by Roger Taylor
Athyr was looking up at the signaller again, but the man was peering intently through his seeing stone.
'The message is confirmed,’ said a young man, who was already on the platform. He was pointing towards a second signaller on a more distant hill. Athyr nodded. ‘Keep watching,’ he said. ‘Interrupt me if you see anything else.'
Then he spoke to the crowd. His voice was stilted because he duplicated his words in a version of the High Guards’ hand language. He was not proficient in it, nor were his audience, but it was adequate. Loman had ensured that the hand language was taught to everyone as part of their routine training, though it had never been popular. Now, however, in the mountains, with the risk that sounds could be used to mislead and deceive, he had insisted that it be used as much as possible, particularly for urgent orders.
Gulda had made a similar contribution by unearthing the flag language for signalling. Initially, for some reason, it had caused intense amusement among the Orthlundyn, and Loman took some delight in remarking that it was the first time he had ever seen Gulda looking bewildered. However, it had been learnt diligently enough and like the hand language its value was abundantly clear now.
'Be alert, all of you,’ Athyr said. ‘Reinforcements for the signallers, up there straight away. Duty patrol, mount up, Loman and I will ride with you to camp three.’ He turned to the young man, ‘Send a signal to all camps. Tell them what we're doing. They're to reinforce their signallers and they're to wait until they hear from us. No one,’ he emphasized, ‘No one, is to leave any of the camps until we find out what's happening.'
The young man picked up a pair of signalling flags but before he could begin his message, another whistle was heard. He looked up. ‘Fighting at camp six, also,’ he repeated slowly after a brief pause.
Athyr looked at Loman and then turned back to the now tense crowd. ‘First reserve patrol, mount up. I'll come with you to camp six, Loman will go to camp three. Signaller, you send that as before. The rest of you—be alert,’ he repeated. He slapped his hands significantly. ‘And hand language,’ he gestured.
Loman looked at the uncertain and concerned faces surrounding the platform, and felt very cold. We must keep the few as small as possible, he thought. Their needs come before mine.
* * *
Chapter 24
Within minutes of Athyr ordering out the two patrols, the interlinked system of flag messengers that had been arranged because of the risk to oral signals presented by the Alphraan had brought in further confirmation of fighting at camps three and six.
Thus instead of wending a leisurely way back to Anderras Darion, Loman found himself trotting at the head of the duty patrol. Alongside him was Jenna, one of the members of the elite corps who had been dispersed through the camps as observers.
'Any new ideas about how to tackle this?’ he asked.
Jenna shook her head. ‘No,’ she said uncertainly. ‘If it's like the last time, it came out of nowhere. No warning. No sounds. Nothing.’ She looked anxious. ‘It was frightening, Loman,’ she said. ‘It taught me more about real aggression—real personal threat—than any amount of training could.’ She paused awkwardly. ‘I've told you all this before, haven't I?’ she said.
Loman smiled. ‘You have, Jenna,’ he said. ‘But it doesn't matter. I understand. Speak your fears while you can. It was a hard lesson for you, but a worthwhile one, I'm afraid. It'll take quite some time for you to get over it fully.'
There had been some debate before the camps were established about how to tackle this type of problem, but no satisfactory conclusions had been reached. Gulda's opinion was that divisions among the Alphraan and the absence of weapons would prevent any great harm being done. She also had some hope that sheer weight of numbers might present them with problems. But hope was all they had; the whole point of the venture was to provoke and to learn. Thus Loman and all the other leaders knew that they would have no alternative but to make their own decisions as events occurred, and study the consequences afterwards.
The patrol rode on in silence for some time, then Loman dropped back a little until he was alongside the middle of the column.
'Have any of you got throwing stones with you?’ he asked. There was some vague nodding and hand raising.
'Get rid of them,’ he said. ‘All of them. Straight away. We don't know what ... difficulties ... we're going to run into at camp three, or even before, but the fewer potential weapons we have to hand, the better.'
The request caused little debate, though he noted that some were a little reluctant to part with what were obviously carefully chosen stones.
'They're lying about everywhere, anyway,’ said one of the riders casually as he upended his pouch.
Loman smiled. ‘True,’ he said, watching the small stones clattering into anonymity amongst their countless fellows strewn across the valley floor. ‘But they won't be hand-chosen like those, and you'll need to pause for a moment before you pick them up.'
The man frowned. ‘I don't understand,’ he said.
Loman reflected the frown. His casual remark had set in motion an unexpected train of thought. He did not reply but instead rejoined Jenna at the head of the patrol. For a little while he rode with his head bowed pensively.
The memory of their first encounter with the Alphraan returned to him vividly. ‘They bind themselves,’ one of the voices had said to Gulda. ‘They have not your vision.’ And, at least in part, they seemed to have been amused by it. Surprised, even.
The harsh drumming of the horses’ hooves on the valley turf was relentless and determined. It echoed in his head disturbingly. There was a wrongness about what was happening, but it eluded him.
What are we going to find at this camp? he thought suddenly. An enemy, obviously, came the reply.
Obviously?
No, he realized. They were going to find friends. Friends being misled—used—by an enemy. An enemy that would almost certainly be unseen but who were capable of holding people immobile without even touching them. They had even held him. Him! Who could lift a man and his horse if he wished.
Still the horses pounded on and he felt the angry spur of the patrol's collective purpose.
But against whom could that purpose be directed? How could it be used against an enemy that could not be seen?
Then came the thought: and who would direct this purpose?
He raised his hand. ‘Slow down,’ he shouted. ‘Slow down. Walking pace.'
There was some confusion behind him and Jenna turned to him, startled. She began to protest but he waved her silent. ‘Just slow down,’ he said quietly.
Then the rhythm of the hooves was gone, replaced by the uneven, soft treading of the horses and the relaxed creaking and rattling of tackle.
'If we go into camp three like cavalry, then we'll be seen as cavalry, and used as cavalry against our own people,’ Loman said after a pause.
'What do you mean?’ Jenna asked, almost whispering, concerned at this unexpected development.
'Halt and dismount,’ Loman called out.
There was a brief pause as Jenna cast another quick glance at her companion before confirming the order.
Loman swung down from his horse and began walking with it. He signalled the patrol to break formation.
Jenna could not contain herself. ‘What are you doing, Loman?’ she said angrily, though still keeping her voice low.
'Thinking,’ Loman said absently. ‘Or rather, ordering my thoughts.'
Jenna's jaw tensed. ‘There are people in trouble up there,’ she said, pointing ahead.
'I know,’ Loman replied. ‘But they'll be in worse trouble if we go charging in like this.'
He felt Jenna's eyes searching his face and he raised his hand reassuringly.
'Listen, all of you,’ he said, addressing the whole patrol. ‘So far the Alphraan have hurt no one directly.'
A small bubble of protest started to form.
Loman punctured it. ‘They've only made us hurt oursel
ves,’ he said.
'You all felt the excitement of galloping along to rescue our friends, didn't you?’ he continued. ‘Action at last against these arrogant, interfering little people.'
The ensuing silence was uncomfortable, but no one demurred.
He looked round at his companions. ‘But ask yourselves this,’ he said. ‘How can that excitement—that righteous excitement—that indignation—be directed against an enemy that can't be seen?'
He paused to let the implication sink in.
'It can't, can it?’ he said.
He pointed at one of the younger men. ‘You're in battle,’ he said forcefully. ‘You've killed your man, but your sword's been broken. More of the enemy appear and you can't run. What do you do?'
The man smiled and shrugged, pleased to have such an easy question. ‘Take the dead man's sword, obviously,’ he said.
'Obviously,’ said Loman softly. Then, louder, ‘When you have no other choice, you take your enemy's weapon and use it against him. That's what the Alphraan do. They have no weapons except what we bring to them. They'll take the weapon of our surging excitement and anger, and turn it on our own people.'
There were cries of denial. ‘No. It's not possible. They couldn't make us do that.'
'They can, they have done, and they will again.’ Loman's powerful voice stilled the hubbub. ‘It's all they can do.’ Then, more quietly, ‘It's all they need to do.'
Jenna nodded in agreement and an uneasy silence spread over the walking group.
'What are we supposed to do then?’ one of them asked.
'Mount up,’ Loman said. ‘But keep walking and stay out of formation.'
'But what are we going to do?’ came the question again. ‘Abandon those at the camp? Stand off until they've finished ... whatever they're doing ... and then pick up the remains?'
Unexpectedly, Loman smiled. ‘No,’ he said. ‘We're going to counter-attack. We're going to disarm our enemy.'
* * * *
Tybek breathed out as he sidestepped his charging attacker and, moving behind him, seized his shoulders. The man's momentum carried his feet into the air and he dropped heavily on to his back.
Tybek heard the wind go out of him, but before he could bend down to check the man for injury, an arm came clumsily round his neck. He drove his elbow back somewhere into his new attacker's midriff and then swung his clenched fist down to strike him in the groin.
Not him, he realized on impact; her. But the blow hurt nonetheless and when he turned round, the girl was staggering away gasping in pain.
'Stay back, all of you,’ he shouted. ‘Listen to me. Remember who I am. Remember who you are. There's no danger here. You're not being attacked.'
He linked arms with his neighbours again. A few of them seemed to have been unaffected by whatever had caused the sudden outbreak of violence, and after the first shock he had managed to gather them together in a cleft in the rocks.
With an effort he was maintaining an outward show of calm, but he was nevertheless very frightened. It had been exactly the same on the other exercise. No warning. Just voices raised in a quarrel and then mayhem. People he had known for years suddenly demented with rage. And this time it seemed to be worse than before. Those affected had stopped fighting amongst themselves and were now uniting against the others.
And when was anyone coming? He'd seen the signaller sending the news but that was ...
He let the thought go. He had no idea how long ago it was. And he mustn't look towards the end of this or he might not reach it. He must be here, now, deal with attacks as they happened. It would end sooner or later.
The watching attackers were still milling around at the mouth of the cleft, shouting abuse and threats, but they were also hesitating following the rapid dispatch of the first two individuals. As if mimicking them, Tybek's own thoughts began to combine to assail him. What if they start throwing stones? What if they charge together? What if these here with me are suddenly affected? What if I am affected? Get in among them, Tybek, they're only young, they don't stand a chance against you, not with your technique.
He brushed the thoughts aside angrily. Stay calm, he intoned inwardly, followed by, ‘Stay calm,’ out loud to the five standing in line beside him. ‘They're being controlled by the Alphraan. They don't mean what they're doing. Stay calm. They're your friends and they're in trouble.'
'They're in trouble?’ said a voice to his left. ‘They should be standing here.'
The small joke produced some nervous laughter and even Tybek was glad of its brief lightening. But the position was serious. Several people had been hurt, though he could not tell how badly, and it would not take much in the way of a change of fortune to ensure that someone would be killed. There was a limit to the care he could exercise in defending himself and the others.
The atmosphere suddenly changed. The attackers had found some courage from somewhere, or lost what was left of their control, and were starting to move forward. Their anger surged ahead of them, almost tangible in its intent, and Tybek felt the arm linking his, trembling.
No, please no, he thought.
The arm tightened. ‘It's all right,’ he lied, gently loosening the grip and freeing himself for further movement. ‘Stay calm, and follow my lead. Whatever happens, keep together.'
He clenched his fist and then, irrelevantly remembering his easily disjointed fingers and Athyr's injunction, opened it again. Glancing round, he identified various stones that he could scoop up quickly and throw. A few cracked knees would slow them down.
He rejected his idea. Such an action might provoke an identical response and, grouped as they were, they would be defenceless against such an attack. He would have to do what he could without weapons. While he used his superior fighting skills, there was nothing his attackers could imitate.
But in the end ... ?
No, please no, he thought again.
The attacking group came closer. He scanned the familiar faces now distorted in rage. As he looked each in the eye, they retreated a little, but when the contact was broken, they began to move forward again.
Gradually they began to fill the cleft, breaking their line as they approached down the narrowing gap.
Terrible images began to form in Tybek's head. A few more paces and he would have no alternative but to take severe action to protect himself and the others.
And what would the consequences of that be? Quite possibly some would be killed. And young and inexperienced though they might be, their numbers alone could overwhelm him eventually.
When was someone going to come?
'No, please no,’ he said out loud. ‘It's me. Tybek. And your friends. Look what you're doing.'
But there was no response, his voice seemed to mingle with that of the mob and make it worse.
One of the leaders bent down to pick up a large stone.
That does it, Tybek thought. No more restraint now. People are going to die, and it's not going to be me or any of these if I can prevent it. Three quick strides and he could lay that one out and the two either side before they realized what had happened. Then ... ?
He breathed out and relaxed both his body and his mind for the impending onslaught.
An eerie silence suddenly filled the cleft, then the leader's eyes signalled his intention to throw the stone.
'Ho, the camp!'
A cheerful voice rang out powerfully over the shuffling silent menace of the two closing groups. The would-be stone thrower faltered.
'Ho, the camp!’ the voice repeated. ‘Where are your look-outs, Tybek? All asleep again?'
A little ironic cheering floated gently in the wake of this remark.
The attackers began to look at one another uncertainly. Tybek craned up to look over their heads. Strolling leisurely between the neat rows of shelters was Loman, smiling broadly. Just behind him was Jenna. Then came a group of men and women laughing and joking as though they were arriving at a Festival Celebration.
Relief floode
d through Tybek followed immediately by alarm. If Loman and Jenna were to be affected—and all these others ... ?
A hand opened, and a stone fell to the ground with a soft thud.
It's going! thought Tybek, his eyes widening. Just like before. Going as it came, no warning, nothing.
Loman caught sight of Tybek. Raising his hand in an airy salute, he strode forwards towards him briskly. The crowd parted silently to let him through.
'Didn't see you at first, Tybek,’ he said heartily, placing his powerful arm affectionately about the man's shoulders. Then, with a monumental smile, he moved him gently but relentlessly back through the uncertain crowd causing it to move backwards and spill out of the narrow cleft. Tybek gaped as he saw that the other arrivals were also singling out friends and acquaintances and greeting them with tremendous warmth. The attackers too were looking increasingly bewildered.
'Hope we're not disturbing anything special,’ Loman said loudly and jovially before Tybek could speak. ‘But we were out on an impromptu rock and shadow hunt and as we were passing we thought we'd see how you were getting on. We've found some marvellous variegated stone just along the valley, ideal for miniatures—and the surface fissuring is unbelievable. You'll...'
Tybek found his voice. ‘Loman, what are you blathering about?’ he said. ‘What do you know about rocks and shadows, you tin beater? And...’ He stopped, realizing what he was saying. With an effort he pulled his mind away from the wilful momentum of Loman's enthusiasm and back to reality. ‘What's happening?’ he asked anxiously. ‘What are you doing, walking into the camp like this? Didn't you get my message about...'
'The fighting?’ Loman said blandly. ‘Oh, yes. That's why we came.'
'I don't understand...’ Tybek began, but Jenna joined them.
'It's worked, Loman,’ she said. ‘Look at them.'
Loman released Tybek and looked around at the dispersing crowd. Shock and confusion dominated.
'This is the way it was before?’ Loman asked. Jenna nodded. Loman pulled a sour face. ‘How many have been hurt?’ he said, turning to Tybek.