He nodded to himself. ‘They flew with us ever after, the ravens,’ he went on. ‘But Sumeral’s carrion never returned. Not until… the end.’
Then, as suddenly as it had come, Hawklan’s brief exhilaration passed and he sank back into his chair, silent again.
‘And the end?’ Andawyr said softly.
Hawklan turned his gaze back to the fire. ‘We moved ever northwards into… Fyorlund,’ he said, frowning uncertainly. ‘Though it wasn’t called Fyorlund then I’m sure. I doubt it had a name. It was an empty, fertile land occupied by deer, horses… ’ He shrugged. ‘All manner of harmless things living their peaceful lives. Until we arrived and brought them after us.
‘We were exhausted in both spirit and body. We’d left our precious land to its most terrible enemy. The people had looked to our great army for protection with the same certainty that they looked to the sun for warmth and we’d had to tell them to flee like frightened animals before this predator. The darkness that was pursuing us still must surely envelop us and everything that we held dear.’
‘You turned and stood,’ Gulda said flatly.
Hawklan nodded. ‘We’d no choice,’ he said. ‘They would have pursued us if we’d run forever, such was Sumeral’s hatred of us. Our supplies were long gone. We were in little shape to forage. We had scores of wounded with us by then who we may as well have dispatched as left behind. So we chose a site-a low hill in the middle of a plain-polished our weapons and shields, formed our battle array, and waited.
‘It was a splendid, foolish sight. Weapons glinting in the sun, pale-faced men and women fearful yet resolute, flags flapping in the breeze.’ He shook his head. ‘That’s a lonely sound,’ he said sadly. ‘We knew our cavalry would be wasted against so vast an army so we’d released the horses to roam free, and formed ourselves into a single square. No one spoke. Each communed with his own heart and made whatever peace he could with his conscience. Whatever had happened to the Alliance, it would have been no betrayal. We knew that.’ There was doubt in his voice. ‘Just as our defence line had been breached, so some setback must have struck them also. All we could do now was what we had set out to do from the beginning: hold as long as we could and inflict as much harm as possible on our foe.’
Hawklan looked down at his hands. ‘But I found no peace,’ he said. ‘I had sought the command, and it was mine. I had had the finest advisers and friends to guide me, and my own knowledge, which was considerable, but some vanity on my part had caused me to underes-timate the power of our enemy, and all was lost as a consequence.’ Abruptly, tears welled into his eyes, but he did not weep. ‘Yet no one offered me any reproach.’ For a moment, he could not speak. ‘Ethriss, I knew too, would forgive me, but I would not forgive myself. I would die unshriven, by choice.’
Andawyr slowly wrapped his arms about himself, chilled by the pain and self-reproach in Hawklan’s tone.
Hawklan looked up. ‘When they came, they were vast even then. And He was still with them, but always keeping His distance from us. They paused awhile and made camp; to taunt us, I think. The birds were there again, but so also were the ravens, and their dark gleaming spirits were higher than ours by far. I doubt they lost their day.
‘Then, after many hours watching, they attacked. Wave upon wave of them. The din was appalling. The screeching of the fighting birds, the rumbling chanting, the thunder of stamping feet, our own battle song and war cries. We slaughtered them in their thousands again; our archers and slingers were formidable. And those who reached us perished on swords and spears. But relentlessly, their endless, mindless sacrifice wore us down. Eventually all our arrows were spent and we’d sent back to them all their own. Our slingers were out of shot and there was little natural ammunition on that grassy hill. So we faced them with swords and locked shields.
‘And then they fired the hill, and where their storm-ing missiles and charges had failed, smoke and flame succeeded and our dwindling square was broken. Many of us reformed, but many fell alone, cut down as they staggered away from the fire, blinded by the smoke… ’ Hawklan wrinkled his nose. ‘Whatever they used to fire the hill, the smoke was black and foul like nothing I’d ever smelt or seen before, it blotted out the sun and it burned and burned.
‘And it was over. A handful of us were left, standing, slithering on the heaps of our own dead. One by one we fell, until there were just three.’
Hawklan’s face was desolate.
‘I remember the enemy falling back and standing silently watching us. I remember the sky, black with smoke, and flickering with fighting birds. There was a raucous command from somewhere, and the enemy lowered their long pikes-they were not going to close with us again. Then the figure next to me shouted defiance at them, hurled its shield into their midst and reached up to tear away its helm.’ Hawklan paused and his eyes glistened as he relived the moment. ‘Long blonde hair tumbled out like a sudden ray of sunlight in that terrible gloom.’ He shook his head. ‘I hadn’t realized who it was. A great roar went up from the circling army. I called out her name… ’ He opened his mouth to call again. Both Gulda and Andawyr watched, lips parted, as if willing him this release, but no sound came from any of them.
‘Without taking her eyes from the approaching enemy, she reached back and her hand touched my face briefly. "I am here," its touch said. "I am with you to the end." I threw away my own helm and shield and took my sword two-handed as she had. Then the figure at my back cried out in recognition. He too I had not recog-nized in the press. Thus by some strange chance, we three childhood friends formed the last remnant of our great army.’
He paused again and clenched his fist, as if around his sword hilt. ‘A group of the enemy threw down their pikes and rushed forward to take the girl. She killed three of them with terrible skull-splitting blows, but…
‘So I slew her. I slew my friend. With a single stroke. I saw her head tumbling red and gold down the slope and into the darkness under those countless trampling feet.’ He shook his head. ‘Better that than that she be taken alive…
‘The rest of her attackers fled back to their pikes and the enemy began its final slow advance. Back to back the two of us held. Pushed aside and broke their long spears. Killed several. Then my last friend and ally fell and I… ’ he faltered.
‘He said, "I’m sorry," even as he fell.
‘That last burden was my end and I too sank to my knees… ’
He drew in a long breath.
‘Then a hand took my shoulder.’
Hawklan looked up at Gulda. ‘A hand took my shoulder,’ he repeated. ‘Then… darkness.’
He fell silent again and, for a long time, all in the room sat motionless as if not daring to move for fear that this might bring Sumeral’s terrible army crashing down on them over the top of their protected, book-lined redoubt, so vivid was Hawklan’s dreadful telling.
Gulda pulled her hood forward and her face was hidden in deep shadow. Andawyr’s eyes were glassy with shock as he struggled to accept the reality of what he had heard and the true nature of the teller.