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To the King, from the Sevenhills men, this gift:
The steeds of Sevenhills, strong and swift;
Safe from the foe our herds remain,
And their loss is King Conel’s gain.
High in the hills, the grass is green,
The fairest land that was ever seen;
Asbaln’s men are free there still,
For we are the people of the hill.
-from ‘The Song of the Hills’
Phedron Doubleaxe of the Seven Hills
For all the years of its being blocked, the Icarian pass showed little sign of the passage of years, save only that the trail itself was overgrown in brush and shrubbery. Some of the men, particularly among the Icarians, were not happy about entering the pass of ill omen, whether or not the great mirror was gone from its face. However, with the King and the Guardian leading them, none felt able to hold back.
As they came through the pass to the hills beyond, Conel turned to Rorick. He smiled. “The fellow told me, ‘I can’t say where ‘e’ll be, but if ye ga northward, and ga forwardly, ‘e’ll surely come to ye.’ I only hope he made it back across his ‘track o’ th’ beasts’ to tell Phedron that we are coming through the Icarian pass.”
“How had he intended to bring a thousand or more men down from the Sevenhills country to the Guardian’s Pass unseen?”
Conel shrugged. “I could not say, but from the messenger’s attitude, I believe he had at least convinced his men that it was not a matter of conjecture, and they would be there. I am anxious to meet this Phedron.”
The march northward continued, with no sign of the Hygerians being reported. Half a day’s march from the mouth of the pass, the Chief of the scouts reported in. He was a little wizened man wearing a leather cap and a jacket and kilt of indeterminate origin, some kind of fur. He carried a light but strong bow decorated with what looked like Elder runes, and at his hip was what was either a long dagger, or a short sword. His speech was, surprisingly, somewhat cultured, though he slipped into dialect on occasion.
“Milord King, we’ve no sure and certain proof, but it appears we’re under observation by someone’s scouts. They are not Hygerians, that we can certainly say, but then there’s been those working for the Hygerians that have more black heart than black hair. They can evade us because this isn’t our own territory, but can guarantee that they’ll not ambush us.”
Another little man on a pony, looking much as though he were built on the pattern of the Chief of the scouts, came dashing down out of the brush ahead of them, swinging his bow in a wide circle, the agreed-on signal for immediate danger. Conel shouted a quick order, and the war-host shifted itself into line, while the Horsemen formed a quick line, moving forward to screen them until they were prepared. Conel and Rorick moved along with the Horsemen, and out of the clump of woods behind the scout came a small band of horsemen.
They streamed across the slope at a gallop, riding like the Hellriders who hunted Dyn Fawr, the Elder Hero, when he escaped from the Underworld by a trick. From their dress, they were Asbalnians, though much of it was equipment obviously taken from the Hygerians. Most of them carried bows, and as they came nearer, it was apparent that their leader was a large and powerfully built man, bearing a double-bladed axe and wearing a helmet with a pair of white eagle’s wings attached.
None of them took weapons in heads, but they dashed straight up to the Prince and pulled up their horses with a shout. The leader, leaning forward on his saddle, grinned and said, “So these are the cubs who have driven the Black Folk from the other side of the Mountains? Welcome, welcome, both of you. I am Phedron, known as Phedron Doubleaxe, and these with me are a few of my men. We fought a battle with the Hygerians yesterday and left a greater part of a thousand of them dead at the crossing of the Relyn.
“I have eight hundred trained men left, but more than enough in training to make up the losses. Only about two thousand Hygerians remain between here and the city of Hardinian. We expect them to send another army after us shortly, but by then we will have another army waiting for them.”
“Phedron Doubleaxe, there is joy in my heart to see you. We have some thoughts for the campaign between here and Hardinian. Tonight, with your help, we shall make more final plans.”
The leaders of the war-host sat that night around a large table, Conel at the center with Rorick and Phedron on each side of him. Besides these were Cyrcom, Trent, and Fergus, Phedron’s cavalry leaders, along with Byrt, Hwardh, Furthach, and Lughan, who headed his infantry. The commanders of the Prince’s infantry were there also, Artir, Lagan, Verex, and Staranth, with Garth end Cirl, his cavalry captains.
Conel was speaking. “The main road runs from just outside here, where we sit down to Hardinian. Then they hear word that we are here. We will be most certainly expected to come down here. But to the east of that road,” he pointed with his dagger at the map, “there is a trail which leads to Hardinian, though only a small one. If a part of the war-host goes down the main road, they will draw the Hygerians to meet them somewhere along the way. Yet if at the same time we send most of the host down the trail here, they ought to come on Hardinian by surprise. If we move quickly, we can take the city before they can organize a proper defence, and having the city will probably draw men away from the force on the main road. Those on the main road will then come to join us, and we may catch their forces between us.”
His eagle eyes searched the faces of all the room. Phedron stood. “A question, Milord. What of patrols on this road? Cruel he may be, conqueror and tyrant he most certainly is, but Razak is not a fool. And I’ve no doubt that he knows the land near as well as most in your host, milord, since, begging your pardon, you are mostly Eastern men, and few of you have actually ridden that trail through the hills.”
“Boldly and well spoken, Phedron. We shall have Hillmen scouting that trail beginning tomorrow, so that by the time we march we shall know the strengths and dispositions of any guards or patrols before we reach them.
“I will wish you to take the main road, leaving three days after us, and marching quickly. If you meet more than you think yourself able to face in battle, retreat and then draw back into your own land until you can cut them down by raids and ambushes. But you have no need of that advice. Let me ask, though, that if you find yourself unavoidably late, you will send me word so that I will not be depending on your help, and it not be coming.”
“Milord, there're men among your force and mine would make high and fearsome oaths about coming or dying in the attempt. I will say no such thing, having seen somewhat of warfare, but will say that if the thing is possible for flesh and blood, I will do it. I can promise no more."
“And I would ask no more,” answered the Prince.
Two weeks later, Conel led eighteen hundred infantry and two hundred cavalry out. Three days later, they destroyed a twenty-man patrol of Hygerians which had been discovered by the Icarian scouts. In another day, they were turning down the old trail toward Hardinian. It took one whole day and half of another to traverse that section of road, so overgrown was it with brush and shrubbery. Several times, it was necessary to halt the whole host in order to clear a section enough to allow them to pass through.
When they came at last into the settled plain around Hardinian, they were met by several of the local people, from whom they heard news that a large force of Hygerians had just gone up the road to meet with Phedron, while another was gathering just two days’ march to the south.