He’s dead. They are going to want me to take his place.
This is the perfection of solitude.
Unbearable? But punchkins are tough.
*
Anyway, just to remind the reader of the fifteen companions who set off with Swin, and to say a little about the ones who have not yet been introduced:
Dreng was his second-in-command, Swin calling him his marshal; and Lady Bryd (for so they all called her, holding her in highest honour) at first looked after the needs of the company.
Prince Dulinir is sufficiently well known. Prince Thoronhir, the second eldest brother, was unlike him in every way: a stern-faced, keen-eyed young man who seldom spoke and never laughed at all. Yet there was great love between these two, and Thoronhir often beat the drum while Dulinir played on his war-harp, during the riding of Swin’s company or in the village meeting-places where they stopped to recruit. Then, though the face of Thoronhir was grave, his restless spirit was plainly seen in the dance of the sticks, or the slapping of his palms on the hide; and the music roused the ardour of all hearers, and the young men flocked to Swin’s banner.
The names of the ten retainers whom Athelstan had commanded to follow Swin, and whom Swin now spoke of as his knights, are recorded with honour.
Heoden, the eldest, rode on the wagon as the steward of Swin’s treasury.
Sigehere, tall and valiant, bore the standard.
The two brothers, Breca and Gifeca, fell in Swin’s second fight, known as the Battle of Belechel Ford.
Billing was the strongest and most dangerous man in battle after Swin himself.
Red-haired Wald, merry and short, rose to be one of Swin’s chief commanders, and Swin always had a fondness for him.
Wulfstan was a man of the Foro like Dreng, but unlike him was learned in heraldry and the military customs of the North.
Marchalf, known as a lover of horses, fell in the third battle.
Oswine, courteous and valiant, loved Swin with a special devotion, like that of Melohtar; but no evil came of this.
Sheaf the true-hearted rode last of the ten, and he too died in the third battle; but he would rather have stayed behind and died with King Athelstan, for Athelstan loved him and had revealed to him (alone of Swin’s companions) the full secret of his intention. Sheaf was the only one of the company who often turned to look back the way they had come, as if his gaze could overleap the hills, alight on Bridburg and pierce through the dark shroud of grief and shock that now hung over the castle. Sometimes, however, Prince Thoronhir rode with him, and then the two spoke together in low voices, Athelstan having commanded Sheaf to reveal the secret to Thoronhir alone. Then Thoronhir’s eyes gleamed darkly as he brooded on sin and expiation, while the last of the company, who rode silent and sullen, came up behind them and tried to overhear their talk.
This was Berven the Priest. He had beheld the dragon’s death and was now commanded to return to Lord Lefnui to vouch for Swin as the true dragon-slayer; for though the tidings of Fëaruk’s death had now run beyond the bounds of Enaderth, it was likely that Lefnui would want a trustworthy eye-witness.
It was August now: the harvest was still going on, but the summer was ripening to its end. The mountain-ashes had turned blood-red, and the swallows were gathering, the martens swooping and wheeling above the meadows like sudden dark doubts. It could not but be that some of the company had private misgivings about their enterprise, however warm the welcomes they received, however joyful the tidings they had to tell, however exciting the beat of Thoronhir’s drum. Beyond the obvious question – what could such a tiny handful hope to achieve against the might of a great kingdom? – Swin himself had a bad new worry, of which he said nothing at all to anyone. Also there continued to be a prickly soreness between him and Dreng which could sometimes seem like an unwelcome intimacy of bodies. Often, as they rode together, Swin listening to Dreng’s talk about his campaigns in the deserts and the Arid Mountains, the skin along Swin’s side, next to Dreng, would crawl. Dreng’s manner to him was exactly the same as to everyone else – dry, brisk, a little harsh – yet this made a marked difference, for Dreng was the only one of the company to withhold from Swin the least measure of admiration. Swin was now treated with deference by the Princes and Bryd, regarded with a certain awe by the ten knights and gazed at with adoration by the growing band of his followers. Seeing this, Swin judged that it was inevitable and probably an advantage. His leadership would not be questioned unless he made a few bad mistakes. And with hindsight it may be added that this hero-worship was to do him no harm; he did not get puffed up; his experiences and trials had been such as to give him a modest and firmly-grounded opinion of himself. Indeed the adoration made him feel a little uncomfortable. Being a hero to these younger men, how could he ever be seen for what he truly was? Thoronhir truly saw him, no doubt, with those keen eyes of his, but Thoronhir kept aloof with inscrutable elvishness: he would never become a friend. In these circumstances Dreng’s brusque manner, which might have struck an outsider as openly disrespectful, was at times strangely reassuring despite all the unpleasant tensions. Yet Dreng also seemed more like an enemy, sometimes, than a friend.
Once, while struggling with these complexities, Swin encountered Bryd in the evening, away from the camp, in the twilight of the woods. Abruptly the words, ‘Does he know?’ burst out of him.
She looked at him for a moment, then sadly nodded.
‘Everything?’ he asked urgently. ‘All the cruelty I gave you?’
Perhaps she blushed. ‘Yes, Lord Eofor,’ was her quiet answer.
‘Sometimes he seems to hate me. And he himself has warned me to trust nobody. Will he betray me?’
‘Oh no,’ she answered, startled. ‘Never. You’re doing him an injustice. You can rely on him to the utmost.’
‘Yet I am no friend of his.’
‘No, I’m afraid not.’
‘Then why should I trust him?’
‘Surely he’s told you: because of Fuindis? He now understands the ways of Caras Gulwen – enough to respect the knighthood she’s given you, and all that it implies – your strength, your suffering, your destiny. He knows that you are the one to save our people. He won’t betray you, Swin.’
Swin heaved a great sigh. ‘But he’s no friend. Bryd, I so need a friend I can trust!’
He took half a step towards her, holding out his hands as he spoke; but she stepped back warily. ‘Indeed, my lord, I hope you may find one,’ she replied, and curtseyed formally, and left him.
For a while he stood in the dimness of the tangled wood, and from then on he kept all his anxieties to himself. But he did come to rely fully on his marshal. They fought together, and Dreng taught Swin something of the soldier’s art, enough to get him started as a general; and Swin never forgot the debt.
Now there was more to be talked of, even before the company had reached the marshes below the Rediath. The skeleton of an army had to be built up and the young recruits trained for battle. Athelstan had given Swin permission to take up to five hundred Enaderthians. Swin, at first unable to imagine himself riding at the head of such a multitude, had laughed and said, ‘Sounds ambitious!’ Subsequently, recalling the numbers of Queen Gauriel’s armies and the odds against which he would have to contend, he had felt that the amount was pitifully inadequate. Now, journeying north-west, he saw that it was both prudent and generous. Enaderth was sparsely populated, with fewer than twenty thousand of human kind: Athelstan was allowing him to take about a quarter of the young men, and these might be the best of them. In market-place and village square, they flocked in to see the great standard of the Boar, the work of Bryd and Maewiel’s women, that fluttered as proudly and nobly as any banner of the Long Age. Harp and drum added their magic to the glamour of the Dragon-slayer’s fame and presence while the youngsters, led forward one at a time, looked bashfully into the faces of Swin and Dreng. Those accepted – it greatly helped your chance of being accepted if you could show some sort of passable weapon – were required to touch the hilts of Lydagnir, to swear loyalty to Lord Eofor and to acknowledge him as the rightful king of the northern lands. They then ran home to break the news to their parents, whether the latter were resigned or lamenting or indignant; and a few garments and belongings were rolled up in a blanket, to be slung on the back of another follower of the Red Boar.
So it was a high-spirited, but motley and at first undisciplined troop that tramped after the mounted leaders. Provisions and drink were easy to buy, but arms and armour were scarce in Enaderth. Shaking his head, Dreng found leatherworkers and paid them to cobble shields and helmets, and he gave the army two hours of practice every day. As the drill and the evolutions were going through, Swin watched and listened. Athelstan had given Swin two wagon-loads of steel pike-heads, the work of the Dwarves. Once mounted on wooden shafts, these would provide some defence against the Queen’s mounted regiments. But the great advantage of this first stage was that there was no need for secrecy. Besides enlivening the marching and the recruiting with their music, the sons of Athelstan had a more important contribution to make: they now rode far ahead on their swift horses, meeting their friends, the Elves, and weaving a wide network of scouts who roamed ahead of the little army. No northern spy could slip over the mountains, nor could any betrayer carry news of the impending invasion. The young soldiers sang lustily as they marched, and when they grew tired the untiring drum still urged them forward down into the next valley, along the next stretch of the dusty track, around the next hill and towards the next prospect of the approaching mountains.
Among the leaders there was discussion of plans, of the ways that led north, north-east and north-west through Daelum, of the slave-settlements and the new local barons who might be more or less willing to join a claimant to the throne. Of these, Lord Megiluin was now the overlord. The latest dispatches said that he was encamped in Undor with an army twelve thousand strong, ready to invade Enaderth from the west – maybe having struck out already. But Western Enaderth was almost unpopulated, though holding many traps for invaders, and Swin could observe with fair truth that this was a stroke of luck: Megiluin must be fought sooner or later, but it was very convenient to have him out of the way for now. Lord Lefnui, however, still ruled the eastern end of Daelum. Swin and Dreng recalled the advice of Nabbi the Dwarf. It was decided that the host should march eastward once they had crossed the mountains.
They turned their backs on the farms and the woods, passed cautiously but safely through the marshland, which was at its driest and easiest at the end of the summer, and then settled into the first of the long steep rises. Threading their way in single file, past green slopes sprinkled with glorious flowers, along narrow spurs and back and forth up precipitous ascents; into rugged valleys, strewn with smashed rocks, the rubble of old avalanches, and alive with a myriad noisy streams; up further, towards the high and grimmer plateaux, where the glacier thrust its bleak, grey-green fist down from the unstable ice-fields; upwards and onwards they marched, through terror and splendour and desolation, and so to the highest pass of all, a silent canyon where the whispering drum seemed to speak with a power that must resound throughout all the realms of Midyard, even to the ears of Queen Gauriel on her throne.
On the eleventh day of August the army saw the whole rich land of Daelum spread out before them in the evening light.
Next morning word came in from the scouts: a detachment of troops, Lefnui’s men, was coming over the lower slopes. Swin edged forward carefully, wanting to get close to the enemy without allowing them to become aware of him. There were no mountain-dwellers on the northern side of the Rediath, for the Elves still haunted it; the two regiments of Lefnui’s command, one of which would patrol the territory while the other rested and refurbished in barracks, were accustomed to march through the lower hills, where the trees were less threatening. By the evening of that same day the two armies were three miles apart. Lefnui’s commander had occupied a fortified camp on a low hill, one that was regularly used and gave good views of the country all around. The ditch and the stockade, however, would afford only limited protection.
‘Well, the fun begins tomorrow, my friends,’ said Swin cheerfully over a cold scanty dinner. The cheerfulness was quite genuine: he was looking forward to this test, and the difficulty of fighting and winning an actual battle seemed like the least of his worries. And the cheerfulness was helpful; morale and provisions were both low, and no doubt many of his lads were wondering what fate awaited them on the morrow. He had allowed no lights since coming into contact with the enemy, but a yellow August moon, once again just past the full, shone down on the hillside. ‘What do you advise for us, Lord Dreng?’
‘Attack half an hour before dawn,’ answered Dreng, chewing on a cold bone. ‘Come up the hill on all sides at once. Their sentries will be sleepy. Get all our own boys over the fence. No reserve. Surprise and darkness should work for us.’
‘Can they climb over the stockade in silence?’ asked Swin.
Dreng shrugged. ‘It’s not much over six feet. We’ve got ropes. We can make grapnels. Divide ’em into scaling parties, six men to a party. They can help each other. Some of ’em know the drill... I think we can manage it.’
‘And then, once we’re inside?’
‘Kill the enemy. Stab ’em asleep, bash heads in, quick as possible. Set the place on fire.’
Swin thanked him for this sage counsel. But during the ensuing discussion a few faces were seen to be frowning or down-in-the-mouth. It was Wulfstan who spoke up.
‘Hear me, Lord Eofor!’ said he. ‘I do not like this plan of stealth. Such sudden and secret attacking seems to me little short of murder. When a returning King must slay his enemies, ought he not to slay as a King, with decency, having first honourably declared himself? Desiring to bring justice to your oppressed subjects, you ought to begin by showing justice to your enemies: and thus, though the bending of your bow be harder, yet shall your shaft fly the more truly.’
‘What then do you propose?’ asked Swin, noticing the increased animation that had now come over most of the hearers.
‘Trumpet and parley at dawn,’ said Wulfstan. Dreng gave a snort. Undiscouraged, Wulfstan continued: ‘Display your standard to the commander of their host. Invite him to join you. If he will not, make it known to him as the Queen’s representative that you are at war with her. Having shown yourself a true King, an upholder of law and custom, you may attack, thereafter, as you will.’
Swin made no immediate reply to this. He sat with knitted brows, staring into the tricky, deceptive shapes of moonlight and shadow among the trees. Dreng laughed contemptuously and tossed the bone over his shoulder. ‘Need I say more?’ he inquired.
‘No,’ said a husky voice. ‘Eofor, hear me also.’ They all looked round with some surprise at this new speaker. His voice might well sound unused, for he had hardly spoken since his release from the dungeon. To the same end – that he might serve them as a fully transparent witness for Lord Lefnui – Berven the Priest had been invited to join the council.
‘Speak, friend,’ said Swin.
Berven paused, swallowed nervously and then began: ‘Lord, we – all here – have now been shown thee great signs of your destiny. First, there is the truth of your marvellous resurrection from the dead, promulgated by report and attested by the scars you bear on your body, scars such as have never before been seen in the flesh of living man. Second, the King your uncle has vouchsafed tokens of your descent, having known your father and identified him as the last son of the last true King of the North: of whom the sword Lydagnir, which you now carry, was a famous heirloom. And third, by slaying that old serpent, the corrupt prince of this world, you have proved your own matchless prowess: so much so that I must declare myself also a convert. I believe that the hand of God is upon you, Eofor: you have been made an instrument of the great Purposes that never fail, and therefore you will succeed. You will regain the throne of your fathers. I speak without foresight: merely as a humble believer in the almighty Providence. All the more, therefore, does it behove you to direct your steps in the paths of righteousness, and according to the guidance of Mindir! Heed the good counsel of Wulfstan. Do not listen to talk of night-attacks and grapnels and secret stabbings. Go forth in the light, and walk in the light: and then your footsteps will never fail.’
He ended. After this, all waited in breathless silence. At last Swin replied:
‘My thanks to you, Reverence, as to Wulfstan, to Dreng and to all who have spoken. Some months ago, in this same year, I learned that the advice of a priest does not always lead to good ends, however sincerely he may speak; for truth and wisdom are found not only in the light. Dreng’s counsel seems to me the better. In darkness, therefore, we will go forth.’