There was little time for such exchanges, however. Menedrion's reaction on hearing of his half-brother's intention to launch an attack on the vastly superior Bethlarii force had been the same as everyone else's, namely, considerable alarm, and this had manifested itself in the speed at which he had led his two divisions to Arwain's aid.
However, it had been no mindless charge and, noting Arwain's information that the ridges had not been taken by the Bethlarii, Menedrion had sent gallopers ahead to tell the infantry from the approaching Stor division to move along the north ridge, while the infantry from one of his own divisions moved along the south. The remaining infantry and all the cavalry were to follow them along the valley floor.
The tactic was intended to look like a large-scale encirclement of the forces around Whendrak, and would indeed have served as such had opportunity presented itself. Menedrion, however, harboured only moderate hopes that this would happen, as the ridge routes were not easy and were too visible from below to allow surprise. Further, the mountain weather was, untypically, clear that day.
Nevertheless, the prospect of such an assault had been sufficient to make those Bethlarii attacking Arwain withdraw at full speed.
Now, it was essential that the three arms of the attacking force continue towards Whendrak, the valley force in particular chasing the Bethlarii back to their camp and, with good fortune, causing panic there that might lead to a precipitate withdrawal from the valley.
'I can't see that happening, to be honest,’ Menedrion said to Arwain. ‘But at least they'll have to pull back from the city before they make a stand and that'll be some gain. Wait here until father arrives or until you hear from me.'
Briefly Arwain had considered protesting at being left behind, but the thought expired almost as it was born. He was exhausted, thirsty, hungry, shocked, and now cold, as the frenzy of the battle faded away. His men were the same and they must be looked to before he himself could even think of rest.
Menedrion left some of his pioneers and commissary staff behind as he moved off along the valley. Soon they were pitching tents, lighting fires, rigging kitchens, and, the most wretched of their tasks, clearing the battlefield.
Later, their men tended as their needs demanded, Ryllans and Arwain sat leaning against a rock by an open fire.
'How are you?’ Ryllans asked, looking at his pupil.
Arwain was about to utter a conventional platitude when he caught Ryllans’ eye.
'Sick,’ he answered truthfully. ‘And bewildered. My head's still ringing with the noise, my arms twitching with hesitant sword and shield strokes, and my eyes and my legs are still watching for arrows and spears falling out of the sky. And thoughts are circling my mind as relentlessly as the Bethlarii did our square. It's as if the least slip on my part would bring them crashing down on me.’ He picked up a small twig from the edge of the fire and tossed it into the flames. ‘I want to be back home with my wife, fretting about my training and my duties and palace politics…'
Ryllans smiled slightly and nodded. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Don't be concerned about your thoughts. While you can see them, and while you're that honest with yourself, they're not going to hurt you. Your mind has to twitch just like your body after such a shock. And you're not alone, Duke's son.'
He held out his hand. It was shaking.
Arwain looked at it in some surprise. ‘Every time I looked at you, you seemed so calm,’ he said.
'As did you,’ Ryllans replied. ‘Indeed, as we both were, given the circumstances. But being calm in battle isn't the same as being calm by one's fireside.'
Arwain remembered his own legs shaking as he had confronted the Bethlarii priest between the two armies.
'You've a way with the obvious,’ he said with a slight laugh that cracked and died.
Ryllans’ head came forward a little and he stared at Arwain intently. ‘You're right, I do have a way with the obvious,’ he said. ‘And for good reason. One man's obvious is another man's ignorance.’ He reached out and took Arwain's arm, to catch his attention. Arwain turned and met his gaze. ‘All the battles you've fought before have been as a cavalry officer, Arwain,’ he went on. ‘You've no measure of what it's like in the line, no measure of the obvious. So I'll tell you now, I've been in battles longer and bloodier than this by far, but I've never known anything as terrifying. Not even at Viernce. Never been so frightened of that random arrow or spear, of my own weakness, my inadequacy. The thoughts circling my head are saying, “How did we hold so long?” Over and over.’ His grip on Arwain's arm tightened. ‘They'll pass, I know, but believe me, tales of this brief little battle here will ring down through history. Storytellers will eat well, making their listeners sweat and shiver with the excitement and the bravery of it.'
Arwain continued looking at him as this revelation broke over him. It should not be thus; it should be the terror and horror of it that persisted, not the vicarious excitement and misunderstood bravery. But that, he knew, was a matter beyond any controlling.
Then a dark thought emerged into the light. ‘The stuff of tales it might have been, but it was a mistake for all that,’ he said.
Ryllans did not respond.
'I misjudged completely the speed of their column and the speed at which we could withdraw.’ Arwain's guilt found words. ‘We should never have had to stand and face them.'
Ryllans seemed unconcerned. ‘We both misjudged them,’ he said abruptly. ‘But we were neither foolish nor careless and that's all the solace you're going to get. War is misjudgement writ large, and chance, let alone misjudgement, runs riot. That's why we train. So that we can respond to the unforeseeable with some hope of surviving. Just concentrate on learning what's to be learnt.'
His guilt cauterized by Ryllans’ words, rather than purged, Arwain sat silent, gazing into the crackling fire.
Ryllans stared out over the empty, scarred ground that had been so bitterly fought over but an hour ago.
He scowled.
'We've got nine dead and twelve, maybe fifteen, seriously injured,’ he said, half to himself. ‘But they must have lost perhaps seventy or eighty dead, including at least one of their precious priests. And god knows how many more were badly injured.'
Arwain turned to him. Ryllans’ words stirred something that was on the edge of his own thoughts.
'It was a cruel ambush we launched against them,’ he said.
Ryllans nodded. ‘But their response was absurd nevertheless. All those men killed for virtually nothing. All they had to do once we chose to stand was to surround us, bring up more archers from the camp, and use us for shooting practice.’ He shook his head. ‘They could have destroyed us utterly without losing a single man.’ He gave a slightly bitter smile. ‘They'd even have got all their arrows back afterwards.'
'They didn't have time with the army so close,’ Arwain offered, glad to be exercising his mind with practicalities.
'It wouldn't have taken long,’ Ryllans answered, brutally. ‘And anyway, they didn't know the army was coming. If they didn't even bother to post proper sentries, it's highly unlikely they'd done any reconnaissance beyond the valley.'
Arwain had no reply. Ryllans was right. The Bethlarii had been well disciplined in the defence of their marching column, but wildly reckless in their assault on the square. And no amount of anger, however justified, should have turned disciplined fighters into such a disordered rabble.
Ryllans’ eyes narrowed. ‘They're possessed utterly by this religion of theirs,’ he said. ‘Logic and reason have gone and they're going back to what they must have been centuries ago: ignorant, vicious barbarians.'
Arwain held out his hands to the fire.
'No attempt to secure the ridges, no lookouts along the valley, inadequate sentries. It's certainly bad, and it's certainly not typical of them,’ he mused. ‘But I'm not sure what it tells us, except that such carelessness may be to our advantage.'
'It tells us that they're unpredictable and thus perhaps more dangerous than they've ever been,’ Ryllans said starkly. ‘I've seen religious fanatics take a score of arrows and still kill people before they died. It's not good for morale I can assure you. But…’ He raised a finger to forestall a question. ‘While we're aware of the problem, we can
