Legion Free Corps and Stee Jans. Ostensibly his mission was to inquire into the needs of the Legion soldiers, but underlying this was his personal interest in their Commander. He had not spoken again with Jans since the Free Corps had arrived in Arborlon and he was admittedly curious to know more about the enigmatic Southlander. With nothing else immediate to occupy his time, he had decided to take this opportunity to seek him out and talk further with him.
He found the Free Corps camp at the southern edge of the Kensrowe, their watch already posted, their horses tethered and fed. No one challenged him as he wandered into their midst. When he could not immediately locate the Free Corps Commander’s quarters, he stopped a number of soldiers to ask if they knew where Jans could be found and was directed finally to a Legion Captain.
«Him?» The Captain, was a burly fellow with a heavy beard and a laugh that rang deep and hollow. «Who knows? He’s not in his tent, I can tell you that much. He left almost as soon as we pitched camp. Went out into the hills.»
«Scouting?» Ander was incredulous.
The Captain shrugged. «He’s like that. Wants to know everything about a place where he might die.» He laughed roughly. «Never leaves that kind of checking to another — likes to do it himself.»
Ander nodded uncomfortably. «I suppose that’s why he’s still alive.»
«Still alive? Why, that one will never die. You know what they call him? The Iron Man. Iron Man — that’s him. That’s the Commander.»
«He looks hard enough,” Ander agreed, his curiosity piqued.
The Captain motioned him closer, and for a moment each forgot whom he was addressing. «You know about Rybeck?» the Borderman asked.
Ander shook his head, and a glint of satisfaction leaped into the other’s hard eyes. «You listen then. Ten years ago a band of Gnome raiders was burning and killing the people at the eastern edge of the borderlands. Vicious little rats, and a bunch of them at that. The Legion tried everything to trap them, but nothing worked. Finally the King sent the Free Corps after them — with orders to track them down and destroy them, even if it took the rest of the year. I remember that hunt; I was with the Corps even then.»
He squatted down next to a cooking fire, and Ander hunched down beside him. Others began drifting in to listen.
«Five weeks the hunt went on, and the Corps tracked those Gnomes all the way east into the Upper Anar. Then one day, when we were getting close, a patrol of our men, only twenty–three of them, stumbled into a rear guard of several hundred raiders. The patrol could have fallen back, but it didn’t. These were Free Corps soldiers and they chose to fight. One man was sent back for reinforcements and the rest made their stand in this little village called Rybeck — just a bunch of nothing buildings. For three hours those twenty–two soldiers held out against the raiders — threw back every assault they mounted. A lieutenant, three junior officers, and eighteen soldiers. One of those junior officers was just a kid. Just seven months with the Corps — but already a corporal. No one knew much about him. Like most, he didn’t say much about his past.»
The Captain leaned forward. «After the first two hours, that boy was the only officer still alive. He rallied the half–dozen soldiers left into a small stone cottage. Refused surrender, refused quarter. When the relief force broke through finally, there were dead Gnomes all over the place.» The man’s hand tightened into a fist before Ander’s face. «More than a hundred of them. All of our men were gone, all but two, and one of them died later that day. That left just one. The boy corporal.»
He paused and chuckled softly. «That boy was Stee Jans. That’s why they call him the Iron Man. And Rybeck?» He shook his head solemnly. «Rybeck shows how a soldier of the Free Corps should fight and die.»
The soldiers gathered about him murmured their assent. Ander paused a moment, then rose. The Captain stood up with him, straightening himself as he seemed to remember again who it was that he was conversing with.
«Anyway, my Lord, the Commander’s not here right now.» He paused. «Can I do something for you?»
Ander shook his head. «I came to ask if there was anything you need.»
«A bit to drink,” someone cried, but the Captain waved him off with a quick oath.
«We’ll be fine, my Lord,” he responded. «We have what we need.»
Ander nodded slowly. Hard men, these Free Corps soldiers. They had made the long journey to Arborlon and then, with but a single night’s rest, a forced march to the Sarandanon. He doubted that there really was much that they needed.
«Then I’ll say good–night, Captain,” he said.
He turned and walked back toward the Elven camp, mulling over in his mind the tale of the Legion Commander they called the Iron Man.
Chapter Twenty–Nine
The following morning the army of the Elves and their Legion allies marched north out of the Sarandanon. With the dawn still a faint silver glow above the eastern forestline, the soldiers wound through Baen Draw and turned into the hills that lay beyond. Armor and harness jangled and creaked, boots and hooves thudded in rough cadence, and men and horses huffed clouds of white vapor in the frosty morning air. No one spoke or whistled or sang. A sense of anticipation and wariness pervaded the ranks. On this morning, Elven Hunter and Borderman knew they were marching into battle.
Up into the hills they circled, hills barren and rugged, their slopes sparse with short grass and scrub, rutted and eroded by wind and rain. Ahead, still far distant, the dark mass of the Breakline stood silhouetted against the dying night. Slowly, as the sun brightened the skyline, the mountains etched themselves out of the blackness, a maze of peaks and crags, drops and slides. The day began to warm. The morning hours slipped away and the army swung west, columns of riders and men afoot winding through gullies and over ridges, stretching out across the land. To the south, the waters of the Innisbore sparkled in flashes of blue, and above the choppy surface flew a sprinkling of white–backed gulls, their wings tipped with black, their cries shrill and haunting.
By noon, the army had reached the Breakline, and Eventine signaled a halt. The mountains loomed up against the horizon, a dark and massive wall of rock. Cliffs and spires rose thousands of feet into the sky, massed close as if some giant had gathered them within his hands and squeezed until the stone had broken and split from the pressure. Still and silent, barren and cold; they were filled with emptiness, darkness, and death.
Two passes split the Breakline, slender threads that tied the land of the Elves to the Hoare Flats. South lay Halys Cut. North lay Worl Run. If the Demons were to break through the Forbidding within the Flats as Allanon had foreseen, then, to reach the city of Arborlon, they would be forced to come east through one or both of these passes. It was there that the Elven army would try to stop them.
«We part company here,” Eventine announced when he had assembled his officers. Ander edged his mount closer to the small circle of men to hear clearly what was being said. «The army will divide. Half will march north with Prince Arion and Commander Pindanon to secure Worl Run. The other half will march south with me to Halys Cut. Commander Jans?» The bronzed face of the Free Corps Commander pushed into view. «I would like the Free Corps to march south. Pindanon, give the order.»
The ring of horsemen broke apart as the word was passed down the line. Ander glanced briefly at Arion, who met his gaze coldly and turned away.
«Ander, I want you to ride with me,” his father called over to him.
Kael Pindanon came galloping back to the King. All was in readiness. The two old comrades bade farewell to each other, hands clasping tightly. Ander looked one time more for his brother, but Arion was already moving to the head of his column.
Allanon appeared, dark face impassive. «His anger is misplaced,” the Druid said quietly, then nudged Artaq past.
Pindanon’s voice rang out. Banners and lances lifted in salute as the army of the Elves split apart. Shouts and cheers broke the morning stillness, echoing through the crags and flits of the mountain rock. For long moments the air was filled with sound, reckless and fierce. Then Pindanon’s command swept north, winding into the hills in a broad cloud of Just until it was lost from view.
