by Robert Ryan
He walked downhill, now following the little creek. There was a well-beaten path here. He came across women washing clothes, and he stayed clear of them. Further along, he heard the bleating of sheep. This was more promising, and sure enough there was a lad there his own age who stood up from where he had been sitting with his back to a boulder, his shepherd’s crook in one hand and a curious look in his eyes.
“Who are you?” the boy asked, his tone neither hostile nor friendly. It was what Sighern expected.
“I’m not from around here.” His own reply was neutral also. And he left the other wanting more. Obviously, he was not from around here, but he left the explanation hanging.
The other boy looked at him, and Sighern knew what he saw. A boy like himself, but one who carried a sword and traveled the Duthgar. Not old enough to be a warrior, and yet old enough for the other things.
The boy made up his mind, and stuck out his hand. “I’m Durnloth.”
“Sighern.”
“Ah, that’s one of the old names.”
Sighern let go his hand. “I was named after my grandfather. And he after his. It’s a long tradition.”
Durnloth heaved himself up to sit on the boulder. Sighern followed his lead. Sheep grazed placidly in a small paddock to their left and Durnloth eyed them momentarily before he spoke again.
“So, you don’t look quite old enough to be a warrior. What are you doing here?”
“Maybe not quite yet. But soon. Mum and dad were killed by raiders. Since then, I’ve been wandering. I hear an army came through here. Maybe I’ll join them.”
Durnloth looked at him with sympathetic eyes, but he only spoke of the army. “I’d stay away from them. That was the king’s army. He who should not be king, anyways. They went through fast, and cleaned out most of our food, without paying. Besides, they’ll be fighting soon. You can bet on that.”
Sighern answered cautiously. “I may not like them, but if they kept me around, even to run errands and messages it would be good for me. Three meals a day in the army, they say.”
“If it’s work you’re after, some of the farmers around here might take you on. But you’d earn more in the army. And if you can use that,” he indicated Sighern’s sword, “they just might let you fight and pay you a full wage. Maybe.”
“I can use it. When did the army come through?”
“Yesterday morning it was. Quite early, but they’d been marching a good while already. They sure were in a hurry, trying to catch Brand by surprise, we reckon.”
“Do you think they will?”
“Hard to say,” the boy answered. “All we hear are rumors, and one has barely spread before the next overruns it. No one knows where Brand is, or what he’s doing. Only that his army is growing and he’s coming for Unferth.”
“Maybe I should join his army.”
“Better him than Unferth. But Unferth pays better, I hear. Then again, a dead king pays no wages.”
“Do you think Brand will win?”
“He’s the true king. A hero in foreign lands, they say. He’ll win, or he’ll die. One or the other.”
“How big was Unferth’s army?”
“Two thousand men. So my dad tells me. They took his finest horse, and he was in a right temper about that. But he wasn’t saying anything. Not until after they left. Then he swore the roof down, mum says.”
Sighern was shocked. Two thousand men was more, much more than he expected. Brand would want to know that. Suddenly, he felt anxious. It was time to be gone from here, time to get back to the army.
He jumped off the boulder, and the other boy did likewise.
“I’d better hurry,” Sighern said, “if I’m going to have any chance of finding either army.”
They shook hands again. “Good luck,” Durnloth offered. He seemed as though he meant it, but Sighern knew that Brand needed it more than him. He hurried away.
Brand sat with a small group of men, playing dice and getting to know them. His life would depend on them soon enough, and theirs on him. But he excused himself when he saw Sighern hurry out of the woods.
The boy emerged, walking quickly but with a telltale swagger to Brand’s eye. Moreover, he held in his hand a fresh-cut pole for the banner he would carry.
Brand met him before he reached the camp. He was eager for news, and despite the boy’s surprise information that an army of two thousand men had been sent to defeat them, Brand was pleased. The enemy had traveled past them, and that gave Brand several advantages despite being outnumbered. Above all, the enemy would now have to react to him. That was vital, if he could find ways to turn it to his advantage. And he would.
“You’ve done well,” Brand told him after Sighern had finished his report. “Very well indeed.”
News spread after that. Brand was happy for the size of the enemy to be discussed, for he did not believe in lying to his troops. With the news also went his confidence that they would win.
Dusk settled soon after. Brand told Sighern to keep the banner close. It would be unfolded soon, possibly even tomorrow. “Hold it proudly when the moment arrives lad, for the Duthgar is coming to a time of change. You, and those who follow the banner, will be a part of history.”
“And against whom will we march?” Sighern asked. “The army that tries to find us, or Unferth himself?”
It was a good question. “I’ll think on it overnight.”
24. Fortune Favors the Bold
The next morning was an early start. And it would be both a long and hard day.
Brand took the army up toward the High Way. The men seemed eager. They were outnumbered, but they were confident nonetheless. They had outwitted the enemy repeatedly. But Brand himself was reserved. His tactics were successful so far, but when armies clashed people died and hopes burned away like smoke on the wind.
His three generals came to him. They all knew what approached was a pivotal decision.
“What’s it to be, Brand?” Taingern asked gently. He understood better than the others what emotions would be running through someone’s mind at a time like this. Brand knew his capacity for empathy was enormous.
“My heart yearns to turn south when we reach the road and strike at Unferth. He would be unprepared, believing the army he sent would have found and engaged me. And he is the real enemy, the one that must be defeated.”
“But?” Shorty said.
“But Unferth has a magician in his service, one of great power. I’m wary of him. Therefore wisdom dictates that I turn north, defeat the army of two thousand sent against me with one of one thousand two hundred. This I believe I can do, and in the doing send a chill of fear through Unferth and his remaining forces. What would be disaster for him would be a resounding call to arms for others. The Duthenor would flock to me then by the thousands. And I could confront Unferth, and his magician, with a much larger army.”
“There’s yet a third choice,” Haldring said.
Brand sighed. “Yes, I could continue as I have been, and move by stealth, fight skirmishes and grow my army slowly. But though that seems the safest course of action, I believe it to be the most dangerous. At some point my enemies would pin me down, and I would have to react. But by attacking myself, either north or south, I have the initiative and an element of surprise. They are unprepared, and must react to me.”
They approached the High Way, and the decision was upon him.
“What’s it to be then?” Shorty asked.
Brand’s mare trod the first steps onto the High Way. “It grates my heart, but Unferth will have to wait.” He led the roan to the right. “North it is. And speed is important. I want to take the enemy by surprise. Spread the word that this shall be a quick march.”
Down the High Way they moved. He saw the marks of passage of their enemy, and allowed himself a slight smile. By now they would have realized that he was not where they had thought. They would have heard rumor and gossip. They would imagine him lying in wait in every wood, hiding behind every ridge
. They would fear that he had slipped away to wreak havoc elsewhere in the Duthgar. They would feel foolish, and frightened and angry. None of these things were good for morale.
The army moved quickly. Here and there men from tiny villages joined them. Should they win the upcoming battle, that trickle would turn to a flood as they moved back toward the richer and more populated lands closer to Unferth and the seat of power in the Duthgar.
Brand led the way, though there were scouts ahead and to the sides. He had the advantage of surprise, and he was not going to lose it. Speed was essential now, for already supporters of Unferth may have seen them and ridden ahead to take word to the enemy.
On the army hastened, and the road helped them. It was smooth, wide and well turfed. It was ancient too. According to legend, older by far than the Duthgar. He believed it. He had traveled the roads of the Letharn before. They built things well and built them to last. Few of the Duthenor would have heard of them, but he had traveled more widely than they. But why they had built it and to where had it led? Its other name, the older name from the Duthenor legends though not nearly as old as the road itself, was Pennling Path. That sounded like a Duthenor name, but he did not think it was.
Shorty leaned in toward him, keeping his voice low. “Are we still followed by … by whatever it is that follows us?”
“I can still feel it. Like an itch in my back. I don’t know if it’s any closer though. I can’t tell much at all. The old woman had a better sense for it than I.”
“Well, we’ll be ready for it if it comes.” Taingern, close on his other side, nodded grimly.
“Actually,” Brand said. “I’m going to send you two ahead. I’ll deal with whatever that thing is if it shows itself. We still have few horses, and none of the quality of yours.”
He could see that they did not like that, but he had an army with him. He thought he would be safe. “I need you to talk to the scouts, to get ahead of them and scout yourselves. The enemy is out there, likely returning toward us by now. I want word of them as swiftly as may be.”
They were reluctant, but they understood the need. They trotted off, wary now for what they did was dangerous. They worried for him, but he worried for them.
It turned out to be a good decision. Hours later they returned, the flanks of their horses frothed with sweat. They had ridden hard.
They drew their horses to a halt before Brand. “The enemy is ahead,” Shorty said.
“How far?” Brand asked.
“Five miles at least,” Taingern said. “And the lad’s information was correct. We estimate their number at two thousand.”
Brand remained dispassionate. A commander must be so at all times, and men were watching him. He must show neither excitement, surprise, anger or anything other than quiet confidence. He set the tone for the army, and he knew it.
Almost casually, he gave orders. The army encamped where it was, on the middle of the road. It was as good a place as any to force a battle, for the land was flattish in this spot with a slight advantage of slope. Any more advantage than that, and the enemy might not attack, and this Brand wanted them to do. The enemy was marching and caught by surprise. They would be tired and worried. His army would have the benefit of rest and a feeling of superiority despite their smaller numbers. They had outsmarted and outmaneuvered their opponents.
Brand studied the land, thinking. Well to the right, it dropped down a steep slope. The enemy would not veer out that way and come at him up the hill. Nor was there cover for any sort of strike force to secretly come up that way to try to create chaos while the main army approached from the front.
To the left, the ground dropped down into a tangled wood. This was some distance away. Again, he did not think the enemy would venture that way, but he sent scouts there to watch. Should the enemy come, they would be observed and have to attack uphill.
Haldring seemed to read his thoughts. “They’ll come straight at us,” she said. “With their greater numbers they’ll try to push us back, disrupt our formation and then overrun us.”
“Like a bull through a gate,” Shorty added.
Brand thought they were right. He ordered his best troops forward, those with battle experience and those who were strongest. He would stand in their ranks, offering a target to the enemy and a rallying point to those less experienced in his own army. If they held against the first charge, the ranks of less experienced men behind them would gain in confidence.
And there was one more thing to do, and this he knew would raise morale. Timing was everything in war, and he had saved it for a moment such as this.
He glanced at Sighern. “It is time.”
The boy knew what he meant. He retrieved the bag that held the banner. Slowly, reverently, he drew the cloth out and tied it by loops on its edge to the pole. Then he unfurled it and held it high above his head.
The cloth rolled back and a gust of wind stiffened it. Brand cried in a loud, clear voice so that all in the army could hear him.
“Behold! The banner of the chieftains of the Duthenor is with us. It is our banner of old. The same under which our fathers fought and their fathers before them. It has never seen defeat in battle!”
The wind gusted again, rippling the white cloth of the banner so that it shone bright in the afternoon light. Upon it, all in vivid red, was a dragon. Its four muscled legs, clawed and poised, seemingly walked as the cloth ruffled. It’s long body and barbed tail undulated. Its head, held high and proud as it seemingly looked to the side, was royal as a king’s and the eyes set in that head surveyed the field, two ovals of white gleaming to match the background.
“The Dragon of the Duthgar!” called some of the men, astonished, for it had not been seen since Brand’s father was killed.
“The dragon! The dragon! The dragon!” men began to chant. They beat the sides of their swords against their shields also, raising a tumult that carried far. It was the music of war, the building up of fervor, the raising of the battle spirit of warriors. Brand felt it stir in him also, felt it fire his blood. But he knew also that it meant death for some, perhaps all. Whoever fell today would fall in his name. And he did not like it.
The men kept chanting. Sighern looked serious as he shifted the pole about so that the breeze best caught the banner. Haldring was looking at Brand, her gaze unreadable, but the fair skin of her cheeks was flushed and her eyes bright with emotion. Shorty and Taingern appeared normal. They had seen this type of thing before, and it was to them he spoke.
“Quickly,” he said. “There are perhaps fifty warriors with horses here. Take them down into the forest. There will be paths there. Travel wide, and circle around the enemy. Come at them from their rear when they are engaged with us.”
Shorty seemed surprised. “This is a … dangerous battle. Are you sure you want Taingern and me away from your side?”
By dangerous Brand knew he meant that they might well all die. “I’d always rather have you by my side, but there’s need for this. Fifty is only a small force, but the skill each of you have with a blade is worth several men each, and your experience will be needed to judge when to intervene. Too early will achieve nothing, as will too late. Go swiftly, and go with good luck!”
He was sorry to see them go. They would be needed here too, but they could not be in two places at once.
“Was that wise?” Haldring asked. “We’re already outnumbered, and if the enemy breaks through on the first attack, we’re finished.
Brand did not disagree. “Fortune favors the bold, Haldring. And we’ll need boldness to win here. Should we survive the first charge, they’ll still come against us again and again and try to wear us down. We have the advantage of rest and morale. They have the advantage of numbers. I want one more thing on my side, and a well-timed attack to their rear will give it. The enemy will not have scouts behind them, so Shorty and Taingern will be able to loop around and approach from the rear unseen.”
“You may be right,” she said. “But fifty men here
might make the difference between holding the line and defeat.”
It was true, and he knew it. But he could not do both. Anyway, the decision was made.
Soon after the first scouts of the enemy were seen. The army would not be that far behind them. The day was wearing away, but before it was done battle would have been joined and a victor decided.
Haldring echoed his thoughts. “It will not be long now,” she said quietly.
25. The Blood of Heroes
Brand watched as the enemy came into view. He was alert, but showed no sign of alarm. He may as well have been studying the sky for hints of tomorrow’s weather as watching two thousand men march toward him, their swords eager for his blood. Thus the commander of an army must appear, or one man in a duel with another. Confidence was an act. Lack of fear in the face of danger was stupidity.
The enemy ran scouts before it. They were on the road, wary and watchful. They crossed the open farm lands and forest to the side. If they found sign of the passing of fifty horsemen earlier, Brand saw no indication of it. Taingern and Shorty were skilled warriors. They would have gone wide, beyond the range of footmen. That was one of the reasons why Brand sent cavalry, if fifty mounted men could be called such.
He was used to greater armies than these, to forces of tens of thousands and to ranks of spearmen and archers, but not to higher stakes. The outcome would alter the lives of an entire people. And just now, he knew that the success or failure of Taingern and Shorty would determine who won the day. They were the unpredictable in the battle to come. It was always so in any conflict. The masses did the job expected of them while the few who surprised often turned the tide. A skilled general waited for those moments and took advantage of them.