He called himself the Lord of Jarnholme and Tir Tanagiri and High King of all Jarns everywhere, but the best I can say of Arling Gunnarsson is that he was brave enough to stand still and fight back when it came to it. He did not flinch, though I was mounted and he was not, and though he knew he was doomed to die. I did not see the gods Ulf had named come to claim him, but I do not doubt they were gathered around him. I saw them in his eyes when he fell at last. Smitten, withered, spurned, hunted, blinded by his own folly, rent and slain, he died at last, drowning on his own blood. I left him to rot on the field.
Alfwin rallied his troops and Ohtar’s, and they went forward now downhill with new heart, while the men of Jarnholme and Aylsfa faltered. I looked toward the command post for orders, but I could no longer make it out through the rain and mist. I sent a messenger for orders, and gathered the ala around me. I rode off uphill toward the wagon wall so that we could change horses.
Before I came up to it I began riding through fallen armigers and horses. The spear-hurlers and stone-hurlers had found their range here, and many of Urdo’s Own Ala had fallen to them. Everywhere were fallen friends. I saw the doctors tending to Beris, who had a spear through her arm. A little way on up the hill I saw Masarn on the ground, wounded but still alive, with some of his armigers around him. Elwith signaled that I was needed, so I rode over and dismounted. I handed an armiger Brighteyes’ reins and knelt in the mud by Masarn.
His legs had been crushed by a great stone flung by a war machine. There was clearly no hope of survival. The part of my mind that was calm was surprised he wasn’t dead already.
“Ap Gwien!” he was murmuring. “Tell ap Gwien,” he said, looking straight up at me.
“I’m here, Masarn,” I said. “What is it? Tell me what?”
“Tell ap Gwien I did it. I take full responsibility,” he said. “She will understand. I hope.”
“I understand, Masarn,” I said, though I didn’t have the faintest idea what he was talking about. I don’t know if he heard me, or if he even knew I was there.
“Oh, Sulien!” he said, sounding exasperated and pleased at the same time. Then the life went out of him as he was speaking. Although his eyes were open he was no longer behind them.
Another fall of machine-hurled spears came down among us just then. I only just got my shield up in time, and Brighteyes was nicked on the hindquarters. “We need to get away from here; they have the range,” I said. “Take the wounded to safety, and the rest of you ride with me for now.”
I mounted again, biting my lip, and only then wondered who was leading Masarn’s ala. Masarn was the tribuno, really; Urdo was the praefecto and he was at the command post. Then, too late, I understood what he had wanted to tell me. Darien was the signifer. He must be leading them.
We still needed to change horses. I led the ala on uphill. When we came to the wagon wall we found Angas’s ala pressing it hard, and Darien leading what was left of Masarn’s ala, about three pennons’ worth. I saw Ulf and Rigol in decurios’ positions. I signaled for trumpets to be blown and we charged in support. The horses were very tired and we didn’t have much speed, but Angas’s ala turned and fought us. They were fresher than we were, they were as good as we were, and almost every pair of eyes that met mine over a spear had laughed with me in better times. I saw ap Cathvan come howling toward me on the left; ap Madog took him down. Each moment was a bitter struggle. I tried to direct the ala as best I could, but the fight soon degenerated into a furious skirmish. When they eventually withdrew and rallied we had lost many armigers and horses. So had they, of course. I had not seen Angas himself during the fight, but I caught sight of him as they rallied. He had lost his helmet in the fighting and had a cut on his temple. His jaw was set and his eyes shadowed.
I desperately wanted to charge again, but changing horses was now a necessity. Brighteyes was sweating and laboring to breathe. Angas was trapped where he was, between us, the wagon wall, and the command post. I could see it now, but there were no signals for me, all of them concerned the battle below. I had no idea what was happening down there. I did not want to send for Luth or Cadraith in case they were needed more where they were. The levies by the wagons were looking mauled, but had held. I saw Emer, still mounted, and unscathed so far. I signaled for the grooms to bring up our spare horses. Once we had them we could take Angas. Even though we had lost so many, with what was left of Urdo’s Own Ala reinforcing us I had a full-strength ala. As the horses were led out I called Darien, Ulf, and Rigol over to explain where they were to fit.
We had changed horses in battle and in practice hundreds of times. It was something we could do almost without thinking. I kept four pennons mounted, the three newcomers and my own, between those changing horses and Angas, so that he could not charge unexpectedly and take us by surprise while we were unhorsed. He did not charge but sat there, staring at me and Darien as we spoke. Then, as our fresh horses were led up, and as three remounted pennons started to come through to be in front of us, he raised his banners and charged, not toward us but directly away, reversing their direction, toward the command post.
I should have known what he had been planning. It was like a nightmare. Practiced order became churning chaos. Brighteyes just didn’t have a charge left in him. I threw myself onto Glimmer’s back and spurred him after Angas. Darien and Rigol and I were in front and the rest of the ala followed close behind. We went as fast as we could, and were soon on their heels.
Urdo was as well defended as he could have been. Ohtar, Alfwin, and Atha had all sent troops to extend his regular bodyguard, all of them house lords, all of them strong and valiant veterans. I looked at that line of shield wall as I came near them and thought how strange it was that they were our side being charged by an enemy ala, not enemy that I was charging. They were mostly heavily bearded pale-skinned Jarnish faces, with a sprinkling of people from the levies of Derwen and Segantia, and here and there a blue-painted Isarnagan. They stood as firm as they could against Angas’s onslaught, spears ready against the horses.
Just before I reached the line I saw Angas break through them and then fall, his horse killed under him. Glimmer stumbled over Angas’s fallen horse. I leapt clear as he fell and almost fell myself from the shock as my legs hit the ground. I ran on through the mud.
I was in the gap right behind Angas, who was cut off from his ala. I was only a few steps behind, but Urdo was in front of him and everything was happening horribly slowly. Angas had his long ax in his hands, the one Thurrig had been teaching him to use when I had first come to the ala. Urdo had his sword, the one the goddess had given him on the top of Foreth. My lungs were burning as I ran. Angas swung his ax forward toward Urdo’s head and Urdo turned to punch block the ax head with his shieldrim. He almost made it; he was strong and fast, and he might have spitted Angas before he could get in another blow. But he turned too far on the wet grass. The ax came down on his shoulder and on down past his collar bone, before I was there to stop it.
In battle there is no time to mourn and in this life there is no undoing.
Urdo slid to the ground, dead, or so near to death that there was no chance of recovery. Angas froze as the stroke went home, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he had done. As Urdo’s body touched the ground, he dissolved into it as if he were rain. Where he had fallen there was no sign that anyone had ever been there. In that instant I reached Angas, who was still staring. Darien reached him in that same moment, and he would have died then if his ala hadn’t come up around us. I got in one good slash at his leg before someone flung himself off his horse between us. We were very hard pressed there for a little while. Darien and Ulf and Rigol and I made a stand back to back over the place where Urdo had fallen. The ground was slippery with mud and blood. We had most of an ala coming against us, most of Urdo’s defenders were down already. Rigol fell, and Ulf took a blow in his side which slowed him considerably. Then Govien brought my ala up and relieved the pressure. After a while what was left of Angas’s a
la fled as Cadraith’s ala came up and chased them off.
Only then, when there was no enemy immediately in front of me, could I look to Urdo. He was there, lying on the ground, looking up at me, smiling a little, certainly wounded but seeming alive. Then I blinked, and looking again I saw only a pile of damp leaves, shaped vaguely like someone lying down. Cadraith had dismounted and was kneeling beside Urdo, weeping. I was too amazed to move for a moment. I could see Urdo and the leaves together or separately, as if they were both there and both as real as the rain on my face. Urdo signaled for Darien, who went to him and knelt. Then he looked around. He did not move his head. Only his eyes moved. “Raul?” he asked, as if forming the word was a great effort.
Raul had been in the command post, and I feared the worst. But he came limping up. Angas’s ala had concentrated on the place where I had been, and more of the defenders were alive than I had guessed. Raul’s hood was back and his sparse hair was soaked on his head. He bent down to Urdo, who said something to him quietly.
“Garah?” Urdo said, and again his eyes moved, and Garah came up from behind him. I knew he could see her before he possibly could have seen her if he had been looking out of his eyes. I could hardly breathe.
“Alfwin?” he said. “No, too far. Cynrig will witness for the Jarns.” Cynrig dismounted and came forward. Unlike most of the ala, he didn’t have a scratch on him.
Urdo smiled, and before Cadraith and myself, before Raul and Garah and Cynrig, before the remaining members of the militia and the waiting circle of the ala, he took Darien’s hand. The rain slackened as he did so and became a light haze, the way it had been in the early morning.
“Let this be heard,” he said, raising his hands palms up and then down, just above the ground. “Here between earth and sky, bound by my own will, to promises, to expectations, I, Urdo ap Avren ap Emrys, High King, offer you my heir, Darien Suliensson. Hear me, my princes, my people, and all gods of earth and sky and home and hearth and kindreds of people, and hear this, White God Ever Merciful, who holds all oaths.” He paused, and seemed to draw breath, but the breath he drew was the wind that sighed around us. The rain had stopped entirely. “I offer Darien Suliensson to you as High King of Tir Tanagiri, and as War-leader of this island, and I tell you he has the right of birth; the blood of Vinca runs in his veins, and the blood of the ancient Tanagan kings, and the blood of the kings of the Jarns. What is more, he will keep the Peace and the Law I have established for my land and my people, he is my heir and my considered choice. Will you have him?”
We all roared our acclamation. “Darien!” we shouted. The clouds parted to the west and a few rays of late-afternoon sun came through.
Darien stood, and pulled off his helmet. There were tears on his face, but he looked like a grave young god. “I do not know how I shall serve as king, but I shall do the best I can,” he said. We roared again, though my throat was tight and my eyes were burning.
I looked back to Urdo and again saw nothing but a pile of leaves and twigs. Nobody else seemed to see anything unusual. Then I could see Urdo there again and he gave me a hand signal to come up.
“We must find out what is happening with the battle and fight on,” Darien said, and began giving a series of sensible orders.
I walked over to Urdo and knelt beside him. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t know what; it seemed as if I had said everything already or that what I wanted to say could never be said. I didn’t even know if he was there or if what was happening was the land gods doing what they could for Tir Tanagiri. He had sworn by his name, but I could see that what he was now was part of the bones of the land. Still, he was Urdo, my king, looking at me with patience and confidence. I know he saw me and understood me, as he always had. I still couldn’t speak, nor weep either. I put my hand on his and under the leaves I felt the hilt of his sword. I knew what he wanted then. I took it and laid my bloodied and battered sword at his side. Raul looked at me curiously but said nothing. I don’t know what I would have done if he had tried to stop me.
The groom had brought me Glimmer, who had not been hurt in his fall. I mounted and took my place in the ala. We went back to the battle. Angas’s ala had taken refuge in the farm. Guthrum and some of Ayl’s men were still holding the bridge. Flavien and Cinvar and Cinon were fighting against Alfwin and our infantry in the center. Custennin and Marchel were dead. Gorai and Thurrig were holding out at the ships. The flame thrower was entirely destroyed, but the rest of the machines were still a danger.
I was told we fought on until darkness forced us to a halt. I was told we charged three more times, and Govien organized Galba’s ala as well as any tribuno could, until he was too badly wounded to ride. I was told that I screamed like a demon and slew hundreds of enemies (and some old friends who had changed sides) without hesitating or getting a scratch myself or even getting the sword bloody. It may be so. It may even have given me some comfort at the time. It’s gone now though, except for what people have told me since. I don’t remember a thing about the rest of the day after getting up on Glimmer’s back, gritting my teeth, and settling Urdo’s sword in my hand.
— 20 —
The weakness of monarchy lies in the character of the king. It lies in the hands of the gods to send us the king we deserve.
— Aristokles of Lossia, “The Just City”
My son Anlaf will become king of Bereich, if the land consents,” Alfwin was saying. I couldn’t quite remember why I was lying on the grass, but I wasn’t uncomfortable. “He is there already. As for the land around Thanarvlid, Alswith can hold it until her son is old enough.”
“Alswith can hold it in her own right, and her son after her,” Darien said. I opened my eyes. It was night. In front of me, Darien, Alfwin, Raul, Emer, and a group of people were clustering around a lantern.
“It is not our custom,” Alfwin said. He had a bandage around his leg and he looked even paler than usual.
“I know that,” Darien said patiently. “But it is not your custom that a woman should ride to war and avenge her father and her husband, and Alswith has done that. The land was given to her and to ap Erbin together, it is not the land of his ancestors where she is a stranger. She is of the royal kin of Tevin. She has the skills. In Tir Tanagiri she can be a king, and she shall be.”
“We are in this land now,” Alfwin said, agreeing, and although he was speaking Tanagan he used the Jarnish word for land.
I sat up, carefully. I did not seem to be wounded anywhere. “Have we won or lost?” I asked.
They all turned immediately toward me. “That is what we are trying to determine,” Raul said.
“We don’t know where all of them are,” Darien said. “Urdo is—” He hesitated, and I knew that he knew what I knew. “Very near to death. Ap Erbin is dead, and Ohtar, and Custennin. We have lost many of our troops. More than half. But they have lost more, two thirds perhaps. As well as the kings you killed, Marchel is dead. We think Flavien is alive, at least his forces retreated in some order. We don’t know where Cinon is; he may be dead and unnoticed. Guthrum was still holding out on the bridge when we called a night-truce. Angas and what is left of his ala are still in the farm.”
“What about Morthu?” I asked.
“Nobody has seen him all day,” Emer said.
I grimaced. “And how about Cinvar?”
There was an uneasy silence for a moment, and they exchanged glances. After a moment Darien spoke. “You killed Cinvar,” he said gently. “You killed three kings with your own hand today. It will be remembered forever.”
Remembered forever, even if I didn’t remember doing it. I didn’t even particularly care about Cinvar, who was an idiot. “It wasn’t enough, if Morthu’s still alive,” I said.
Darien raised his chin.
A messenger came running up. “Father Cinwil wants to speak to someone,” he said, his words falling over themselves in his hurry.
“Where has he come from?” Darien asked, without hesitation.
 
; “From the bridge,” the messenger said.
“Then speak to him, Raul,” Darien said. “Tell him we will take Guthrum’s surrender if he will return to the Peace. When we have done that we will have the more difficult task of dealing with Angas.”
There was some coming and going then as Raul and Father Cinwil negotiated. Atha came and spoke to us. She asked how Urdo was, and Darien told her he was near death. “I must go and sing the elder charm over my people,” she said as she left us.
“Does the curse still hold?” I asked. The looks on their faces were enough to tell me it did. I pulled myself to my feet. “I should go to the sick tents.”
The first person I saw there was Ulf. Ap Darel was sewing up the gash in his side and berating him for fighting on all day with it. I tried the charm against weapon-rot and felt the same block that had been there all this time. The elder charm worked, and soon I was back in the routine of the sick tents, moving from comrade to comrade, singing the charm, exchanging a few encouraging words, and moving on. Padarn was there, and Beris and Govien and many other old friends. It seemed everyone wanted to ask me about Darien, whether the sun had really come out when Urdo proclaimed him his heir and whether he was really High King now. They wanted to know if they should call him Darien ap Urdo or Darien Suliensson. I told them they would have to ask him.
I came across Thurrig in the third row of the walking wounded. I was more pleased to see him than I could have said. “What brings you here, you old pirate?” I asked.
“Just scratches,” he said dismissively. “Barely that. I wouldn’t be here if not for the terrible stories people are telling about a curse that makes any scratch go bad and kill you.”
“Not if I can help it,” I said, and sang the elder charm over his cuts, which were more than scratches but none of them serious. “I saw you getting out of the boats with Custennin,” I said.
“Undecided to the last minute, as always,” Thurrig said, and gave a great rumbling laugh. “Linwen and Dewin would have kept him in Caer Thanbard until things were sure. Young Gorai wanted to fight for Urdo and Peace and Honor and his uncle ap Erbin, the hero. He needs his romantic notions knocking out of him, but he’ll be a better king than ever his father was even so. Custennin knew he wanted to do something, but he wasn’t sure what. He thought he might want to join the rebels and fight for the White God. Well, he’s safely praising him now. We wrangled all the way upriver. It’s hard in civil war when you have friends on both sides. I didn’t make up my own mind until I saw Marchel coming towards me, looking to profit by her oath-breaking. Well, she’s learned better now. I don’t know what made her think I’d taught her all my tricks.”