with perspiration despite the morning's chill.
And this necessity was also a measure of his father, he realized. His father, who had determinedly turned his face against the ways of the past and led the Serens and their allies away from such necessities for so many years.
Standing alone in the cold darkness, Arwain resolved that should he and Serenstad survive, he would try to be a better pupil at the feet of this man. Now, however, he must guard his father's life's work by following his teaching and tending to this cruel necessity.
Then Ryllans was by his side. Arwain felt his urgency. The east was greying relentlessly. The mountains would slow the arrival of the morning light at Whendrak, but the attack must not be delayed further or it would be impossible to effect the clandestine retreat that was vital to their intention.
'I'm ready,’ Arwain said, turning towards the Mantynnai. Silence was to cover the vanguard of the Serens’ attack. A great roaring charge might possibly panic the first of the besiegers that they reached, but the Bethlarii were hardened fighters and the very din of battle would probably help them to recover and regroup quickly. In addition, the noise would certainly rouse those in more distant parts of the camp, bringing them to the scene armed and savage.
Thus those among the bodyguard with the skills for the task were now moving silently ahead to kill the sentries as quietly as possible. That done, the main force would move equally silently into the camp, killing and destroying all they could, and then retreat quickly at the first sign of the Bethlarii recovering.
The action had to be swift and lethal, and it was essential that the Bethlarii gain no measure of their true size or they would counter-attack recklessly at first light and Arwain had no illusions about the ability of his battalion to withstand what would surely be a massive and infuriated onslaught by a vastly more numerous army.
Slowly, crouching low, the Serens drew nearer to the camp.
Almost ritualistically, as if for comfort, Arwain's hand kept testing the metal buckles on his belt and scabbards to ensure that the cloths binding them were firm and secure to prevent them from rattling.
The force had been divided into small groups, each of which could fight as a close formation team in the event of unexpected opposition. At the same time, the groups would maintain close contact with their neighbours to minimize the risk of being separated and cut off. The use of such groups would also help to maintain discipline when the fighting-the killing-began.
'This is an action to cause damage and delay,’ Ryllans emphasized. ‘It's not a battle we can win. The last thing we want is anyone running amok, screaming and yelling like some berserker. The Bethlarii will be doing enough of that in due course, and the sooner the camp's roused, the sooner we have to retreat, and the sooner they'll regroup and come after us. Is that clear?'
The shadows around him nodded silently.
'Right. Just remember. Keep quiet, keep your wits about you, advance cautiously, keeping contact with your neighbouring groups, and do your jobs. That way you'll survive.'
Soft, whispering orders sighed through the darkness and the advance stopped. Arwain tightened his grip about his sword. He looked back to see that his group was in good order. They were very near to the camp now.
Presumably not anticipating an attack from either the city, or from along the valley, the Bethlarii had posted few sentries, though several were guarding a partially constructed siege tower. A few lamps revealed their vigil and it was the rapid destruction of these particular guards that Arwain had taken as the task for his own group.
There was a short, high-pitched cry from some way ahead, to the left, followed by some grunting and scuffling. Arwain jumped, as did several of his companions. The noise seemed to ring like a trumpet clarion through the darkness and Arwain felt his already racing heart pound even harder. Deliberately, he took in and released several slow breaths to calm himself, forcing himself to look at the men around the tower.
No stir came from the camp, however, though some of the guards looked about to see what had caused the noise.
Unnecessarily, Arwain held up his hand for both silence and stillness but, after a long moment, the tower guards fell back into their casual watch.
Then, like a poison-tipped arrow, the code-word he had been waiting for and dreading, hissed at him out of the night. The lone sentries were down, move in.
