They rode down High Street to the main gate. Folk streamed after them, clutching at the men who went past, waving and crying farewell. “Good-by, good-by, good-by—the gods be with you—come back!”
The main army waited beyond the walls. Here there was no such order as the trained guardsmen showed. The men who had come on horses sat together, waiting, and each was equipped with whatever he had brought along, lance and sword and ax slung at rest, armor over plain work-clothes, battered helmets set on shaggy heads. The footmen, who were the bulk of the Dale army, sat or stood as it pleased them, leaning on their pikes and axes, talking among themselves even when the Chief rode up. There was also a train of mule-drawn supply wagons, for Ralph could not plunder the country for food as the Lann did; and three young Doctors were attached to them to guard against sickness and enemy magic. That was all. But that number of men, perhaps five thousand, sprawled far over the valley, hiding the muddy ground and filling the gray air with a murmur of life.
Ralph winded his horn, and certain middle-aged men on horses began to thread through the army, blowing their own signals. These were the shrewd, experienced ones Ralph had chosen to lead the several divisions of his host. Standard-bearers lifted their flags, and slowly, with a vast grumble of movement, the soldiers grouped themselves around their banners.
Ralph and his guardsmen were already under way, trotting down the road to the north, and the great snake of his army uncoiled itself and wound after him. It spilled off the narrow track and into the fields, trampling grain and breaking fences—and no doubt, many a farmstead along the way would be missing a few chickens or a fat pig. But that couldn’t be helped. The main thing was that they were moving!
Carl, riding beside his father, looked back as the fog lifted and the day grew warm. The army was a black mass behind, men walking along at an easy pace, riders plodding at their side, wagons rumbling dustily in the rear. Pikes and lances and banners rose and fell with the slow steady movement, the tramp of many feet quivered faintly in the earth, voices and a snatch of song drifted up. It was not a very military sight, but Carl’s heart lifted with pride. These were free men!
He stopped his pony, letting it graze while the army went by him. As he looked at the mass of them, he saw that the myriad of faces were the faces of men he knew. John, the farmer, riding beside his sons, caught sight of Carl and hailed him. Willy Rattlehead, grinning at a private joke, juggled three balls in the air as he walked. Sam the Trader, richly clad and burned dark by strange suns, steadied his well-muscled bay mare, which was shying at Willy’s juggling balls. Little Jimmy-the-Old, off in worn-out shoes to defend his tiny farm, jumped from the path of the skittish mare. Jack the smith, a hammer carried on one mighty shoulder as his weapon of war, offered to defend little Jimmy-the-Old if he should need it.
Fat Bucko groaned and complained every step of the way, but he kept up with the best. Sly, red-haired Gorda, whom no one called anything but Fox, and bis inseparable friend, the big hairy simpleton Joe, gave a loud cheer when they saw Carl. Martun the Hunter, lean and quiet and buckskin-clad, marched with long springlike steps, gaining a yard for every stride. Black Dan from the south, who had settled here years ago and brought six tall sons with him to the wars, walked beside Martun; neither of them talking and both of them in perfect understanding.
Rich and reckless young Dick, on a half-tamed stallion, pretended to thrust with his sword at Carl. But Rogga the farmer, who wanted only to be left in peace and would fight for the privilege, called him back into line; and slow-spoken gentle old Ansy, the carpenter, who liked Carl and who was equally peaceful, nodded his approval to Rogga.
Carl knew them all, them and many others. They were his blood and bone, a part of this wide, green land, and it was as if the Dales themselves, the very earth, were rising in anger to cast out the strangers. Yes, it was a good sight to see—a better sight than a troop of half-savage Lann, for all their skill and courage.
Carl felt, suddenly, immensely heartened.
What if the magic of the City had failed him? These men were enough. What if the dead hand of taboo had closed heavily down on that vision of wonder he had seen? There would be others days, other ways. Carl broke into song as he rode back toward his father.
Lenard, mounted between four guards, grinned at him. “You seem pretty confident, my friend,” he said.
“I am!” Carl waved his hand at the ranks behind him. “Look there, you. Do you really think these folk, with their hearth-fires at their backs, will yield to you?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.” Lenard shook his head. “You’ve got a lot to learn, Carl. Strength and courage aren’t everything. The Lann have that too, and besides that they have the knowledge of war. You might be as strong as, say, a smith, but even so you couldn’t do his work because you haven’t his training.”
“The Dales have beaten off other foes,” said Carl hotly.
Lenard smiled and made no reply.
The army held a short rest at noon while the cooks prepared food; then they pushed on. Weariness set in. No more talk and song were heard. The grim, dusty slogging over hills and across streams continued endlessly, and when Ralph, at evening, blew the signal to pitch camp, there was one great sigh of relief.
Fires winked and glowed through an enwrapping night. Sentries paced, yawning, watching the slow wheel of the stars for their time of relief. Ralph studied a map by the dim red light of a dying blaze, and held low-voiced conference with his chiefs. Carl tried to stay awake and listen, but his eyes grew too blurred, and he stretched himself in a blanket and slept.
All the next day the rain poured, and the army grumbled to itself as it splashed in wet misery through the mud of fields and roads. That night, the drums of the Doctors throbbed to drive off fever-devils.
On the third day, Ralph’s host entered Scarpia, the wild northern province of his tribe. Here few people dwelt. Only rarely did a lonely cottage rise against a sky of wind-driven clouds, and trees grew thick and gloomy on the rugged backs of steep-sided hills. Crows hovered darkly overhead. Now and again a solitary eagle rode majestic wings above the men, and deer and wild ponies fled as they spied the moving army. Men scrambled up high banks of raw, red earth, forded brawling rivers, crashed their way through tangled underbrush in a roadless land, and many shivered and mumbled spells as they saw the gaunt gray shapes of stones raised long ago by savage woods-runners. But they went on—
Carl was riding with the Chief in midaf ternoon when a horseman galloped up, mud-splashed and panting, to gasp out his word, “The Lann are ahead!”
“How far?” snapped Ralph. Carl’s heart leaped wildly and then settled to a high, steady pounding.
“Two, three miles,” answered the scout. “They’re camped near a big river—thousands of them. They darken the ground!”
“Well—” Ralph looked grim, then turned to his guards with a smile. “Let’s just keep going, then. Pass the word along.”
Carl could see and almost feel the sudden tension in the men as the report went down their ranks. Eyes looked into eyes, wondering how many more suns they would see, hands tightened on the shafts of weapons, horses sensed the uneasiness in their masters and snorted.
Company commanders blew their horns, and the ragged lines drew together. Outriders spread on either side, ranging the woods which gloomed about the army. Feet broke the dull rhythm of travel and quickened, pressing forward.