The Shadow Roads

Forty-four

Menwyn kept his hands clasped behind his back lest theirtrembling betray his fear. As the night deepened, his anxieties intensified.The call of an owl seemed a bad omen to him, and the relentless creaking of thecrickets was a torment almost beyond enduring.

“Is there no sign of the Renne?” he asked his lieutenant forthe hundredth time.

“None, sir.”

Menwyn glanced up at the sky. Dawn could not be far off. “Couldthe Renne have been warned?”

“There is still time,” one of the noblemen said.

A rider came thundering up the valley in defiance of allorders.

“Who is that blunderer?” Menwyn snapped.

“I don’t know, your grace,” a junior officer responded. “Butwe’ll find out.” He ran to intercept the rider, and in a moment brought theman, flushed and gasping, back to Lord Menwyn.

“Well?” Menwyn said, trying to keep his voice low despitehis anger.

“Your grace …” the man managed between gasps. “A companyof riders comes down the valley.” He pointed back the way he had come. “Black-cladriders. It is Sir Eremon, and he is gathering companies to him as he nears.”

There was no hope now of keeping his hands still. They flewup like fluttering birds. “Is no one resisting?”

The man shook his head. “As he comes he is calling out thatthe Renne are behind him, that we must form up and turn to fight.”

“It is a lie! A ruse to frighten the men-at-arms intojoining him.”

“Your grace …” the man said softly. “There is a largeforce coming down the valley not far behind Sir Eremon.”

“No,” Menwyn said stupidly. “Vast told us they would be landinghere. Here … at the mouth of the Llynyth.”

The sounds of horses reached him then.

“Form a mounted company!” Menwyn shouted. “Hafydd must bemet on the field! Did you hear?”

But no one moved to deliver his order. A dozen men broke andran for their horses-officers and noblemen.

“Cut them down!” Menwyn ordered. “No one deserts his post onpain of death!”

Chaos erupted around him, men running this way and that, scufflingover horses. Swords were drawn, and fighting broke out.

“Your grace!” It was Menwyn’s equerry, holding the reins ofa horse, blood running down his face. “You must go to Prince Michael. He’s ouronly hope.” Menwyn hesitated, unable to believe what happened around him. Menwere killing each other over mounts. He caught sight of the approaching ridersthen-torches bobbing in the darkness illuminating the black horsemen.

Death himself would appear so, Menwyn thought.

He snatched the reins from his equerry, vaulted into thesaddle, and, drawing his sword, rode off into the darkness.

Another company of riders could be heard far up the valley.This second force was much larger than the first they had seen, passing likeshadows.

“Why is Menwyn moving riders into the draw now?” the Princewhispered to those around him. He looked up at the sky which he thought showedsome sign of growing light. “The Renne can’t help but hear all this. They willknow we’re here.”

“This is a very large company,” Pwyll said turning his headto listen. “Has Menwyn been hiding cavalry from us?”

Four horsemen loomed out of the dark and spoke the passwordsto Prince Michael’s guards.

“Ah,” the prince said. “Now we’ll learn what goes on.”

One of his guards ran up. “Your grace,” he said. “Lord Menwyn.”

Michael glanced over at Pwyll, who seemed as surprised ashe. Lord Menwyn was led quickly through the circle of guards.

The Wills nobleman ignored all polite convention, stridingup to Michael. “Hafydd has returned!” he hissed. “Returned and seized controlof my army. Vast betrayed us …” Menwyn gestured wildly up the valley. “TheRenne are at our backs.”

No one responded, or even moved. Menwyn stepped closer toPrince Michael.

“You must attack Hafydd, Prince Michael. If he survives thisnight there is no place where we can hide from him.”

“But this army wants revenge upon the Renne,” T’oldor protested.

“The desire for revenge has led us to this pass!” Michaelsaid angrily. “No plague has ever caused more suffering or spread its contagionmore easily.” He turned to his officers. “I will go from company to company.The men must understand that we take up arms against a sorcerer to preservemore than our lives. It is to preserve the world we know.”

A great echoing clash resounded down the valley as the Rennearmy met Hafydd’s force.

“There is no time!” Lord Menwyn protested, grabbing thePrince’s arm.

Michael shook him off. “There is no other way.” He snatcheda newly lit torch away from a guard, but before he’d gone many steps hestopped. Turning back to the others, he pointed at Menwyn. “Put this man in theforefront of the cavalry and be sure he has a sword.”

“But I am Menwyn Wills-”

“Yes, and you are as responsible as any for the plight wefind ourselves in this night. All the suffering your conspiracies have caused,and you thought never to pay the cost.”

Vast rode in the center of a small company of Renne guards.They’d taken his sword, stripped him of his mail, and tied him to his saddle,leaving his hands free. He was wearing a surcoat of Renne blue so that his ownallies would kill him. The Duke found himself wondering how long he would lastin battle. Perhaps the Renne had laid bets. Certainly a few moments would seehis end. He thought tenderly of his wife then. Of their palace and gardens. Ofthe fields where he liked to ride and see the grains grow.

Torches appeared ahead. A bit of light made shadows out ofdarkness. And then a line of horsemen loomed out of the night. The Renne letout a great shout, and the two lines of cavalry struck like a hammer to ananvil.

There was fighting all around. Vast ducked his head andwheeled his horse. He saw a man in a Wills surcoat raise his sword to deliver astroke to a Renne and he tore the blade from the man’s hand, knocking him fromthe saddle with a blow to his helm.

He turned his horse in time to parry a slash from anotherWills rider. In desperation he cut the man down. The irony was not lost on him.He was fighting for the Renne whom he had tried to betray. Fondor wasn’t sucha ponderous fool after all.

Michael of Innes rode down into the valley at the head ofhis reluctant army. No one knew if they would engage the enemy or turn andflee the field. Perhaps the men-at-arms didn’t know themselves. Michael foundair came into his lungs in shallow gasps. If the army would not fight he wouldbe left alone on the field with a handful of loyal men, all of whom would soonbe dead.

I survived the servants of Death, he told himself. Armedmen cannot frighten me. But he was frightened all the same.Frightened of the darkness, of sorcery, of the shadow land that lay just out ofsight of the living.

Down the valley, a terrible battle was being fought. At thisdistance, in the poor light, it was difficult to be sure what went on, but thebattle was moving away from the river, and he was sure that wasn’t a good sign.The Renne were being driven back, slowly, relentlessly, despite having theelement of surprise and superior numbers. In the thick of the battle, what hadat first appeared to be a waving torch, the prince now realized, was a flamingsword, cutting this way and that. Hafydd.

Bodies began to appear on the ground, their limbs twisted,as though they had been thrown down from the sky. Riderless horses gallopedamong the dead, frightened and lost. Little knots of wounded staggered past,bearing each other up, and the clash of arms could be felt now, like blows tothe chest.

Michael raised his sword and glanced to his left, where CarlA’denne did the same. To his right, Pwyll took up their cry, lowering a lance.They spurred their horses forward, and behind he heard their cry echoed. Itseemed to carry him forward, almost lifting him from the saddle. And they wereupon the rear of Hafydd’s army. The Renne line had broken, and they fought inisolated companies, the sky-blue of the Renne surrounded and assailed by eveningblue.

The army of Innes fell upon the forces of evening and thesmall companies of black clad guards. The Prince cut down his first man,throwing him from the saddle, then caused his horse to kick another, the shodhooves snapping a rider’s leg. A black guard appeared before him, and thePrince’s guard divided before him, the fear of Hafydd’s magic clinging even tohis servants.

The rider fell upon the Prince, strong and skilled. Michaelwas driven back, parrying each stroke, the sword almost flung from his hand. Hequickly realized that he’d met a superior swordsman and rider when a secondblack guard appeared and attacked him from the other side. The Prince spun hishorse and slashed this way and that, looking for a chance to flee, for thesetwo would kill him in a moment. But then a horseman of Innes appeared, and oneblack guard was thrown down and trampled. It was Pwyll, Michael realized, asthe knight engaged the second rider, forcing him back, countering every trickthe man used. In a moment the second guard was lying on the ground, bleeding,unable to rise.

“You saved my life, Pwyll,” Michael called out.

“You may not thank me,” Pwyll shouted over the din. Hepointed with his blade. Among the whirling dust and smoke from torches, PrinceMichael saw Hafydd bearing down on them, his sword ablaze. Men fled before him,and a company of black guards rode behind, falling on the fleeing men frombehind, slaying all in their path.

A black guard rode at the Prince and Pwyll, perhapsexpecting them to turn and run, but Pwyll cut the man from his saddle withthree quick strokes, then, using the flat of his blade, he drove the man’shorse back into Hafydd. The two animals collided, and as Hafydd tried tocontrol his mount, Pwyll took out its eye with the point of his blade.

The warhorse stumbled and fell, Hafydd going down in a sheetof flame. The sorcerer’s guards drove desperately toward Pwyll, but Michael anda handful of other riders pressed forward to meet them. Pwyll tried to rideover the fallen Hafydd, but the sorcerer held the horse back with his flamingsword as he staggered up.

Pwyll would have engaged Hafydd, but his horse kept shyingfrom the flames and the presence of the sorcerer. Pwyll finally leapt down andlet the horse run. He strode toward Hafydd with his sword high.

“So there is one man among you,” Hafydd called out. “Too badyou fight for the wrong lord.” The sorcerer raised his blade and in one quickmotion threw flames over Pwyll, setting his surcoat afire.

Hafydd stepped quickly forward to finish the knight, but evenaflame Pwyll raised his own blade and turned the blow aside. He staggered back,then desperately tried to wipe flame away from his face. The sorcerer cameforward again, watching, awaiting a clear opportunity. Pwyll could no longersee and stumbled back, almost falling.

Michael saw Carl A’denne jump from the saddle and go afterPwyll. Michael spun his horse and made it kick, its hind legs lashing out towardHafydd, the flame hidden from its view. Once, twice the horse kicked, and LordCarl tore away Pwyll’s surcoat and led him, running blind, away. Prince Michaelspurred his horse then, out of the reach of Hafydd’s sword.

He rode into the darkness and the chaotic fighting andkilled a Wills man-at-arms who had engaged one of his own riders. It hardlymattered; if no one could face Hafydd, he would carry the day. Already he couldsee men breaking and running. Flame caught in the grass and the trees along thevalley’s edge. A small barn burned not far off, and smoke lay in the valleylike morning fog. He realized then that defeat was certain. It was only amatter of when.