Ryllans and Arwain exchanged another glance, this time of resignation. ‘It's a pity the Bethlarii don't put their considerable skills to better use,’ Ryllans said, allowing himself a brief moment of reflection, then, ‘Time to leave.'
A short horn call rang out above the shouting men and whistling arrows, and those groups of archers that had not already been obliged to fall back, did so with alacrity.
This time, none was caught by the Bethlarii, though there were some narrow escapes, and one man, confused by the terrain, was separated from his companions and found himself alone on an exposed ledge with a rock-face at his back, a dangerous drop on two sides and approaching Bethlarii on the third.
He looked up the ragged cliff-face behind him and then over the edge in front of him, then, as calmly as if he were at a quiet evening's practice with friends, he took an arrow from his quiver, nocked it, drew it slowly, and shot the first Bethlarii to reach him at close range.
The arrow tore through the man's throat with such force that it knocked him backwards and embedded itself in the chest of his companion following close behind. Pinned together in their death embrace, arms and legs flailing like some grotesque insect, the two men tumbled off the ledge, air-foamed blood hissing noisily from the awful throat wound and whirling in the air around them like coloured ribbons in a children's dance.
A third Bethlarii hesitated at the sight and received an arrow square in his chest. He tottered backwards for several paces before his knees buckled and he collapsed. A fourth Bethlarii fled.
Watching him flee, the archer took careful aim and shot him also.
There was a strange, timeless interlude in the battle around this beleaguered figure, as the Serens retreated and the Bethlarii column moved forward, inexorably cutting him off.
The companions of the dead Bethlarii stood well back, prowling like predators waiting for their prey to weaken; discipline swept aside for the moment by the need for personal vengeance against this one representative of their enemy.
Seemingly indifferent to their presence or what must surely be his impending death, the man waited, an arrow nocked and the string of his bow slightly drawn, again as if he were merely waiting at the shooting line for permission to continue.
At one point a group of the Bethlarii ventured nearer, shields raised. But still the archer waited, motionless, until they charged along the ledge, then with the leisure that had hallmarked his previous actions he shot the leader in the leg. The barbed-iron point, crafted and hardened in one of Menedrion's workshops, entered the man's thigh and emerged, blood-red, at the back. He crashed down with a terrible cry, his shield and sword flying from his grasp. Even before he struck the ground, however, the archer had nocked another arrow and raised his bow to take his next victim. The other Bethlarii dropped down behind their shields immediately.
Rolling over in agony, the injured man looked up at the waiting archer.
Their eyes met. Then, without lowering his bow, the archer shouted, ‘Take him away.'
There was a hurried discussion among the waiting Bethlarii, then two of them scuffled forward, still crouching behind their shields, and dragged their companion away.
Below, the Bethlarii column moved relentlessly on and the Serens retreated before it.
Interest in the lethal archer flagged gradually, as the gravity of events below eventually drew the Bethlarii away, albeit reluctantly. They left him with menacing gestures and grim promises that they would return.
When they had gone, the archer remained where he was for a little while, and then slung his bow over his shoulder, turned round, and began scaling the rock-face.
The Serens were now in ordered but complete retreat, the archers acting as rearguard and still taking a sufficient toll of the Bethlarii to slow their progress. It was dangerous work, and two more archers lost their lives in the process.
Then the valley broadened out and, for the first time, the Serens stood exposed in their entirety. The realization that they had been struck such a savage blow, and delayed so severely in their pursuit, by such a small force, fuelled the anger of the Bethlarii to near frenzy, and they began to move forward at speed.
Marshalling the archers, both Arwain and Ryllans noted the change immediately and simultaneously reached the same conclusion. Their own men were tired, cold, and hungry after the forced march, the nerve-wracking assault on the camp and the equally nerve-wracking retreat. They could not outrun the much fresher Bethlarii for very far.
'They'll hack us down piecemeal if we continue,’ Ryllans cried above the din of the nearing Bethlarii. ‘We'll have to stand.'
It was something they had planned for but had desperately hoped to avoid. The Bethlarii, however, had adjusted to their harassing tactics more rapidly than they had envisaged, and this was the inevitable outcome.
Arwain nodded and gave the order to his signaller.
At the sound of the horn call the Bethlarii faltered momentarily, fearing some further ambush, even though there was patently no cover for one, nor any larger force waiting for them.
It seemed to Arwain, as he and Ryllans ran back with the archers, that the retreating infantry halted almost with relief at being given the opportunity to stand and fight. This was also a factor they had ignored in their calculations, and it put some heart into him. Retreat was intrinsically debilitating and Ibris's bodyguard were not chosen for their stupidity; all of them knew the consequences of being caught in loose formation by a superior force while together, tired or not, there was at least some chance of survival.
Arwain cast about him quickly to ensure that none of the archers was straggling, then, like a dutiful sheepdog, he followed after them, urging them forward while his mind repeated his wife's name over and over, like a protective litany.
The already forming shield wall opened to admit the returning rearguard and closed behind them rapidly. A single glance showed Arwain that the contingency orders were being obeyed meticulously. The men were forming a triple-ranked square with some four platoons at the centre ready to move to any threatened section of the wall.
Still breathless, Arwain and Ryllans moved round the square rapidly, bringing power and energy from their very depths to fire the men.
'Hold! Whatever happens, hold! Time is everything. The army's coming. Hold!'
'Archers! Select targets of opportunity. Especially priests and officers.'
Then the Bethlarii were on them.
Despite the array of spear and sword points darting and thrusting into their front ranks, the Bethlarii pressed forward in their anger and, almost immediately, the shield wall yielded a few paces. Men from the centre rushed to the weakening section, some helping their comrades to push their spears forward or to hold their shields, others using their own spears and swords to lunge and hack at those Bethlarii who had managed to force their way to the wall.
Archers, as ordered, waited, searching the heaving throng of roaring men for those on whom to best spend their remaining arrows.
The square held, but only just. It had been the right decision to stand and fight. The Serens were faring far better in this close-ranked defensive position than they could possibly have done had they been fallen upon from behind by the far more numerous Bethlarii. But it needed no fine judge of men or military tactics to see that their defeat, and possibly total annihilation, was simply a matter of time.
Their first furious charge having failed, the Bethlarii withdrew a little way and began to spread out to surround the square on all four sides.