The Hammer of the Sun (59 page)

He reined in when he came to the first of the banners in the van, and bade his horns sound once more. Men came thronging around him, but though he held up a hand to them he was obviously looking for some man such as the one who came riding up through the crowd on a tall chestnut warhorse, a burly, balding man in a stained black tunic set at the breast with the same red shield as upon the banner, patterned with gold mascles; a heavy broadsword with an intricate cage hilt swung at his side, and his hand was never far from it as he cursed the common kerns out of his way. "And who in the name of Verya d'you think you are, riding in under that banner?" he demanded in a sibilant southern drawl.

Kermorvan smiled, and shaping his words as Elof had taught him, he replied "I had best answer to the commander of this army, whom I seek. Are you he, or will you take me to him?"

"Commander?" glared the burly nobleman, his short beard bristling. "Where've you sprung from? Fallen with yesterday's rain? You don't think this mob can boast a commander, do you? We're long past such things; we're bound to fight, man, and that's about the best we can manage. If you've a mind to die beside us, why then muck in and welcome to you! No politenesses needed, I do assure you. Needn't even answer your bloody name."

"But I will, nonetheless." Kermorvan's cold eyes sparkled. "I will join you gladly; but I have no mind to die quite yet. I am the Lord Keryn Kermorvan of Morvan, King of Morvanhal, heir of the line of the Ysmerien, lord of all the children of Kerys in the land of High
Brasayhal, far across the oceans. We have heard of
your need, and brought such force as we can to your aid; even now our fleet disembarks upon the coast. And though we have but half your number, we are fresh and hardened, and our hearts are in the trim! For we also have faced the Ice and the Ekwesh in our lands, and though it has cost us dearly we have beaten them back!"

The big man looked at him blankly. "You're kin of ours from oversea? Of Ysmerien blood? And you've landed…" He sounded about to choke. "Some… ten thousand men to help us? Ten thousand fighting men?"

Kermorvan nodded. "And well armed. Though a few are also smiths, such as my court mastersmith here."

The baron glanced at Elof, then his eyes bulged, and he clapped hand to sword with such violence his horse almost reared under him. "You! You're the sorcerer who slew Nithaid!"

Elof nodded calmly. "As I had promised him, for good cause. And ere he died I promised him I would bring his folk a worthier figure of a king…"

"So it was true, what you said!" muttered the baron. "I was at court when you came - aye, you had cause… But an Ysmerien!" He gazed at Kermorvan from keen dark eyes, then anxiously around at the throng of men who were pressing in, hanging on every word. "He has the look of it… Gentles, you had better come with me. The lords must hear of this!" He swung the heavy horse about, beckoning them to follow him, and curdled the air as he sought to clear a way through the press.

But others have heard of it first
, thought Elof, looking down on faces dulled and haggard catching new life from a spark of hope. Then, as the column wheeled to follow the baron, he caught his friend's eye and was startled by the twinkle in it, wintry but unmistakable. It was too easy to forget that Kermorvan, though almost painfully honest and honourable in himself, had a king's upbringing, and kingship in his blood; it made him, among other things, extremely adept at getting his own way. He had deliberately attracted the attention of large numbers of common soldiers before announcing himself and his purpose; he had seized the chance to do so in their hearing, and drive home the message that Ice and Ekwesh could be beaten - or had he very gently mano-euvered the baron into giving him it? Elof had warned him of the squabbles and jealousies he must expect among the lords of Kerys, and he had passed them by before they even knew it.

So it was that while the loose alliance of nobles who had strung together this last, desperate army of Kerys were welcoming Kermorvan effusively, and at the same time striving either to put him in his place, or, as they got the measure of him, to win some personal alliance with him, the word was spreading through the army outside, like sparks spreading before a forest fire. And for confirmation they had Kermorvan's horsemen, men of Morvanhal and of Kerbryhaine together in amity, common men like themselves but equipped and armed better than most of the lords. They were only too ready to tell tales of Kermorvan's defeat of the Mastersmith in the Westlands, of his journey east and liberation of Morvannec from its oppressors, of how he had rescued the besieged folk of Nordeney and Kerbryhaine and united them into a strong and peaceful eastern kingdom, all in the short space of seventeen years; and all, they were careful to add, when he was no more than forty-four years old himself, and could, if he lasted die long span of his line, look to another forty or fifty active years. Before die lords had spent more than an hour or two in talk, they were astonished to hear a growing murmur outside their great tent, lively but restive, and sent out to see what it was about. When answer was returned that the soldiers wished to see the King, they looked at one another in dawning dismay, and some in sharp displeasure. Elof, who had been observing their manoeuvering with amusement tempered with disgust, grew tense, and made sure Gorthawer was to hand; but Kermorvan looked blandly astonished, and sat at ease where he was. "
King
?" barked one of the more piratical lords from the northern shore. "The only king here's from a far land, and doesn't mean to go poking his nose into the matters of Kerys! Tell that to the swine!" He had forgotten that he was not within the thick walls of his tower, now reduced by the Ekwesh, nor surrounded by his own unquestioning peasantry as of old. The ragged and desperate soldiers outside those walls of oiled cloth and leather were of a very different mood, and they heard him clearly. A loud rumble and hiss of anger, like a wave breaking on gravel, answered him at once, and his florid face grew pale; the others rounded on him in anger and panic. They were not evil men, thought Elof; they had at least had the wisdom to swallow their differences, the will and courage to muster this last force, to give a morsel of leadership where it was needed. Nor were they battening on their followers, as some lords might have; their gear was as grimy, their armour as rusty, their board as bare, their faces as gaunt and desperate as any of their men's. But it was obviously their power they were most concerned about, and the independence they had looked forward to since Nithaid's death; even before his forefathers usurped the kingship the lords of this land had lost any respect for it, or any idea that they might benefit under a central rule. Or the common folk, either; it was not impossible that they cared for them, in their way. Now, though, they were in for a shock. Outside the murmur of the crowd was rising, growing louder and more rythmical, becoming a chant there was no mistaking.
The King! The King! Show us the King
!

We'll see the King! We want the King! Bring out our King!

"Outrageous!" blared the young lord of Keruelen, the great city in the south. "Get out there and silence them!"

"Who're you talking to?" growled an older and poorer lord. "Go silence 'em yourself, puppy! They'll rend you limb from limb! They've had a scent of something they want, and woe betide any of us dares tell 'em they can't have it!"

There was a long silence while the lords assembled digested this unpleasant truth, and then, for the first time, many pairs of hostile eyes lit upon Kermorvan. "You must tell them, then!" said Irouac, who had been Nithaid's steward. "Say to them that you have come to help and have no other ambitions, that being a stranger you must naturally submit to our command…" He faltered. Kermorvan's lean features had hardly changed, but there was a faint and alarming smile on his lips.

"Must I?" He spread his hands, as the faces grew downright menacing. "Speak to them so, I mean." They relaxed a little, and so did Elof; he had Gorthawer's hilt in his right hand, the weight of the long trestle table in his left, ready to hurl it in their faces if they sprang. But Kermorvan's smile hardened, and became a wry and angry grimace. "My lords, consider! What you ask me to say would be justified if there were some strong, some solid captaincy here! Some leader or leaders fit to direct such a force as this in so crucial a campaign. But what do I find? What do you find, if you look honestly at yourselves? You are so strained with suppressing your rivalries that you can barely agree which direction to march in! And though you are all capable warriors, not one among you has ever held such a command as this. I know that because I have listened to your talk, and because Nithaid would never have risked giving an underling such power. Speak to my lords, when you meet them, and you may hear a different tale; but that is not now at issue. What is, is captaincy!" He rose from his seat. "Look upon me, my lords! You know little of me save what I have told you; but I think that simply not being one of you, not being caught up in your ancient strife, would be a great asset in a leader. However, I can offer you more. I was born to war. I have fought by land and sea, as penniless wanderer, as common sailor, as leader of half-armed mobs and marshal of great armies. I have fought men and monsters, I have raised my sword against the very Walls of Winter themselves; and I have not been defeated." In the gloomy light of the tent his pale face seemed grey and stony, implacable, resolute. "I ask you, am I not better suited to command than any one of you - let alone your ramshackle confederacy? Ask yourselves, where lies your greatest chance to save your
tend, your estates, your power that you cherish so
much? I do not say there is much hope. This land has been let slip far, and perhaps it must fall further yet ere it can be cleansed. But I urge you, do not let it slip away altogether, to gratify your own resentments! Do not bury your good sense beneath stale rivalries of rank and lineage! But if you must, what of mine? I am the last of the Ysmerien, and descended from a line which, had it not balked at kin-strife, could have held the kingship of Kerys more rightfully than the one that did. I could step out of this tent and assert my ancient right -
and dare you think it would not be upheld
?"

The cold eyes blazed, the calm voice thundered. The assembled lords gave back, astonished; they had seen Nithaid in his wrath, but never this mood of stone and centuries that descended upon Kermorvan in his righteous anger. "My lords," he said, amid a sudden hush outside, "I will make no such claim unless you force me. Unless there is no other way to stop you casting away the lives of your followers and mine; to stop you ruining the last hope of this desperate land, and perhaps of the whole living world, with your selfish follies and distrusts. I will lead you now, if you will it, as war-leader only; as to kingship, let that rest until there is a land to be king of once more. Then we shall see!"

"Indeed, and by then you'll have your claws well fixed in the throne anyway!" grunted a sour-faced southern lord.

Kermorvan's look was bleak but unoffended. "You seem very certain that I would want it…" That left them silent with confusion and suspicion blended. To them Kerys was the world. They knew well enough that Kermorvan had his own land, his own realm, but could hardly bring themselves to credit that he might prefer it.

"Anyway, what's in the name?" added the baron of the red shield. "Whatever we called any leader we chose - Warlord, Overlord, Marshal of the Field -
they'll
call him king! They trust kings; they don't trust us. And I don't blame them one blind bit!"

The lords were drawing breath to turn on him next when Kermorvan's voice, pitched to carry to the outside, curled around them like the fine tip of a lash. "I came this great distance to strike at the Ice, my lords; that is all. And with you or without you, fight I shall! If I cannot wring some sense from you, shall I ask your men? I do not think they will refuse me; others have not. We are not without other allies…"

Elof watched warily as Kermorvan told just who they were, and how they had come to serve beneath the Raven banner, expecting a great outburst. But when he had done there was only silence, broken at last by the burly baron. "Ekwesh…" he drawled thoughtfully. "Thirty shiploads, which is to say some four thousand of 'em… And the dragon. Well, gentles? To whom shall fall the honour of proclaiming our new warlord?"

"It won't last, you know," warned Elof, as he and Kermorvan rode out in the van of the ragged army, towards the northern flanks of the hills they had passed through. "This sudden meekness of theirs. You've daunted them well for now, yes. But if things go ill, even briefly - or the moment the fighting's done…"

Kermorvan smiled. "I know. But that moment is a fair step into the future; and I am preparing for it. Now do you don your wings, for you must take word to Roc and Ils at once, while there is light. Our two forces must move swiftly to unite, march night and day if need be; if Louhi realises we have met, let alone made alliance, she will hurl everything she can between us! So go now, guide them to the tryst; we shall be hurrying on your heels!"

It was four days later that the two armies met; it could scarcely have been sooner. The place appointed was a shallow cleft in the hills above the southern cliffs of the Vale, just beyond the angle where the Yskianas narrowed sharply, more or less opposite where Elof and Roc had first looked out over the great valley. Its surrounding hills, though they were no protection from the icy north wind, screened it well from the sight of the distant Gate. The mood in both armies was one of rejoicing at the finding of kin long lost, and it made mingling them an easier task. When the lords and captains of both armies came together, united by the common demands of commanding so great a body of men, and of establishing a new battle order, the soldiers soon followed their example; and by morning Kermorvan commanded a reasonably unified army. But it was not without its problems. If Kermorvan's force had found their rations meagre before, when they saw the plight of their fellows they portioned them gladly; that created great good will, but something of a problem. "It'll leave us little enough to fall back on," was Roc's verdict. "But then, if this goes ill, there'll be nowhere to fall back
to
, will there?" So it came about that the men of Kerys went on to their war somewhat strengthened, and in many cases armed anew with spare weapons from the store Elof and his mastersmiths had built up; shields alone were denied them, though the fleet had brought a great store of light metal shields, tall curved rectangles large enough to shelter the whole body. But it appeared that these were of some special kind, which only trained men could use properly, and Kermorvan had forbidden their being given away. This did create some resentment, but it was a small enough point, passed over easily in the glad meeting of the armies. More troublesome was the strong presence in the fleet of Nordeney men with the same copper skin as the Ekwesh; many Kerysmen met them with lively and vocal distrust and scorn, and as the northerners were not given to suffering insult mildly it took all of Kermorvan's authority to quell the resulting dissension. The wiser Kerysmen accepted them then, at least when they found they talked and behaved much like their own northerners; the rest soon found it politic to keep their resentment silent.