"Losses they remain, and there is worse to come. Nevertheless, I am thankful… But what's this?"
Through the press shouldered the leaders of the Ravens, bearing something towards the rock. Before Kermorvan's feet they unrolled it, with a bellow of laughter; the chiefest banner of the Serpents, and within, impaled upon the staff, a naked corpse, obscenely mutilated but with those chains of cicatrices still recognisable. Ils whistled, and chuckled softly in Elof s ear. "As well we didn't recruit the
real
savages, I guess!"
But Kermorvan remained imperturbable. Stepping down from the rock, he gave the grisly trophy grave attention, commended the talons of the Ravens who had seized the Serpent, then ordered the chieftain wrapped in his banner again and laid honourably aside with the other slain. This surprised the Ravens, accustomed to displaying the bodies of their more notable foes, but appeared to impress them deeply, the more so when Kermorvan ordered their banners to be flown above the hill with all the rest. "They have earned it!" he said, returning to his vantage, "And it will confirm the tale of those who fled. That may be of use to us; to cover their shame they will magnify the numbers they met. Among the common warriors rumour will spread that Ekwesh can be our friends and fight beside us; it may even unnerve the true fanatics a little."
"Are you so sure?" demanded Elof. "It may weaken the hold on their minds a little - but enough? And how soon?"
"Not enough to win us this battle, of course. But if we win it… Ah yes, then it may make a great difference. If. But that remains to be seen. No, my old friend, there is only one thing I am sure of, and that is that there is hard hewing ahead before the night comes."
In this Kermorvan proved himself a true prophet. There are many accounts in the Chronicles of that last and greatest of battles in the defence of Kerys, and they differ over many points; for so vast a conflict can seldom look alike to any one pair of eyes, and to each man his own standpoint must often have seemed the most hard-pressed and perilous. Yet all agree that between midday and evening four more such great onslaughts were unleashed against the combined ranks of Kerys and Morvanhal, and smaller assaults unnumbered, and that many broke through even to the king's rock. But though they differ as to how, they agree that the ranks, though sadly diminished and frequently broken, never panicked nor sought to run, and that all these assaults were turned, though at great cost; all, save the very last.
For there came a point towards evening, when Kermorvan, squinting out across his re-grouping lines, turned a weary head to his friends and said, quite calmly, "They have done bravely, very bravely. But I do not believe they can withstand the next assault."
A grim silence fell. Elof, looking out at the sinking sun glaring from a grey sky, realised that he had long ago accepted that this would be so; it had scarcely seemed to matter. Ils, refastening the bandage around her slashed leg, lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing; evidently she felt much the same. Kermorvan looked from one to another of his captains, then at the grey-gold blade he held, the blood of many men intermingled upon it; a catapult arrow whined overhead, and he nodded, as if coming to some further conclusion. Then he turned to Elof. "There is one stroke we might essay, still; but those archers on the southward hills with their long view may ruin it. I have not asked this of you before, because it was too perilous to justify; but they must be dealt with, or at the least distracted, even as the onslaught comes. At all events their attention must be held, if only for a few minutes. That you can do, and no other."
Elof grinned, felt his mouth tense and turn wolfish. He hefted Gorthawer and raised himself on the one crutch left him. "Build me a good fire, then!" was all he said.
Out on the slopes the ranks of shields were moving again, and another chant beginning, along the lines of the first but louder, more mocking; they too scented victory, fearfully depleted as their numbers were.
Dey-oh-towayhiau
! sang a single voice, and deep voices a guttural response
Iho-te-cheugh
! Then the line was repeated, but to a different response, a singing bass line
Kawei-ob-hoh! Kawei-oh
! to which spears were brandished, sawing the air. Then they were struck against shields - no longer merely rattled, but hammered butt-first, three savage blows that made the hide boom like a metallic drum. The ring and crash of it burst like thunderclaps among the hills and echoed shivering from the cliffs; snow dropped from ledges, rocks split and tumbled away with a roar. Though his head reeled with the noise, Elof caught the meaning of the song all too clearly.
Sheep of the valley
Come to the slaughter!
Sheep of the valley
Come and be slain! Come die!
Calves of the bison
Stand for the arrow!
Calves of the bison,
Come to the bloodtrough! Come bleed!
All eyes were on him, and he felt appallingly alone. He realised suddenly that he had no idea what Kermorvan intended; his hands full with the Ravens, he had taken little part in the actual planning of the battle. But then the fire blazed and crackled, and he had no time left to ask; he swept down his wings, held them a moment as fierce heat beat on his numbed cheeks, then swept them back with a rush that caused the draggled banners overhead to thrash and stiffen. The heat vanished with painful suddenness; he dared not linger, but raised an arm in salute to Kermorvan and his friends, and letting fall his crutches he swept up into the icy airs. A great shout went up from the ranks below as he rose, as if he was some living banner, and he knew the fleet men must be remembering how once before he had plucked victory from defeat for them, and hoping. They were a burden, those hopes; they weighed down his spirit, so that he found no release in his flight, only grim necessity. A wailing command drifted up to him, and a deep shout in answer; he looked down across the hills, and saw the great lines of shields, sweeping forward like the incoming tide. The orange sun glinted dully off his plumage; he was high enough, he would have to be. He hovered a moment, wings thrashing, gauging his time, and drew Gorthawer from his belt. Then as the Ekwesh shieldwalls reached the plain and broke into their last run,, he tilted in the air and dropped, the black blade out-thrust before him, falling as fast, he felt, as the lightning that had forged it. He did not, could not see that moment when among a shivering crash of shields the two great armies collided for the last time; but in his very bones he felt it.
There were the archers, a rough line of catapults and a few hundred men scattered widely across the hill top, taking advantage of whatever small eminence they could find. He saw one perched in the blackened carcass of a tree, and swooped towards him. The man had time to see, to whirl around, loose one wild shot and shriek; for so Elof had intended. All eyes turned to him as the black blade struck, and the fountaining body fell headlong through the branches: then the air was alive with shafts. They fell far behind him, some among the catapults. Another archer, perched on a rock, fell fight in his path and was cut down; two more dived for cover, a third was less swift and paid the penalty. Elof whirled around, wings thrashing, and headed for the catapults. Only the lightest had a chance to fire before he was among them, hewing out at their cords and the arms that drew them; windlasses spun and sang, men shrieked and fell, many under the panicky shafts of their fellows, as he passed. Compared to the slaughter on the plains below it was nothing, but it ensured what Kermorvan desired, that every eye on that southern ridge should be fastened on him as he glided up and away. His, though, turned towards the plain, seeking some assurance that his flight had worked.
He found only dismay. The ranks of Kerys and Morvanhal, so sorely tried, had broken even as Kermorvan predicted. No longer was there any calculated regrouping, no squares, no order at all; it seemed that no man had any sense of it left in him, had any thought left at all save to flee and save his own skin as best he could. Elof was appalled to see the king's rock empty, abandoned, and the many banners bobbing this way and that near the head of the throng, fleeing desperately over the valley's edge and down onto the steep slopes beyond; they must have fled almost at once, before the collision even. The Ekwesh, abandoning their own shieldwall in triumphant contempt, were streaming this way and that after the stragglers. Where was Kermorvan, then? He would never have allowed this, if he were still in command. With leaden heart Elof soared up, fighting an urge to fall like a thunderbolt upon the Ekwesh chieftains; that would help nobody, neither his friends nor Kara - but what could, now?
Then from his greater height he saw over the valley's rim, and laughed aloud in glory and amazement. A wilder gamble he had never witnessed, nor a more marvellous feat of order. Perhaps the Ekwesh thought so also, as in their bloodthirsty pursuit they poured over the rim of the slopes, ready to butcher all they overtook. For what they found there was no terrified trail of fugitives, but the same fearsome shieldwalls they had faced ail that day long, regrouped now in three solid ranks all along the slope, with more forming behind as the seeming fugitives poured in. The rear ranks must have pulled back first, pretending to flee while the outer ranks held, and used the time to order their array; the archers could have seen that happening, and passed a warning to the main force. But because Kermorvan had unleashed Elof onto them, they had not, and the greater part of that last onslaught poured over the slope at speed like maddened beasts stampeded into a spike-lined pit.
And like beasts they perished. Many, unable to stop themselves, plunged headlong onto the spear-points; others sought to turn but slipped and fell on the trodden snow; some managed to turn, only to be knocked back down by their own eager fellows rushing along behind, or struck down by the stragglers they had thought to harry. In the blinking of an eye the slope had turned to a scarlet fall of blood, so many died in those first chaotic seconds; chaotic for the Ekwesh, for among the ranks of their foes there reigned an implacable calm, as if Kermorvan's cool mind lay like a mantle across them.
The onrush of the Ekwesh slackened, as from the cries below some realization dawned that all was not as they thought it. But even as they stumbled gradually to a halt horns sounded, and with a single hoarse shout the shieldwall rose and paced forward, up to the edge of the slope and over. Even to Elof it seemed a fearsome sight, those solid walls of shields, rank after rank, arising suddenly over the valley's rim, blood-reddened, flashing with red fire as they caught the last long rays of the sunset. To the Ekwesh, seized by sudden uncertainty after the intoxication of victory, it must have seemed appalling. Many must have thought it a whole new army, come in the nick of time to the relief of the one they had broken; but even to those who did not it must have seemed no less marvellous that ranks once scattered should cohere once more. Grim fighters as the Ekwesh were, they had never been held together by the same strong bonds of discipline as the men of Morvanhal, or followed a leader out of regard and love, rather than fear. Thus all the awe and terror that Louhi and her shadowy kindred of the Ice relied upon in dealing with their thralls turned at that crucial point against her. For all their subservience to their chieftains, for all the hold the shamans of the Hidden Clan had on the hearts of the Ekwesh, they had always been prone to panic. For those who are dominated through fear are in the end ruled by it, and their hearts may fail them sooner than those whose obedience is freely given, and truly earned.
So it had been before with the Ekwesh, when the Mastersmith fell. So it had proved in the Eastlands, when Kara's influence was taken from them; and here, for all the fire that she, Morghannen, Warrior of the Powers, Chooser of the Slain, could pour into their hearts, it was so again. They saw what they could not understand, a menace arising where none should have been; and being accustomed to fear such things, they could not confront it. They looked back to their chieftains, only to see, high in the airs above them, the vision of an armed man aloft on immense wings. The greater part of them took fright, and turned on their heels to run. Many did not; but they were out of their shieldwall now, each man for himself against an army of men they had moulded in their own likeness, as fell and grim as any, and better armed. They stood, and perished; and the rest, seeing this, fled all the faster. In vain the chieftains cried out from the hill-tops, in vain they came down onto the plain and harangued the fugitives, sought to seize them, and in the end menaced them with weapons; their own men cut them down. Into the passes of the hills a broken rabble streamed, leaderless, heedless; above them the sun set and to their minds the sudden darkness and bitter cold seemed only another device of their foes. They sank down and sought shelter, or ran on mindless till they fell, without thought of food or fire or the means to make either; and the frost settled upon them like the wrath of the Ice they had betrayed, and tightened its grip. They were hardy men, but they had fought a long day, and that last run sapped their endurance. Of those who ran from the battle more than two third parts are thought to have perished that night among the hills; and it is said that some fell not to the cold, but to the many kinds of nightwalkers and trolls the Ice had sent to haunt those lands, who cared not whose blood they took. To the High Gate and the wrath of Louhi only a fragment returned of the vast force that had been sent out; yet in her pride, and the nearness of her victory, she gave no thought to flight, but made ready for the siege she guessed must follow.