The Sword Of Erren-dar (Book 2) (70 page)

 “Reporting for duty, sir,” said a familiar voice.

 Vesarion leaped to his feet, oversetting his chair.
“Sareth!” he cried. “How can this be?”

 She tugged off her helmet and her glossy hair descended
onto her shoulders.

 He gripped her arms as if he could not believe she was
real. “How do you come to be here?”

 “Iska is here too.  Eimer has found a tent for her but at
the moment we are keeping out of Enrick’s way, just in case he takes exception
to the fact that I didn’t obey his orders to stay in Addania. Gorm nearly gave
the game away, because he let such a squeal out of him when he saw me, that I
thought he’d have the whole camp in a panic.”

 He had been listening a little bemused to this recital but
losing interest in it, instead caught her into his arms. “Never mind. All that
matters is that you are here now.” However, a moment later he leaned back from
her. “Er…Sareth? I hope you don’t mind me saying, but chainmail is not exactly
huggable
.”

 “Oh! Take it off!” she commanded laughingly, holding up her
arms. “It weighs a ton and I’m tired of it already. How you manage to fight in
it, I have no idea.”

 “So what are you wearing it for?” he asked, helping her out
of it. “You’re not, I trust, thinking of taking part in the fight tomorrow?”

 “Oh, no,” she replied airily. “It’s just for disguise.”

 He looked down at her solemnly. “Sareth, it’s me, Vesarion,
you are talking to. Someone who has known you since you were born. Do you
really expect me to swallow that?”

 She blushed guiltily. “Iska and I will stay at the back,
out of harm’s way.”

 He raised his brows disbelievingly.

 “I
promise
,” she declared. “And, anyway, what about
your
promise?”

 “What promise?”

 “Not to take your helmet off.”

 “I cannot think of any reason why I should wish to take my
helmet off in the middle of a battle, but if it makes you happy, I solemnly vow
to keep it on. What is this obsession with helmets anyway?”

 “Nothing – it’s just stupid, really.”

 Vesarion cast the hauberk onto the ground and turned up her
chin. “You’re a handful,” he said in mock despair. “Do you know that?”

 “I’m sorry,” she said contritely.

 “Don’t be. You once told me that if I wanted abject
obedience, I should buy a dog.” He sighed theatrically. “It’s beginning to look
like I’ll have to.”

 But her eyes were cast down. “I should not have said such a
thing to you.”

 He lightly touched his finger to her lips to silence her.
“Do not apologise. I would not change you, not by so much as the breadth of a
hair.”

 In reply, she drew down his head and kissed him. His arms
tightened around her and a moment later, his shirt joined the hauberk on the
ground, soon followed by various other assorted items of clothing. The little candle
was extinguished and as Sareth felt the warmth and gentleness of his touch in
the enveloping darkness, she re-lived the joy of the discovery she had made
that first night in the Rose Tower – that the reserved man she had married was
deeply and tenderly passionate.

 Later that night as she lay at peace in his arms, her head
pillowed on his chest as he slept, in the stillness of the night she realised
that she could hear his heart beating. And all at once it was borne upon her
that all her happiness, her very reason for living, depended on one beat
following another and suddenly life had never seemed to her to be so fragile. Unable
to bear the torture, she moved her head so that she could no long hear the
sound, then gently tracing the outline of his chin with her finger, she
whispered into the darkness: “It was only a dream. It means nothing. It was
only a stupid dream.”

 Dawn saw the Eskendrian army a hive of activity. Horses
were being saddled, armour donned, bows re-strung. Extra arrows were being
distributed by the quartermasters and the few who had not already honed the edges
of their weapons, now did so with enthusiasm. Shields were checked for
soundness, swords belted on and helmets pulled into place.

 Eimer was engaged in tightening the girths on his saddle
when Iska appeared at his side.

 “I….I have come to wish you luck,” she said tentatively, as
if unsure of her reception.

 He looked up from his task. “Try to stay our of trouble,
will you?” he asked, in the tone of  someone who knows he won’t be heeded. “I
know that Sareth promised that the two of you would stay out of the way, but I
don’t believe that any more than Vesarion does.”

 A silence fell between them, and they stood looking at one
another a little awkwardly, as if there was more to be said but neither could
find the courage to say it. But after a moment or two of this impasse, Iska, suddenly
giving in to impulse, abruptly reached up and taking his face between her
hands, kissed him full on the lips. When she drew back, Eimer found her finger
wagging in an admonitory fashion before his astonished eyes.

 “Now, listen to me, Prince Eimer,” she began. “In future,
if you so much as
look
at another barmaid, you are in serious trouble.
Is that clear?”

 Rapidly recovering his nerve, Eimer smiled knowingly, and
hooking his finger into the front of her belt, jerked her closer.

 “Explain it to me again,” he commanded brazenly.

 Vesarion had already taken his leave of Sareth. He had held
her in silence for a long moment, his cheek resting against her hair, and like
the day at the inn in the city of Adamant, time seemed to stand still. The
bustle and noise of the camp around them faded to nothing and for a moment they
stood alone together in a place where no harm could touch them. When finally
they drew apart, Sareth looked up into his eyes and said the three words that
he most wanted to hear. Then she was gone, leaving a cold, empty place in his
heart.

 When Eimer led his horse over to Vesarion, he looked back
in the direction in which Sareth and Iska had vanished. “What are the chances
that those two will keep their word and stay out of this?”

 Vesarion glanced up from pulling on his gloves. “Slim to
none, I imagine.”

 “Our two women are not exactly timid little mice,” Eimer
concluded, as if making an amazing discovery.

This was rather too much for Vesarion. A little knot of
tension had been tightening in his stomach but suddenly it vanished and he
dissolved into laughter. The Ravenshold Brigands, hearing the unexpected sound,
found themselves infected by their commander’s amusement, and even though they
had no idea what the joke was, they began to grin like idiots.

 When he finally sobered up, Vesarion said in wonderment:
“Eimer, permit me to award you the prize for being the master of
understatement.”

 Eimer grinned delightedly, but their light-heartedness was
banished a moment later. Just as they were preparing to mount, Gorm came
charging over to them as fast as his short legs would carry him, his face
bearing an expression of alarm.

 “Enemy know we are here,” he panted. “Took a look over
there this morning,” he explained, waving his hand in a vaguely northwards
direction, “and they are preparing for battle very fast. Must tell King now!”

 Enrick, by now, had learned not to doubt Gorm’s reports and
instantly reacted by putting his battle plans into effect. The trumpeters were
ordered to sound the assembly and every infantryman, archer and rider hurried
to find his place in his division. Moving out into the openness of the plain, the
King began to deploy his army, aware that there would be no second chances. He
gave orders to place the heavy infantry in the centre, in anticipation that
this was where the brunt of the attack would fall. As their divisions marched
into position, their ranks bristling aggressively with pikes and halberds, their
lighter armed comrades were placed to guard their flanks. Vesarion watched with
an approving eye as division by division, Enrick positioned his forces. The
Perith-arn and the Ravenshold Brigands were divided into two and placed on the
wings. Vesarion was in command of the more vulnerable right and Prince Eimer
took the left. The barons were busy shouting orders and soon began to raise
their standards one by one, to indicate that their respective commands were in
position.

 When all was in readiness, the Eskendrian army made a
formidable sight, with its forces deployed across almost the entire width of
the plain, its myriad banners bright against the dull grassland. Every man’s
face was turned to the north, silently waiting.

 A little inauspiciously, the sky above the plain was a uniform,
dismal grey, without even a hint of the sun. Occasionally, a spot of rain like
a tear, plinked onto the metal of shield or helmet – and the heavy clouds
promised more. As a raindrop struck Eimer’s helmet, he glanced at the sky
disapprovingly, not looking forward to fighting in wet armour. As he did so, the
wind dropped, as if worn out, and all the standards that had flown so bravely
before the walls of Addania, now hung limp in the still air. Out on the opposite
wing to Eimer, from the vantage-point of the saddle, Vesarion looked across the
open plain to the dark line of trees on the far side. Nothing stirred. There
was not a sound, other than the small noises issuing from their own forces –
the occasional cough, the clink of armour, the snort and stamp of restless
horses. It all seemed unreal, like a stage awaiting the players. Where were
they? What was taking them so long?

 Enrick, sensing the men’s growing uneasiness, realised he
had to act. Riding out in front, he wheeled his horse to face them.

 “Men of Eskendria, archers of the Perith-arn, the forces of
Adamant come against us today led by a Prince whose aim is to conquer and
enslave that to which he has no rightful claim. But if he thinks that we lack
the courage and will to oppose him, he will find himself badly mistaken. We
have faced mightier enemies before and have shattered them, and this Prince of
Adamant will fare no better. He tried to take from us the sword of Erren-dar,
but he failed, and now it leads us into battle against him. It defeated the
forces of the Destroyer sixty years ago and will do so again today.” He paused,
before resuming in a voice of rising strength. “I swear to you that not one
foot of soil of our beloved land will fall to this man. I swear that not so
much as one Eskendrian child will bow to his rule. I swear that here and now,
on this very day, at this very hour, we will crush his pride in the dust and
make him taste the bitter ashes of defeat.” Drawing his sword and holding it
high in the air, he cried: “Who amongst you will stand with me?”

 A thunderous roar of approval broke from every throat and
Vesarion, listening approvingly, realised that adversity had been the making of
Enrick. Yet during the whole time the King was rousing his troops, his cousin
had been keeping his eyes glued to the opposite forest, and he found himself
muttering under his breath: “What is keeping them? They must come before all
this enthusiasm that Enrick has whipped up vanishes like mist.
Where are
they?”

 As if in response to his words, a deep, bass drumbeat suddenly
sounded from amongst the dark ranks of the trees. The cheering faltered and
died away.

 
Thump, thump, thump-thump
, thundered many invisible
drums, echoing across the still plain. Still nothing could be seen, and a
murmur of unease, hastily checked by the barons, passed like a rippling wave
along the ranks.

 Then slowly, from the dark concealment of the distant
trees, the forces of Adamant began to emerge. As the drums continued their
thunder, rank by rank, the enemy appeared, already fully armed and in battle
order.

 Vesarion watched as they spilled out of the forest onto the
open plain in their thousands.  Relentlessly, they streamed from the trees, and
with a sinking heart, he realised that there were even more of them than he had
feared.  The Eskendrians were outnumbered by far. In contrast to the defending
army’s many banners, their enemies carried with them only two  – the coiled snake
on the green background of Adamant and the plain black flag, without symbol or
device, of the Destroyer. Last to emerge into view was the most fearsome of all
– the army of black warriors. Moving with uniform precision, they took up their
positions, each one as tall as the tallest man, with a breadth of shoulder that
suggested great power. Their faces, and their thoughts, if they had any, were
concealed beneath their full-face visors. When they reached their allotted
place in the centre of the line, they simply stopped moving and stood as
motionless as if they had been turned to stone. In the dull light, the rows of
steel visors, gleaming and expressionless, made them look as if they were
beyond the reach of mere mortal weapons. Enrick’s heart quailed when he saw
them and for the first time, he prayed that the powers of the sword of
Erren-dar were more than just a myth.

 After a tense pause, suddenly the drum beats quickened
their pace and the army of Adamant began to move towards them. The still air
carried clearly the heavy tramp of marching boots and the strange rustling,
creaking noise of an army moving to attack position. A few of the rasher
spirits amongst the Eskendrian troops tried to move forwards to meet them, but
were hauled back sharply by their barons, for the King had not given the order
to advance. When the Adamantians came to a halt,  there was only about half a
mile of open plain between them and their opponents. Suddenly, the drums ceased
and silence fell like a icy blow. From behind the ranks of the enemy, a
powerful figure mounted on a black horse appeared. He wore a chainmail hauberk
over which was an armoured shoulder-piece held by a cross-strap. He carried a
round shield emblazoned with a coiled snake and on his head, his visorless
helmet bore the same device in gold around the rim. Although the distance was
too great to make out his features, Vesarion, watching with burning intensity, knew
without a doubt who it was. He remembered well that arrogant posture, that pitiless
scorn, evident in every line of his body. He remembered the look of amused boredom
on Mordrian’s face as his bound prisoner was viciously beaten by his henchman. He
saw once more those amber eyes watching mercilessly as the Scorpion’s Sting had
torn his back to ribbons. And once more, as in the Morass of Engorin, he felt rage
begin to smoulder deep in his gut.