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No wooden wall, be it built sky—tall,
Shall help them keep my lady.
O Powers above, watch the one that I love, For they shall not keep my lady.
I ride this day, and tonight I slay, But they shall not keep my lady;
With the Sword in hand I must make a stand, For I ride to take my lady.
Let the host not bide, but following ride to meet me and my lady.
When evening falls, so shall their walls,
For they took away my lady.
—from “The Rescue of Helana” Conel of Asbaln.
They camped the war—host some ways from the battlefield, in the direction of the lowlands. Conel and Rorick rode back to Carill Don to make final arrangements and found that all events of that day had not been equally favourable.
A small band of Hygerian cavalry, led by an Icarian traitor, had raided the village. Apparently, the Icarian had been able to lead them by hidden pathways so that their approach remained unmarked, and to be sure, the most attention had been on the main body of Hygerians, with little to spare for other possibilities.
They had had a particular plan in mind, for they had gone directly to Chief Orn’s house. He had not been in, but they had taken Helana, and before the Chief could organize more than twenty men to fight, the raiders had gone.
The Icarian traitor had not escaped; he had already been burned, his bow and quiver with him, and his name forbidden.
The raiders would be going back to Virdan, and with the news of this morning’s battle, they would most certainly not risk moving so important a prisoner over the open roads until they could see what effect this would have on the people. At the very least, they would mere arrangements for a very large escort, which again the commander of the fort would be loath to grant immediately on the news of the defeat of their any in the Hills.
Orn met with Conel and Rorick. “They would use her to make me cease giving aid to your cause.”
“We will understand that, Chief. You have done much already in giving us shelter and food.”
“They do not understand!” The Chief’s eyes flared, “I will not trade our honour, even for the life of my only daughter. If it must be so, she shall die, even as Randell died. Kr yrriech.”
The war—cry of the Derrakos of the Swamp, which was the war—cry of the Icarians as well, expressed the final fatalistic statement on unavoidable fate. Whatever else might happen, the Earth endures. The Earth only endures, so should men expect eternal existence?
“I will rescue her alive.”
Conel and Orn both looked at Rorick. “How will you do that? When the war—host, or any sizeable body of men appears outside Virdan, they will show her on the walls and ask the Icarians among us how they value her. And if we attack, she will die.”
“Ah, Conel, but if I go alone, and by night? I would wager that I could make my way into the fort unseen.”
“You would wager your life if you lose. Or do you possess a cape of invisibility? I must forbid it, Rorick; we cannot spare you.”
“On the contrary, if I should die in attempting Virdan, will you not have an army enraged, bent on destroying it log by log? But I will not fail, nor will I consent to let the matter pass.”
Conel looked deeply into his eyes. After a moment, he nodded. “So be it, then. Ride when you are ready, and will bring up the war—host as quickly as might be. You will have this night in which to accomplish your purpose, for we will have the men in front of Virdan by noon tomorrow.”
“So be it. I shall take a moment for food, get a fresh horse, if one is to be found, and be gone.”
Rorick was just eating hastily when the Old One came to him, chagrin showing in his face. “It was in the message. I had only just solved the riddle of the writing and was bringing my result to the Chief when the attack came. I regret I was not swift enough to prevent this.”
“Things happen.”
“Yes. But perhaps I can do something to make up for it. You are no magician, I perceive, yet no doubt you have used minor spells, lock—spells and the like?”
“I have.” Rorick regarded the magician with curiosity. “Good. I have a spell which may be of use to you. It will increase your physical strength for a short period of time, something which you may need.”
“It would be useful indeed.”
“Good. This is a spell requiring an aspect of concentration, and for your purposes, I would suggest that you use the Sword. Put your hand on it, and say these words.”
For a few minutes, he rehearsed Rorick carefully in a short phrase in a strange language. At last, he was satisfied with Rorick’s recitation. The Guardian mounted up, and as he prepared to ride out, Conel approached him.
“I cannot like this, but I can see how you would feel it must be done. May the High Powers smile upon you and your lady.”
“And on you also, Conel.”
He waited, some distance from the fort, for the sun to disappear completely, and for thick darkness to spread over all. He then slowly and carefully led his horse down to the nearest clump of brush to the fort, then lay down on the ground, his dark—red war—cloak spread over him. In that light, he would resemble only another hummock on the ground, and any guards would be looking for whole armies, not single men creeping up on them.
Even without light to show him, it took him a long time to cross that space, but finally he was there. Above him, a sentry was silhouetted against the sky. He moved down a little, about the middle of the five—yard interval between sentries, and took out the length of rope he had brought along, with a loop knotted in it.
When both sentries were looking away, he threw the loop upward to settle softly over one of the posts. The rasping sound as he pulled it tight sounded loud enough to wake the whole garrison, but neither of the sentries paid any notice to it.
Softly, with his hand on the Sword, he spoke the words of the spell of strength. Then, as both the sentries had looked away once again, he went up the rope fast. Holding to the edge of the wall, he dropped his dagger onto the catwalk inside. This time, the noise was clearly audible to both sentries. He hung there by his arms until one of them came over to investigate; when the man bent over, mystified, to pick up the dagger, Rorick pulled himself up to deliver a hard blow to the back of the man’s neck with the bottom edge of his right fist.
As the Hygerian clattered limply to the catwalk, Rorick came over in a quick movement. The other sentry brought up his javelin for the cast; swept up the fallen sentry’s spear and threw it underhanded. The Hygerian’s javelin whipped past his head. The javelin he had thrown hit the man in the chest, and he fell limply from the walk.
He looked around. Through some sort of blind luck, none of the other nearby sentries had paid any mind to the proceedings. There would clearly not be much time, though. He went to the nearest stair and met a man coming up. Without hesitation, he kicked the Hygerian in the chest, and the black—clad warrior new backward off the stair. He still had not moved when Rorick went by at a run to the prison building.
He stopped in front of the thick wooden door and kicked it three times with his heel. On the second blow it cracked, on the third, half swung inward on the hinges, half hung awkwardly from the look for a moment, then fell. He stepped inside. Helana was there, chained to the wall by her right ankle, and three other men, one a mere boy, one so old and shrunken as to make a person wonder how he could possibly have offended the Dark ones.
Helana recognized him even in the dimness. “Rorick! But I heard no sound of battle.”
“Nor will you, if we leave here quickly enough. I came alone to bring you out safely before we attack.” He turned to the other men. “What would you? I can set you free, and you can take your risks outside if they hunt us, or you can wait until we take the fortress. You have nearly no time at all to decide.”
He raised the Sword and brought it down in a swift and powerful blow against the chain on Helana’s ankle. The chain parted easily, and the Guardian looked round at the other three. The man nodded. “I will come, Lord. And if it be possible, Aln, son of Arin, will be with your host when you attack these walls.”
The boy swallowed, tried to speak, swallowed again and said, “I am Jeric Torbin’s ward, and I will not stay here longer than I must.”
“So be it.” In two quick strokes, Rorick freed the two. The older men looked up at him.
“I don’t be so young as I were, Lord, I run not so fast, I climb not so well. Be’t your pleasure, I will wait for you and all your armies to come.”
Rorick nodded. “Had you asked my advice, that would have been it. The rest of you, come.”
As they stepped outside, they heard the alarm being given from the wall.
“So it goes. We will be at a run now, and I will lead you to the rope I have left hanging on the wall. If you have the opportunity, you might pick up weapons from some of the dead, for you might see them useful.”
Four men met them coming down the stair as they went up. Only one could pass at a time, and Rorick engaged them fiercely with the Sword. The first went down with the Guardian’s first swing; the second, his blow parried, took a thrust which felled him; the third caught a sword—swing on his shield, but Rorick’s added strength drove him sidewise off the stair. Finally, the fourth, several steps back, was raising a javelin to throw.
Rorick, without a shield, knew himself doomed, but leaped up the steps, determined to die trying. Something flew past his head from behind, ringing sharply against the Hygerian’s armour. Rorick saw the Hygerian dagger falling away, then the javelin went past him, surprise causing the Hygerian’s cast to go awry. By then, the Guardian was close enough to strike with the Sword, and when he had dispatched the enemy, he looked around. Helana was holding a second Hygerian dagger, ready to throw.
Behind her, Aln, son of Arin, held a Hygerian sword and looked somewhat disgruntled. “I would have come behind you, Lord, but she moves uncommonly quick.”
Rorick grinned. “We must all move uncommon quick. Come on.”
On the catwalk, they went swiftly to the rope, which was still hanging where he had left it. Ten Hygerians were rushing up the stairs, several more were coming from each side. Helana went over the wall and down the rope; Jeric Torbin’s ward leaned over, dropped two javelins down, and went scrambling down himself. Aln stood back to back with Rorick against the first fierce rush of Hygerian, and when they drew back for a moment, Rorick said, “Go now, hurry!”
“What of you, Lord?”
“I shall come. I will do better as rear—guard than you, for I have my mail—shirt. Go!”
With a nod, Aln went over the wall and down the rope. The Hygerians moved in again, but Rorick backed against the wall and fought fiercely. He reached behind him, pulled up a length of the rope, and gripped it firmly in his left hand. For a moment, the Hygerians drew back again, and in that moment the Guardian leaped over the wall, holding fast to the rope.
With a shout to those below, he dropped the Sword and swarmed down the rope, dropping the last two feet as someone above slashed through the rope. A Hygerian, black cloak flapping, fell from the wall to land beside him, and Rorick saw the javelin protruding from his chest. He turned. Aln and Helana were beside him. Jeric stood a few yards out from the wall, his arm extended with the cast of his second javelin.
“Run now! For the brush!”
Several javelins hissed past them as they ran, but a stationary target silhouetted against a night sky is a different matter from moving figures on the ground, aimed at from above. When they reached Rorick’s horse, they stopped. Rorick looked around at the little group. “Aln, Jeric, here we must part. They will hunt the hardest for myself and the lady, so if you are able to find a place to hide, you will see little more danger this night. I owe you both much; if you come to me after, I will do what may for you.”
“We owe you our freedom, Lord. But there is little time for chattering here. Jeric, lad, let us find a place to hide. In the morning, you can tell me how you leaned to fling a javelin so well.”
The Guardian helped Helana up onto the horse, then urged him along into a run, trotting along beside. “I am sorry, heart—of—mine, but even for you I could not risk another of our horses. I will run beside you for a while.”
A hasty back-ward glance shoved a few Hygerians coming out of the fort on horseback at a canter, breaking into a run as they passed the gate. Starlight winked on armour and weapons. He was able to run beside the horse for only a little while, even with his augmented strength, and soon found it necessary to swing up to the horse behind Helana.
“We have a small lead, but they will catch us in the long run. We must reach the war—host before the Dark ones reach us.”
They topped a rise, and far, far back he heard a shout as the pursuers sighted them. “I wish I had risked another horse.”
“If wishes were arrows, what trade would fletchers follow?” said Helana, quoting an old Hill saying.
The horse flew through the darkness, over the rough trail. Rorick silently prayed to the High Ones that the horse’s hooves might not find a hole or obstruction. He decided that when the pursuers came too close, he would dismount and delay them as best he could.
As he thought about it, he decided it was probably due to the effectiveness of the Horsemen that the Hygerians were likely to run them down. The existence of a band of mounted archers had probably caused them to keep a small force of cavalry at arms at all times, so that when the alarm was raised, all that was needful was for them to throw saddles on their horses and be away.
He considered turning aside from the main trail, riding for one of the close by stands of wood and attempting to lose his pursuers. It seemed, however, that off the trail the chances were better of having his horse fall or be lamed. Best to continue as they were and hope for something better. He knew of a place or two, where, if necessary, he might take refuge among some rocks. With his bow and a handful of arrows from the saddle—quiver, he could guarantee to keep the Hygerians at bay for a time, perhaps even long enough for some of Conel’s scouts to reach them.
But this was all profitless speculation if the Hygerians continue to overtake them at the present rate. He leaned over to Helana. “My lady, take the horse and ride on if I dismount.”
She turned a little to address him. “Why should you die and I live?”
“So that my death should be for something. No, I do not leave you yet, for there remains some small chance. But when I do, you must go on.”
She made no answer, but he could feel her dislike for the eventuality. On they went. Suddenly, mounting a small rise, they saw mounted figures ahead in the dimness. Determined that the enemy should not have an easy time in taking them, he drew the Sword.
As it gleamed free with its own inner light, he heard cries from those before him, and realized just in time that they were shouting “Victory for Asbaln with Conel!” He drew up his horse, but the speed at which he was travelling made it necessary for him to go past them, and as he turned, he saw them loose their arrows.
It was no light for any sort of shooting, but the Hygerians were too few to wish to face any number of mounted archers, and allowed themselves to be easily discouraged. The leader of the party of Horsemen was a stocky little man, looking like a barrel on horseback, and he grinned a ferocious little grin.
“We’ve a camp up this way a few more miles. The King sent us out to guide you in. And may say for us all that we are glad to see you whole?”