Andawyr and I will go down-with our bodyguard,’ he added reassuringly.
A loud clap of thunder rolled over the two brothers’ replies.
‘Good,’ Hawklan said, wilfully misunderstanding their unheard protests. ‘I’m glad you agree. There may yet be a chance to talk our way out of this. You two stay here. Bring the cavalry and the front ranks into sight on my signal.’
His manner was so authoritative that Loman and Isloman could only exchange a brief look of resignation. However, as Hawklan turned away, Loman flicked out an emphatic hand signal to the Helyadin bodyguard.
‘Language, dear boy,’ Gavor tutted reproachfully. ‘A simple "Take care," would have sufficed.’ Then he was flying after the already retreating party.
Holding the green flag of truce himself, Hawklan led his small entourage towards the approaching Morlider. He stopped just in front of the scattered bodies that were the remains of the crowd that had fallen before Athyr’s force.
‘Halt!’ His voice, commanding and powerful, rose above the clatter of the moving army.
Another voice repeated the command and rapidly it passed from officer to officer through the extended ranks and the great line came to a lumbering stop.
There was another command and the file in front of Hawklan opened to make a broad pathway. Along it came one man on horseback flanked by what appeared to be either advisers or bodyguards. The rider was a large and imposing man, untypical of his fellows to the extent that his heavy-boned face was beardless. He exuded a menacing physical power and he sat his horse as if defying it to disturb him in any way.
Hawklan felt Serian react, but it was too subtle for him to understand.
The man stopped some way from Hawklan and looked at him appraisingly. Then, almost surrepti-tiously, he glanced at Andawyr.
‘Who are you that chooses to stand in our way, horse rider?’ he called out. ‘And what do you want? We’re anxious to settle some debts today.’
Hawklan gave his name. ‘I am one of the defenders of this coast who’ve cost you so dear so far,’ he said. ‘I come under a flag of truce to speak to your people.’
The Morlider curled his lip and bared his teeth vi-ciously. ‘Speak to me then,’ he replied. ‘I’m Toran Agrasson. I command this… little patrol. But hurry, we’re impatient to try real knocks with you.’
Hawklan pointed to the distant islands. ‘Do you speak for all the peoples of your united lands?’ he asked.
The Morlider’s eyes narrowed slightly but his voice showed no uncertainty. He glanced from side to side at the waiting army. ‘I speak for these,’ he replied. ‘That’s all you need to concern yourself with.’
Hawklan shook his head. ‘I speak for all my people,’ he said. ‘And I must speak to the one who speaks for all of yours or terrible harm will be done here today. Send a messenger for Karios.’
Agrasson started visibly and an alarmed murmur rose up from the army.
‘Isn’t he with you?’ Hawklan asked, before Agrasson could answer.
Agrasson recovered himself. ‘Our chieftain is where he wills to be,’ he replied. ‘But don’t seek to meet him too soon, leader of your people.’ His tone was sneering. ‘Aside from your deeds of last night and today, each careless mention of his name will cost you a year’s torment when he has you in his thrall… ’ He looked up at the lightening sky overhead. Thin skeins of bright blue sky were appearing in the greyness. ‘Which will be long before the sun sets today-if you survive.’ This brought some laughter and jeering from the nearby ranks.
Hawklan looked down for a moment then straight-ened, took off his helm, and peered slowly over the vast expanse of the waiting army. Finally he looked again at Agrasson. ‘Very well, Toran Agrasson, I’ll speak with you, but know first that if you speak only for these gathered here, you speak for a doomed and betrayed people.’ He waved again towards the distant islands. ‘If your leader is too timorous to face the consequences of his own deeds, then let us at least, as true men, as warriors, not degrade this place further with lies and deceit. Let us call your chieftain by his true name.’
Agrasson frowned angrily and for a moment seemed inclined to ride forward.
Hawklan raised a hand to stop him. ‘Creost,’ he said, his voice becoming more powerful. ‘Creost. The Uhriel. One of the creatures of Sumeral who is risen again and seeks once more to spread his evil over the world.’
This time Agrasson backed his horse away from Hawklan, as if fearful of being caught in some awful retribution. He pointed an unsteady hand at Hawklan. ‘You weave a terrible doom for yourself with such words, horse rider,’ he said. ‘Seek earnestly to die today. It’s the happiest of the futures now before you.’
‘No!’ Hawklan roared. ‘I weave nothing. I come here to cut the threads that bind you all and that have led you to this folly. I come here to tell you the truth.’
‘Enough!’ Agrasson shouted, but Hawklan waved his protest aside.
‘Do you truly think that this… abomination… from another time will lead you to glory, to wealth, to whatever it is he has promised you?’ he said, projecting his voice out over the now silent army. ‘This creature, who has already slaughtered so many of your kin and torn your islands from the ancient ways of Enartion. You are a brave people. People of the sea. You, more than I, must know the price that will have to be paid for such folly.’
‘Archers!’ Agrasson roared. But his men, held by Hawklan’s voice, hesitated, and the Helyadin had drawn and aimed their bows at Agrasson and his companions before the nearest Morlider archers could bring theirs to bear. Hawklan held up his hand.
‘No,’ he said, gently. ‘You’ll die before us, and our deaths will not kill the truth; they’ll serve no end but his. Like the Fyordyn you’ve been cruelly misled by forces beyond your knowledge. They’re free now, and arm against Sumeral Himself, though they have paid a terrible price. You… ’
‘You’re lying,’ Agrasson burst out, though seemingly more for the benefit of his own men than for Hawklan. ‘Our chieftain’s brought us unity and strength… ’
‘He’s deceived you in every way,’ Hawklan shouted, cutting across him. ‘Even here. Did he not tell you that the Muster would be far to the south? That there would be no one here to oppose you?’
He turned and signalled to Loman.
There was a brief silence then, slowly, a long row of points began to rise from the skyline like tiny shoots of grass.
Hawklan watched the faces of the Morlider soldiers carefully as the front ranks of the Orthlundyn infantry marched forward.
Behind them a forest, of pikes waved gently, indicat-ing an unknown strength to the rear; two close-ranked formations of cavalry appeared on the flanks.
As they halted, the sun broke through a gap in the clouds and the unfamiliar sunlight danced and sparkled on bright surcoats, and polished shields and helms and weapons. It was a daunting spectacle, made all the more intense by the dark grey winter sky that formed the backdrop.
‘Nice timing,’ whispered Gavor into Hawklan’s ear with untypical awe.
Hawklan ignored him. ‘Turn away from this,’ he said to the Morlider. ‘Go back to your islands and the true ways of the sea. Make no widows and orphans for this cold land that you do not belong to. If truly you did not know his deceit, then see it writ large in the glittering edges and points waiting for you up there, and in the blood and gore of your companions right here.’ He waved his hand over the carnage that lay between himself and Agrasson.
The sunlight faded as the clouds closed again and a cold breeze ruffled the clothing of the waiting men. Hawklan felt his faint hopes shrivel at its touch. Such doubts as he had seen stir in those Morlider near to him, were gone, and only a savage, driven intent remained. Here, as in Fyorlund, the heart of the disease would have to be excised before peace could be found.
What Agrasson thought, he could not tell; the man’s face had become a mask.
‘You don’t reply,’ Hawklan said after a long silence.