Hawklan saw a movement in the nearest group of Morlider. He leaned forward. ‘Wheel!’ he muttered urgently. The leader of the riders saw the danger at the same time and, as if Hawklan’s will had reached out through the night, he turned the line back towards the darkness. But it was almost too late. The Morlider stepped forward and released a small but accurate volley of arrows at their assailants.
The sound of shouted commands came faintly to the watchers.
Two riders broke off to pursue the third horse, which had recovered itself almost immediately. Other riders picked up their unhorsed companions while the remainder returned the Morlider’s fire, causing them to scatter for shelter behind the palisade. Then, as quickly as they had appeared, the riders merged back into the darkness.
Andawyr turned to speak, but Hawklan held up his hand for silence. Again there was an almost eerie stillness in front of the camp. The Morlider archers re-formed.
fell dully into the ranks of tents and flared up only after the riders had passed. Urthryn frowned a little. ‘No,’ he said reflectively. ‘Perhaps sad would be a better word, but it’s a woefully inadequate one.’ He looked at Gulda. ‘Do you know the tale of Elewart and Gwelayne, Memsa?’ he asked.
Suddenly two adjacent groups of archers further along broke up rapidly. Hawklan could not see what was happening, but he knew that the Orthlundyn were standing back and firing from the cover of darkness. As soon as the defenders were routed, albeit temporarily, the cavalry rode in again to fire further volleys of flaming arrows into the camp. Hawklan nodded approvingly.
The harassment continued through the night and for much of the time the Morlider camp was in consid-erable disarray.
‘If only we had the numbers, we could drive them into the sea,’ Loman reflected.
Hawklan grunted. ‘A good word to choke on, if,’ he said. ‘But even if we drove them to their boats, they’d be back, wouldn’t they, Andawyr?’
The Cadwanwr started. He had been watching the unfolding saga with mounting distress. No amount of knowledge, he realized, could have fully prepared him for the frightening ordinariness that framed this reality. The horse shifting underneath him, the creaking of harness, Loman softly clearing his throat, the occasional snowflake landing cold on his now clammy face. Hawklan still Hawklan. The crackling flames and the terrible tactical games being played before him should have meant… more than they did. But they were outside his protective cocoon of darkness, and they were so… distant… unreal.
Hawklan’s voice reached out and brought him to the present with a jolt.
‘Yes. Yes,’ he stammered, catching the vanishing gist of the question. ‘I doubt they’ll leave until Creost abandons them.’
Hawklan turned and looked at him. As their eyes met, Andawyr said, almost shamefacedly, ‘Thank you. I couldn’t have helped.’
Hawklan did not reply, but the understanding and compassion of both warrior prince and healer showed in his eyes and comforted the Cadwanwr. Earlier, as the details of the attack were being discussed, Andawyr had asked if he could help: he had devices of his own that would not extend him; a breeze to fan the flames, some fires of his own, something to tear out that palisade? Hawklan had shaken his head. ‘Another time,’ he had replied. ‘Your Power’s for another purpose, you know that. Men must fight men. Here particularly, the Orthlundyn must learn those final lessons which can only be learned in combat. To ease their way with weapons they themselves can’t wield would be to mislead them and betray them in some future battle.’ Then, practical as ever: ‘Besides, you don’t want to betray your presence to Creost if he’s there, do you?’
‘He isn’t,’ Andawyr had replied positively, but Hawklan’s silent green-eyed gaze had said, ‘Can you take that risk?’
As time passed, however, the Morlider began to recover from the initial impact of the Orthlundyn assault.
‘They’ve realized we’re not intending an all-out attack,’ Hawklan said, as gradually the fires were doused and the archers defending the gaps in the palisade became both more cautious and more effective. ‘Pull back. We can do no more tonight. We’d be risking riders and horses needlessly if we persisted.’ Loman nodded in agreement. ‘I doubt they’ll venture out,’ Hawklan continued. ‘But leave pickets out in case, and have the army deployed by first light. They’ll come out then with a vengeance.’
In the command tent, Hawklan looked purposefully at his friends. ‘We’ve done them some harm,’ he said. ‘And shaken their nerve. Have we learned anything that would make us change our basic tactics?’
‘Loman tells me their archers are more organized than they used to be,’ Isloman said. ‘But that crowd we ran into were the same as ever-wild and dangerous.’ Old memories of close-quarter fighting rose like vomit to mingle with the new, but with an angry grimace he dismissed them. ‘I think if we can crack their discipline, they’ll revert to type-individual warriors looking to fight and kill. Then we’re in with a chance. I see no reason to change anything.’
No one disagreed. The conduct of the Morlider that night had shown the veterans enough to confirm that their enemy was both the same, and profoundly changed.
Hawklan reached up and touched Gavor’s beak absently. ‘The tactics stand, then,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow… ’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Today, rather. We will drive them into the sea. They’ll have been training to deal with cavalry and they’ll expect to meet cavalry not disciplined infantry. We still have surprise on… ’
Andawyr stood up suddenly. ‘Wake Atelon,’ he said, cutting across Hawklan. ‘Quickly. Bring him here.’ His voice was strange and distant.
After a momentary hesitation Dacu ran out.
‘What’s the matter?’ Hawklan said, concerned by Andawyr’s manner.
A distant roll of thunder sounded softly through the tent.
‘Dar Hastuin,’ he said, his voice strained. ‘He’s above us. And putting forth great power.’
Hawklan looked alarmed. ‘Against us?’ he said.
Andawyr shook his head. ‘No,’ he answered. ‘I think he’s found the Drienvolk.’
Gavor flapped his wings restlessly and Hawklan reached up to him again. ‘There’s nothing we can do, old friend,’ he said. ‘We touched briefly, but the Drienvolk must fight their own kind in their own way. Stay here and guard my back.’
Before Gavor could reply, the entrance to the tent burst open and Atelon staggered in, supported by Dacu. His young face was haunted and fearful and his mouth was working though no coherent sounds were emerging.
‘He was like this when I found him,’ Dacu said, his own face riven with concern.
Andawyr looked at his student for a moment and then walked over to him very calmly and took his hands. Hawklan saw again the man who had destroyed the lair of the Vrwystin a Kaethio at the Gretmearc. Dacu released his charge.
At the touch of his master, Atelon recovered some of his composure.
‘Don’t be… ’ Andawyr froze, and his words of sol-ace faltered. Atelon’s legs buckled and Dacu stepped forward quickly to catch him.
‘Andawyr, what’s happening?’ Hawklan said, his eyes now wide with anxiety.
Andawyr lifted a hand for silence but kept his atten-tion on Atelon. The young man’s eyes opened and with an effort he straightened up. Hawklan winced inwardly as the healer in him felt Atelon’s pain and fear.
‘You feel it all?’ Andawyr said. ‘Both of them?’
Atelon nodded.
‘That’s good,’ Andawyr said, his voice gentle but filled with a great resolve. ‘I’ll not exhort you to be brave, I’ll ask you only to be a Cadwanwr, and do what must be done. Can you accept that?’
Atelon nodded again. ‘Yes,’ he said faintly, but clearly.
Andawyr turned to Hawklan.
‘Very shortly, you’ll lead the Orthlundyn against the superior numbers of the Morlider army, and fight to the very limits of your skill and strength to destroy them,’ he said. ‘Atelon and I will accompany you to do the same against their new leader.’