by Robert Ryan
Brand agreed. “What he says is right, and it’s a lesson worth remembering. But to move undetected will mean taking Hruidgar with you. He’s our best.”
“He’s tired now, but he’ll have a full night’s sleep. He’ll be right to go.”
“He can take the majority of scouts with him too.”
“The majority? What if you need them yourself?”
“You’ll need them more. To catch the enemy by surprise, you’ll have to kill any scout that might find you. Besides, I have a feeling the army coming from the south-west won’t maneuver too much. They’ll make themselves obvious and draw us in to battle quickly so that our attention is on them. That’s what I’d do to draw focus away from scouting in other directions.”
Taingern thought about that. “You’re right. And I’ll need the scouts, but with a bit of luck I’ll be able to fully circle this flanking force. Their scouts will be ahead of them, between them and you. They’ll not expect someone coming up behind them.”
“Exactly, but that raises a point. Their scouts will already have observed us. But they don’t need to see you going. Leave just before dawn, and head north first.”
“Into Callenor lands?”
“I think that’s best. If any scouts should mark your going, let them think you’re abandoning the army. Let them think anything but the truth.”
Taingern grinned. “A good idea. And perhaps better if they do see us go. Then they’ll take word back to their leaders that there’s discord in our camp.”
“The greatest weapon in warfare is deception,” Brand quoted.
They fell silent then. The plan was made, and it was up to Taingern and the men he chose to fulfill it. But all plans were fragile, and subject to the tides of chance.
“Good luck,” Brand said.
Taingern stood, and Brand shook his hand in the warrior’s grip.
“Best of luck to you also.”
Taingern left then. He had much to organize, but he shook Shorty’s hand also before he departed.
“Keep that gold coin safe. I’ll want it back.”
“I’ll try not to gamble it away,” Shorty said.
Then Taingern disappeared into the dark of the camp. As he left, Sighern watched him.
“There goes a good man.”
“The very best,” Brand agreed.
Brand issued orders then. First, he sent word to the scouts in the camp that they were to go with Taingern. And then he sent a man to Hruidgar, if he was still awake, to tell him what had been decided.
21. The Golden God
Char-harash paced to and fro, and anxiety evidently gnawed at him. He muttered to himself also, but Horta did not catch the words.
This much was evident though. He was stronger than he had been, and the previous night’s hunt had sustained him in some manner. But also, he did not like the sun, and he was careful even as he walked to avoid any patches of light that shone down through the gaps in the tree canopy above.
But why should a god be anxious? What did he know that might make him so?
Char-harash spun upon him. “How powerful is this Brand who leads the enemy?”
“In magic, O Great One?”
“Yes, in magic. But in all things.”
“He is not like others I have known. He has strong magic, but it is not like the magic of the Kar-ahn-hetep. I don’t understand it well. The power seems to come directly from the land without working through a god. He uses no rites or ceremonies. But he is powerful. Perhaps a match for me.”
“Can he fight gods?”
Horta felt a stab of fear. How could he answer such a question? The gods were powerful, yet they had failed several times trying to kill the man. But he could not say that, nor should he lie. Char-harash was likely to detect it.
“He has the courage to fight gods. And he always seems to be lucky. But luck runs out for all men, eventually.”
Char-harash gave a brisk nod. “Luck can run out for gods too.” His leather-dry hands clamped over his belly, and Horta remembered the legend. It was said he was killed by a spear driven into his guts and up into his heart.
“What else is there to tell of Brand?” the god-king demanded.
“He’s a skilled leader of men, both in a military sense and a political. He has courage and determination. His people … like him.”
Char-harash grew agitated. “It seems as though you admire this man?”
Horta thought on that. “I do. What is the point of enemies if they don’t test you?”
“That may be so. But gods do not have enemies. They crush them like a man squashes a beetle beneath his foot. And I would just as soon that Brand did not exist. He vexes me, and he defies my brothers and sisters yet.”
Horta began to have an idea of why Char-harash was anxious. It seemed he had a way of communicating with the other gods, and that they had not defeated Brand yet. But the army of the Kar-ahn-hetep could not be far away. Battle would be joined soon, and his people would be supported by gods. How could they lose?
The god-king was not done speaking though. He raised his voice and lifted high his withered arms. But it seemed to Horta that he spoke to the universe rather than him.
“I shall prevail,” he said, and his hands clenched into bony fists. “I shall be the Golden God, bright as the sun and my benevolence will make the earth prosper wherever my armies have conquered. But winter I shall call down upon my enemies. The grains of the earth will shrivel and rot. The rivers will stagnate. The frosted earth will bear no fruit. These things I will command, and the earth will obey, or she will perish in defiance.”
A moment the god king stood, still as a statue, his gaze cast upward, and then he swung again to Horta.
“I feel the strength of star and planet run through me. I am invincible!”
Horta had long since given over his belief that the gods were invincible. But it would not do to say as much. Nor did he think this creature before him would be a Golden God. Rather, he would be a Dark God. But that thought he crushed lest it showed on his face.
He bowed. “You need no servant, Great Lord. Yet still I offer my talents, such as they are, for your use.”
“All will be well,” Char-harash answered. “My children come to me, and my brother and sister gods work to one purpose, as they rarely have before.”
“Yet still,” Horta found himself daring to say, “Brand is an opponent of strength and cunning. He seems to find a way to defy powers greater than himself. How it is so, I don’t know, but it is something of which to be wary.”
The god-king showed no emotion. Instead, for once he seemed to consider the words rationally.
“He is the champion of the land. That is why. And that is all. It need not concern us.”
Horta had heard of such a thing before. It was said that in ancient days the Letharn had such champions. Then it occurred to him that the Letharn prevailed in those times against all the might of the Kar-ahn-hetep. Could it be so again? Could his people and his gods be defeated once more? All things were possible under the sun, but that was hard to believe. Brand really was just a man. He could not continue to defy gods.
Char-harash leaned in close, the dry sockets of his eyes boring into Horta.
“You said you are my servant?”
“Yes, O Great One.”
“Will you do anything I require?”
“Of course. You are my god.”
The dusty gaze of the god-king turned to Tanata.
“And you? Are you prepared to give whatever your god requires?”
“Yes,” Tanata said simply. But he trembled as he spoke, and his bow did not cover it.
Horta saw the way that the god looked upon his Arnhaten, and he had a feeling Tanata’s days on earth were growing short. There was a burning hunger in that long-dead gaze. The god would consume him in sacrifice. A poor fate for one who had served so well, but it was not his place to question. He was a servant, and it was his role to obey. But still, he was sick of such waste.
22. Let Them March to Us
Brand led the army forward, and it marched into uninhabited places now. No tribe claimed this area, though the road of the Letharn built long ages ago continued.
But even the road seemed little more than a path now, for it was narrow and rutted and grown over in places by bushes and trees. Yet still it took them south-west, whence the scouts reported the Kirsch were located and were hurrying on themselves, as expected.
That morning the thousand that Bruidiger had brought joined Brand, and Brand had met Arlnoth, chieftain of the Norvinor tribe. So also he had met representatives of the few among the new warriors who were of the Waelenor and Druimenor tribes. These were strange men to him, at times much like the Duthenor but also different. Yet they looked good fighting men, and after the initial reserve of their first meeting was gotten over, they seemed at ease and ready to fight for their lands with the others.
Brand had given Sighern yet another banner to carry, and this had the emblem of all five tribes upon it. The red dragon of the Duthenor, the raven claw of the Callenor, the radiant star of the Norvinor, the crossed swords of the Waelenor and lastly the eagle of the Druimenor. Sighern carried it proudly.
For the first time, Brand felt the army was coming together as one. All the tribes were represented, and with word of the enemy ahead the lords had stopped bickering. There was only one thought now. Fight together as one, and turn away the enemy.
They stopped for a noonday rest atop a hill with a long view. They could not see the enemy, but the scouts kept coming in reporting their movement. The Kirsch hastened toward them.
The Norvinor chieftain approached Brand. “Battle will be joined soon,” he said.
Brand liked the man. He reminded him of Taingern, because he was red-haired and freckled. But his manner was always thoughtful too.
“Soon,” Brand replied. “Soon indeed. But there’s no need to hasten it. Let the enemy come to us if they will.”
“You think they’ll attack us on a hillside?”
It was a question Brand had given much thought to. “I think they will. They know the longer they wait the more chance for their flanking force to be discovered. I think they’ll attack quickly and try to employ the advantage they believe they have.”
The existence of the flanking force had not been kept secret. Better that the men knew and were prepared for it. All the more so if Taingern’s counterstroke was defeated.
“They have the advantage of numbers,” Arlnoth said. “Even so, they’d have to be confident of beating you to attack uphill.”
“I agree,” Brand said. “But they are confident. The scouts report they march straight toward us, and swiftly.”
The Norvinor chieftain ran a hand through his red hair. “It sure looks like they’ll attack. But they might change their mind when they see us. They might have the greater numbers, but the five tribes gathered together is no small force.”
Brand turned his gaze to the south. At the base of the hill lay a large wood, and it was this more than anything that gave him confidence the enemy would engage. It was perfect cover for their flanking force, and he did not think they would let that chance slip by. At least, so long as Taingern remained undiscovered. If he was able to do so, then the trap would be turned around on those who sought to snare him.
Shorty had been listening. “Of course, there’s another tactic available.”
“Go ahead, Shorty.”
Brand knew that what would come next would question his own tactic. But that was good. That was Shorty’s job.
“This is a good place to fight. The hill is to our advantage, and so too the creek to the north.” He swept his hand out in that direction, and Brand knew what he meant. The enemy would be funneled toward them, uphill all the way.
“But numbers still matter. We’re fifteen thousand strong, less now the one thousand that Taingern leads. The enemy is seventeen thousand strong, with five hundred chariots, the effect of which we don’t properly know.”
“That’s correct,” Brand agreed. “We’re outnumbered, and we have no way to factor in exactly how the chariots will be used against us.”
Shorty continued. “The standard rule in warfare is to avoid engaging a greater force. And here, we do have the option of avoiding battle. We know where the enemy is, and we can retreat from them.”
It was an option Brand had considered. “We could, but that would expose our lands and people to the mercy of the enemy.”
“It would. But it would also allow time for more forces to join you. Perhaps in a few days or a week, you could match the enemy force warrior to warrior.”
“Perhaps,” Brand said. “But there’s no guarantee of that. But this much is certain. Winter is coming on. The enemy is far from home. To whom will they turn for supplies of food?”
Arlnoth folded his arms across his chest. “They’ll turn to Norvinor lands. Or Callenor lands. Or whoever is nearest at the time. They’ll ravish farms and towns, seeking food and supplies and killing indiscriminately.”
The Norvinor chieftain seemed certain of this, and he had made up his mind that it was best to make a stand here.
“We don’t know any of that for certain,” Shorty countered. “The enemy will have a supply route, linking them to their homeland. No army would march without one.”
“Agreed,” Brand said. “But supplies for an army are never enough. Even our army, so close to home and support, is struggling. Supplies are always fewer than needed, and likely the enemy would do as Arlnoth suggests. And if not for supplies, perhaps just to spread terror before them.”
Shorty shrugged. “What you say is true. All of it. For myself, I’d pick this place for the fight as well.”
Arlnoth scratched his head. “Then why did you argue against it?”
Shorty winked at the chieftain, but it was Brand who answered.
“That’s his job. The job of all in my leadership team. I don’t want followers. That’s a sure way to find defeat. I need people willing to speak their mind and offer alternatives. Even if they agree with me, I want them to suggest other ways of doing things. That way all options get considered.”
Arlnoth raised an eyebrow. “That’s an interesting approach. You Duthenor sure like to make things complicated.”
Brand grinned. “That’s something I may have picked up in Cardoroth. Things are not so simple there. But they’re not simple here either, I guess. The only thing we know for sure is that people will die. That’s our only guarantee. As for tactics and strategies, the only true test is the battle.”
23. I Will Not Kneel
The army encamped, and threw up ditch ramparts to fortify its position. It was wasted work if the enemy did not attack, but if they did, it would go some way to balancing out the numerical superiority of the Kirsch.
The work went well, and the army ate well overnight and rested, enjoying a break from Brand’s fast-paced marches.
By dawn, more scouts returned. The enemy came on, unswerving. It was a beautiful day, but marred by the threat of war and the pall of anxiety that hung in the air. No army was ever free of that. Not when a hostile enemy was nearby.
The night had been cold again, but the day warmed swiftly. The sky was cloudless, and it seemed the height of summer weather was here. But winter was approaching, and with it snow. The Kirsch, even if they won this war, would be ravaged by it.
Brand turned the possibility over in his mind. If his army lost, the five tribes must fend for themselves. There would be few warriors left. The Kirsch would move to confiscate food and shelter. But what would the people do?
It would be hard, but they would flee into the hills and remote places. They would take what food and livestock they could with them. The rest would be destroyed to deny it to the enemy.
It was a grim thought, but if the Kirsch won here, they would face a harder battle later. But it was not something to dwell on. It was Brand’s task to ensure the enemy did not win here. That was what he must concentr
ate on.
And he had made a good start. He had a favorable position, now further fortified beyond what nature had provided. The creek protected them well on one side. The woods on the other were a deadly trap, but for him or the enemy was yet to be decided. The prospect of it would draw the enemy to attack when perhaps they would not otherwise. But there were three great unknowns that troubled Brand.
The first was the gods arrayed against him. He had seldom known defeat before, but they were a force above him. The second was the chariots of the enemy. Against them, he could take steps, but not with certainty. The third was Taingern. He trusted no one else except Shorty to do the job that was needed, but it was a hard task. If Taingern failed, Brand knew he would face a superior enemy on two fronts.
The enemy was not visible, but soon the dust cloud of their passage showed. It hazed the air, and then it grew thicker as time passed. This, perhaps, was due in part to the chariots. The horses that drew them and the wheels of the chariot itself disturbed the ground more than marching men.
No doubt, it was a reason that the flanking force did not have them. It would have been much harder to try to approach in secret.
Eventually, the army itself came into view. That it was large, Brand already knew. But it really did seem to hasten.
Attar noticed the same thing. “They’re keen to join battle,” he said.
“Or trying to give the impression of being keen to join battle,” Sighern offered.
Brand turned that thought over in his mind. It was entirely possible. The enemy may yet hasten toward them only to halt a distance away and fortify a camp of their own. Or they may skirt his force altogether and force him to leave his advantageous ground. All things were possible, and he was glad that Sighern had considered such a thing.
But his instinct was that the enemy was supremely confident. This, perhaps, was the influence of their gods. They would come, and they would attack, and they would expect to win. Why should they not?