Roy Dudley THE PLANES OF ANTISTA 1

CHAPTER 1

   Strewn across the grim hill top lay the tumbled walls and ruins of the House of Wyeneth, of Endenall. Wyeth, a Prince of this once mighty House, brooded alone in the ruins, his small force below him in a wooded valley and well hidden. With the forefinger of his right hand, he traced the engraving etched into the Seventh Firestone of Wyeneth, upon Endenall itself. Here rested the power which was the Wyneth's to awaken at need.

   A setting sun nestled upon the Peak on Enisfree, partially shadowing the ragged Hills of Madaun; and tumbled cumulus caught fire across the western sky, burning crimson against a darkening sky. Across a great gulf of a valley to the east, and now dimly visible, rested the haze ridden Hills of Racon, blue with distance and the setting sun.

   This was the land of the Wyneth. Wyeth viewed this war with a grim fatalism. He had fought in the war far too long, seen too many die. So long, that the fighting no longer held any of fear or much of anger; but did summon a grim determination to sell his life dearly, to die honorably. The war was lost, finished, but there would be more of dying before it ended. The Wyneth would never surrender.

   Wyeth spotted a young warrior climbing noiselessly to his elevated position. To one not as wary and alert as Wyeth, the man might well have climbed unseen. However, Wyeth had spent his young life in relentless warfare and watched the youth approvingly. Stealth, skill and surprise were the strengths of the Wyneth. All were adept at it, or they died. Wyeth sighed. And sometimes they died anyway.

   The youth materialized from a dark shadow and stopped nearby with never a sound. "Milord," he said and bowed slightly at the waist.

   Wyeth inclined his head in acknowledgement. "And you have found what, Brylle?"

   "Fifty one of them, and them just beyond yon turning of the hills."

   "And them?" Brylle's face became bleak. "The House of Rustrum, milord."

   Wyeth turned to glance at the darkened valley. The turning lay some two miles away, barely visible as darkened shadows in the gloom. If he must die, Rustrum was the one house against which he wished to expend his life.

"You know their disposition?" Wyeth asked, knowing this was a useless question.

   "Aye, milord."

   "The other scouts?"

   "They are here, all of them."

In the dim light and only for a moment, Wyeth studied this young warrior, his warrior companion. "There are but twelve of us," he mentioned mildly.

   "They have but fifty one, milord."

   "Very well, I'll be down soon. Plan on an attack tonight and a break-Off before dawn on the morrow."

   With no men to spare in guarding horses, they left their horses behind, tied on long ropes and scattered across a grassy meadow. The horses could graze uninterrupted and without entangling their tie ropes.

   Wyeth's small troop spread out, stalking the ridges, staying below the skyline and moving without noise, as wary as stalking cats. Each man had been assigned a relative position in the advance and the attack.

   However, these men were individual warriors, each free to use his own initiative, always with the safety of his warrior companions in mind.

   The Wyneth Scout had reported the Rustrum Forces as wary, camped in a sunken ring of stones, and with dying camp fires casting a faint light. These fires would pinpoint their location, and could very well lead to their deaths.

   The Wyneth Warriors were divided into four groups of three. Each of these parties of three formed the basic unit of Wyneth warfare. Each unit was made up of three warrior companions, sworn to each other by oaths of blood and loyalty, and held by a common destiny. There were no closer bonds within the Wyneth.

   The warriors advanced in a wide line abreast and by threes. The terrain was too rough to hold to an even line; and quite often, all Wyeth could see was one of his warrior companions.

   His warrior companions, Brylle and Gaileth, flanking him to either side, stalked the shadows with the rest of the troop spread out, beyond their sight. Quite simply, they sought to find a ring of Rustrum guards before these guards saw them. A faint glow against a ridge of stone marked slumbering fires. The Wyneth halted to come together on Wyeth.

   Although the nominal commander, Wyeth conferred with the warriors in a whispered conference concerning assignments and relative positions.

   They agreed on the normal and established system of calls of warning and alarm familiar to them. The plan was simple, to encircle the fires and creep forward until the guard ring was spotted.

   This stealthy advance and attack against odds was but one of the characteristics which made the Wyneth such deadly foes. The savagery of their attack, plus their uncanny ability to move silently and carry the fight to their enemies, had made them feared adversaries. There were none who could stand against them in an even fight.

   The Wyneth broke apart into the usual groups of three, disappearing into the darkness like wraiths. Wyeth dropped to the ground and felt his way forward, Brylle and Gaileth slightly to the fore to provide early warning.

   Wyeth crept forward, a shadow among shadows, making no sound. He heard little noise from his companions, but did hear the shrill croaking of tree frogs and the communal songs of the insects of the night, an even chorus of cries, songs and would-be singers.

   This creeping, this silent assault against odds was his existence, his heritage. He had known no other since early childhood. The years of continuous fighting had left him with nothing of fear, little of anticipation. This was his life, or his method of expending it. None of his warriors expected to survive the war, and none held much fear of dying. It was simply a question of when.

   Wyeth shifted small rocks to one side and crawled forward slowly, the fruits of many forays allowing him to know almost exactly where his forces lay at any one time. And when one tree frog ended his song on a false note, Wyeth and his companions paused. The frog tried again with better results. This false note was a signal that one of the warriors had discovered the guard ring. Other tree frogs announced the same results. Brylle spotted the guards and joined the chorus.

   The three of them drew together to study what could be seen of their foes and to listen more closely to the chorus of tree frogs. The fire had died to embers, but was sufficient to backlight a man foolish enough to stand or sit exposed.

   The guards were stationed at intervals and were hidden in the rocks surrounding their sleeping companions, but were inclined to be somewhat careless. A Wyneth scout reported six of them. A second scout reported the same number to Wyeth, and vaguely indicated their positions with a silent finger.

   The forces of the Wyneth came together, homing on Wyeth's position, almost as if they could see him in the moonlight night.

   Extensive training and their long experience in warfare enabled them to do this. At any time, they could unfailingly locate any member of the group.

   Wyneth custom almost forbid the breaking of the close companionship of the three-man units, so Wyeth assigned the first duty to two of the three-man teams. They would eliminate the first two guard posts. After these two guards had been slain, each team would take out one of the remaining four guards posts. This, of course, posed a risk, perhaps a useless one, but breaking the close companionship was a greater one.

   Quite soon they received the signal that the first two guards had died silently. The teams moved against their assigned targets. Wyeth, Brylle and Gaileth crept close, forming a loose semicircle about their assigned guard. Here they waited. Wyeth's position was to the rear of the guard and he would kill him. This position had depended on the chance placement of the guard, and was understood by the three of them.

   His companions would guard his attack.

   At a cricket's false chirp, Wyeth came softly to his feet behind the less than vigilant guard. Wyeth hooked an arm about the guard's throat, lifted him from his feet and slashed his throat, almost in one practiced motion. He held the man clear of the ground until his struggles ceased, then placed him gently on his back. This seeming gentleness was to avoid noise.

   Brylle and Gaileth stood, fully erect, Brylle with his bow half-drawn, Gaileth with his knife extended and ready.

   Wyeth heard nothing except the slightest rustle of gravel to his right, followed by complete silence. The four guards were dead, but Wyeth waited for the same weary cricket's chirp, and waited until the call was repeated before relaxing.

   Brylle released the tension of his bow string and Gaileth sheathed his knife to ready his bow. Six men had died with no alarms to mark their passing.

   Wyeth crept closer to the reflected fires, pushing his bow before him; pausing when the dying fires appeared below him. He counted only forty sleeping figures. Five men were missing. With his companions, he scouted the rim carefully, meeting others of the Wyneth on the journey.

   After a thorough exchange of information, the Wyneth agreed that two men were missing.

   They discovered one of these men. He had selected to sleep up the slope in a more comfortable setting--perhaps the leader and a man of nobility.

   The other man was the appointed Captain of the Guards, and had apparently become suspicious. He had voiced no alarm, so his suspicions lacked certainty. He climbed from the slight hollow to meet the same fate as his guards.

   Their bows ready, the Wyneth crept forward until the party lay in a loose semi-circle on the rim above the sleeping warriors. At a signal, they shot only one time at targets in their assigned area and dropped flat, unsure of their shots. Like the rest, Wyeth shot the man assigned to him, the man who had chosen to sleep alone. Unlike the rest, he dropped on his face, confident of his instinctive accuracy.

   Cries of pain and alarm chilled Wyeth's blood, but did nothing to slow his resolve. And it was to the accompaniment of these screams of the wounded and the moans of the dying that they retreated, moving as silently as they had come. This was war as the Wyneth fought it.

   Strike quickly, mercilessly and retire. In their warfare was no honor or remorse.

   In common with the rest, Wyeth felt no tinge of conscience at this killing, but felt no elation either. This war was a fight to the death against a vastly superior force, a fight which would see the final extinction of the Wyneth. The Wyneth would not now or ever surrender their lands to the intruders.

   There was little very sound and no rejoicing during their retreat, a retreat made along the same ragged ridges as their advance. To walk in the valleys and in the open was to invite the same fate they had dealt out this night.

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