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Much care did the leaders of Asbaln take to select the best field for the final battle. It must be one where the tactics which they had practiced and almost perfected could be usefully employed, and yet one where they could be fairly sure of the Hygerians actually coming to them. They desired a feature to protect at least one flank, and yet one where they could put a good number of men into the first line of battle. They settled at last on the plain between the Cliffs of Jarth and the Dark Forest of Chaldin. There, both flanks were secure, and yet a reasonable line could be formed.
-The Hygerian War
Randell of Avantir
They waited at Hardinian for some while before they marched, and even then, they did not move too swiftly. They had been hearing for some days of a gathering of the enemy at the City of Coerl, but neither scouts nor spies seemed able to say much beyond the fact they were there in great numbers. Razak had made a declaration.
“No more shall we send out a few men to deal with these. No longer shall small bands go forth, nor meager bands set out. Let all the warriors gather, let each mighty man come in; your King shall take the lead, and your Lord ride before you.”
Estimates of the total force available to Razak varied between six and eight thousand, depending on the estimator’s consideration that the Hygerians had not had notable success in battle since Dryx Ford. It was true that Razak himself had not come to battle since, considering the paltry forces arrayed against them to be unworthy of his attention.
At first, defeated commanders who survived the battle were executed on King Razak’s orders, but realization eventually came that the fault was not theirs. The commander who had met Phedron at the crossings of the Relyn, and was later driven from before Hardinian, a man named Sharakh, was not even completely removed from the King’s favour. Previously styled ‘Favoured Companion of the King,’ he was now allowed only to call himself ‘Friend of the King,’ and was allowed only twenty retainers in place of his previous hundred.
Yet Sharahk remained as supreme Commander under Razak; though of no greater status would take his orders directly, Razak listened closely to his advice, and no man disobeyed the king’s orders.
Steep, black, forbidding, the Cliffs of Jarth brooded over the green plain, above the encamped any of Asbaln. They were unclimbable on the eastern side, save for the Notch, the place where they had crumbled long ago to form a gentle slope up to the grassy incline of the western side.
Here follows the tale of the Cliffs:
In a time long past, Clan the King of Asbaln had twin sons, Codal and Jarth. Codal was but minutes the older, and a constant rivalry had grown up between them, and each felt better able to rule the land than his brother, each also having little thought save for his own desires. Both had an ability to sway the minds of men, so at the death of Olan, the land was ablaze, turmoil and contention riving its accustomed peace.
Three times signs were sent to the two antagonists, portents from the High Powers, that they should forgo this war and make peace. But Codal swore an oath when wise men would counsel him, saying,
“The High Powers rule in heaven, but I upon the earth.”
Jarth also rejected advice, saying, “If the Powers could do aught, they would remove my brother, who is unfit to rule; since they have not done this, what then can they do?”
So it was that when the two hosts met for battle, destruction came upon them. Dark night fell in the midst of day, thunder raged and lightning smote, the earth shook, and when daylight returned, the place where the two armies had stood was covered by a cliff of black stone, lying like a scar would where the earth had been wounded.
Yet there had been one among the host of Codal, a man of the Elder Folk whose name was Troyan. Troyan, a man of wisdom and courage, strove until that battle was joined to dissuade Codal from his course. Yet because of the oaths he had sworn, Troyan went forth with sword in hand to the battle line and was lost with the rest.
The brother of Troyan, Lhorannon the Wise, sought long and far, prying into things of difficulty for mortal men, for the answer to a great riddle. After much seeking, he returned to the Forbidden Lands to take his findings to the Elder Council.
Following this, he went to the cliff. It is not known what he did there, though some say he smote on it with a rod, some say with his hand, some say only that he sang a song of strange words. But the cliff cracked and crumbled, and his brother came forth. In that one place, therefore, the cliff was divided, and not the sheer stone surface it presented elsewhere, and there also the grass grew green and fair as on the rest of the plain.
Here, between these cliffs and the Forest of Chaldin, the host of Asbaln took its position.
It was upon the area of the Forest that Coerl had been joined by Arvandal when naught grew there but grass and a few low bushes. Here, bearing the Sword, Arvandal had smitten Chaldin and his rebel barons, smitten them and driven them from the field, so the throne was secured for Coerl.
It was said Chaldin, in the wreck of the battle, as he lay dying, had cursed the land on which he lay, and the result of it was soon seen. Now the forest was dark and thick, a tangle which a man could scarce penetrate, and which few cared to; within it walked were-beasts, and things darker and more difficult to name. Things best not thought on.
So it was that one flank of the Asbalnian host would be rested upon the Cliff of Jarth, the other on the Dark Forest of Chaldin. If the enemy sought to come over the Notch, then a small force could hold that place for a suitable length of time, hopefully long enough for those below to finish the battle.
“We must keep watch for such a movement,” said Rorick. “We can no longer trust to their older tactics of a head-on attack with every man who can be crowded in. We have taught them too much.”
“One man atop the cliffs, who can signal us if they come.” This was Conel’s suggestion.
Rorick nodded. “That will do well enough. We will want all our men to be available on the plain unless they do come through the Notch. If they do not, may well wish for the two hundred or so who would be needed for a permanent guard.”
Scouts and spies announced the Hygerian force as large beyond counting, at the first. Later estimates set it at something over seven thousand, possibly as high as eight. Host of Asbaln, though slightly grown, was about five thousand five hundred, which was the number they would go into battle with, minus whoever would, between this day and that, suffer some mishap which would make him incapable of fighting. Though much effort and time had been spent in training them, they were still not yet of the quality to inspire glorious feelings of joy in their immediate commanders.
Veterans, this meaning anyone with two battles to his credit, were mainly spread among the newer men to give them both confidence and an example. The most necessary maneuvers had been drilled into them so much they swore they could perform them while sleeping. Those who trained them swore it was as though they were sleeping most of the time when they were attempting to carry out their maneuvers. Yet they were all confident that, when the time came to open files and allow the cavalry to ride through, not too many would be run down.
One night, the horizon was red with the light of the Hygerian campfires. On that same evening, Rorick and Conel were discussing various things when the Old One came into their tent. “I must speak with you, Lords.” they looked up at him, he continued. “As you may know, it often happens that seeings come to those of my profession, seeings unbidden and unclear. Such a seeing has come, and though we have striven to make all clear, we can discover only certain things regarding this. Three fights will be fought in the coming days, each one providing the reason for the following one.
“Tomorrow’s battle, the battle of the armies, is the first. If it is won, then the Black King and the Gold will fight on the steps of the palace stair in Coerl’s city. A battle of men it will be, and if it is won, then the third battle follows.” He paused.
“And that is...?” encouraged Conel.
“It is difficult to know. A battle comes in a hidden place, where only the Power will determine the outcome, or even the coming out again. So.” He spread his hands. “It is little enough, I know, little for help or hindrance, but these three battles must be fought and won before the King may sit on the throne once more.”
Conel stood and bowed. “Our thanks, Old One. You have served our cause well, and we owe you much.”
“I serve as may, Lord, and as much from necessity as yourself. There appear to be certain magicians of Hygeria, men in high places, who seek to destroy all trace of Asbalnian magic. So intent on this they are, that we are hunted like wolves; our own safety depends on your cause.
“And yet, there is much that is good in the magic of Hygeria. Their healing spells, for instance... But I grow rapidly wearisome when I discuss my own craft. Let it stand that those who were united by the Sword of Conel the Wild are not meant to live peaceably as slaves.”
He strode away, tall and erect for all his years. It was then they took note of the clashing of iron across the camp beside one of the fires. Strolling over to see what was happening, they found young Dolon and another fighting with practice swords, wearing their armour, and with padding on arms and legs.
The other man was tall and well-built, making the slender Dolon seem small by comparison, and the two of them moved swiftly and gracefully as dancers. The move which ended the match was so fast as to have been almost invisible; Dolon parried a blow upward, over his head, then struck a return blow to the shoulder. An instant later, the watchers, recognizing a fair hit, set up a shout.
The two men saluted and lowered swords, then the big grim man smiled, a little ruefully. One of the Warriors, noticing Rorick beside bin, grinned and informed him, “Dolon has yet to be bested, and has fought most of the best of our swordsmen.”
“I can see his skill, but has he been matched with Beran yet?”
Some of the men around heard this and asked Beran to challenge Dolon. He demurred, but they continued to badger him; he said he was too old for such foolishness, and they declared if he was too old for a friendly match with practice swords, he was too old for going into battle with sharp steel on the morrow. Reluctantly, he prepared. He took his stead, right foot, advanced, sword ready. One of the younger men said to one beside him, “I will wager on Dolon. “
The other answered, “I will take money from a fool as well as from any other. How much?”
While they and others laid their bets, Dolon lunged from a relaxed stance, and was taken off guard when Beran’s sword flicked upward, knocking his blade off its path. He barely kept his balance, and it was only a quick-twisting leap backward which saved his skin from Beran’s return blow. He swung a backhand, which Beran also stopped, then as he lunged forward again, the older man went into action.
His right foot slid back, and he shifted his upper body, then stepped forward as the other sword went by his chest. His own steel shot forward in a thrust which struck solidly against the chest of the younger warrior.
Dolon, too seasoned a warrior not to know that there is always someone better than the best, grinned at Beran, who said in his quiet way, “Twenty years ere you were born, I became a Warrior. For the past ten years, I have trained the newcomers to our ranks. In fact, I gave the Guardian his training, and he is among the best in the kingdom.”
The shout was immediately set up. “Let the Guardian and Beran match!” Both demurred, and when the men insisted, Rorick stepped forward and signed for quiet.
“I will not match with Beran, not for any of you. Would you have me look a complete fool, attempting to best the man who has taught me every trick I know, and knows a few more besides? Look elsewhere for your amusement.”
“Why then,” said a man, “Let the Prince and the Guardian show their skill, one against the other!”
Now at this, the shouting was so loud and insistent the two looked at each other, shrugged and began to prepare. When they had donned the pads and taken up the swords, they circled cautiously, seeking an opening. Twice the swords rang together as they sought openings which appeared for mere moments, and were closed as quickly.
Soon, they were engaged in earnest. The swords flickered and struck, glinting with the firelight, ringing like bells. Back and forward they went, each saving himself more than once by a quick leap forward or sideways. Overall, there was silence, for the men were awed by the skill with which each fought. None could afterward describe the series of movements which led to the end of the bout. They were standing in a lunging position, each with the blunted point of his sword pressed against the other’s chest.
Stepping back, they saluted, then lowered the swords. The silence continued until Beran stepped forth to say, “A draw. I will say it, I who stood beside Karkal of the Silver Ring when the Vakon sea-rovers sailed up the Ilcaniar to attack Avantir; such swordsmanship has rarely been seen, and Garthell Longsword of the Elder Legends could scarce have done better. With such leaders, those who come against us shall have no easy fight.”
Three loud cheers were given for the King and the Guardian, and the two young men walked back to their tents while the bout was still being discussed animatedly among the rest of the Warriors. “Well, Rorick, the men are in good spirits. What will be helpful tomorrow? Do you think we can win?”
“If we cannot, now is certainly not the time to be worrying over it. We have chosen the ground, and we have made our cavalry, by our tactics, superior to theirs in all but numbers. And our infantry has been better than theirs all along. Given only that luck is not completely against us tomorrow, we will win.
“Tell me, my friend who is always thinking on such things, how have we managed to come so far so quickly? My thought tells me it is our speed which has done it.”
“Aye, our speed and the fact we did not fight as we have been used to. In the old times, when they took a portion of our borderland, our hosts marched through in methodical fashion, never passing on until they had cleared every barbarian from the land around them.
“This time, we sat in the Hills, sending out raiding and foraging parties, and they waited until we should begin our movement. One morning, we stood at the gates of Virdan. When we had taken that, they began to prepare for our coming at Orden. Again, we were at Orden, and though they had been expecting us to wear ourselves out against the wells of the city, still we were not expected so soon.
“And Orden, which ought to have held for weeks, went down in one red day of fighting. And while we fought against the land around, they gathered at Avantir where we had stood them off for so long. The sudden fall of Avantir must have seemed a work of magic to them, and it was at that time they surrendered the land east of the Mountains to us.
“But our magic was still strong, and after a few useless assaults on the pass, we were across and joined with Phedron. We have always attacked where we ought not to be, and it is no wonder they worry over what we might do next. Now, we stand waiting on an open battlefield, so they will hesitate to see whether they can sniff out the trick in it. While they are doing this, we shall fight them with an eye for every mistake they make, every instant of carelessness or over-caution, and thereby win the fight.”
“Aye. And it has been as you have said. I have heard it said among the men they have spent more time missing meals through forced marches than they have in fighting the enemy.”
For a while, they sat in quietness in the tent.
Beran came to the door of the tent. “Milord. Guardian, I would speak with you in private.”
“Certainly.” Rorick rose and went out into the night with the old Warrior.
“My Lord, you will know I am of the line of Ralf Starblade, and we mark our beginning with ancestors who fled the Old Island. It may well be you do not know that to the men of our line, it is often given to see when we are to die. My time comes tomorrow, and I may only make ready. I would ask two things, that my sword be taken back to be given to my son, and that you should put Dolon in my place after the battle. He will serve you well.”
Rorick stood still and thoughtful. It was hard enough to know many would die tomorrow, but to know that certain ones would certainly die was almost too much to bear. He looked up at Beran and said, “As you request, it shall be done.”
They were saved from a long and uncomfortable silence then, for across the camp came the noise of shouting. It was the sound of challenges being shouted from the picket-posts along the edge of the camp next to the Hardinian road, and Beran’s sword was in his head as they ran towards it.
In the flickering Light of the torches they found a swelling number of men, armed and half-armed, facing another group of travel-weary men, some mounted, others afoot. Their leader was a large man, somehow familiar, white of hair and beard, wearing a leather war-cap and a chain war-shirt with a recent patch on the chest. Immediately behind was a younger, slighter-built man, similarly armed, but with a metal war-cap his youthful face was close and grim, and his hand rode on his sword-hilt.
Then the older man caught sight of Rorick and as he turned his dancing horse, the firelight flickered on a pattern of silver threads on his scabbard. Recognition flashed to Rorick as the older man quieted the hubbub with a command which cut through the noise like a naked blade.
“Quiet, then, the lot of you! The Guardian is here, and can recognize me, and assure you I mean no harm.” He looked to Rorick, “Perhaps you’d not remember me, sir, but I be Cadda, son of Fannan, son of Brenan, son of Fernmal. We came to you at Virdan.
“What last I heard, Fannan was a leader of ten for the King; Vandinal be at home, wounded in the right arm, so grievous as not to be using it again, that from Avantir Gate. Fannan were left stark dead on the field at Dryx ford, and I were grievously wounded about the chest when we attacked the Pass.
“Having recovered somewhat, I brought away Brioughir and a few neighbours wishful to come along. We gathered a few more on the way, and when we came to Hardinian, they told us you had come up here, expecting one more great battle shortly.
“But when we are arrived, this fellow greets us like we were King Razak and all his armies. So, Lord Guardian, please to tell them who I be, and let us be done with all this, that these lads with me may get to our rest. Tomorrow will be a lively day, I’d wager.
Rorick smiled. “This man is known to me indeed. Come, some of you show them where they may rest, and see to finding food for them. And as Cadda says, tomorrow will be a lively day, so best that all go back, find your places, and rest.”
And indeed, in not too long a time, the host of Asbaln was at their rest.