Stormrider (28 page)

“Where will you be?”

“South. I’ll find Macy and his cavalry. Scatter them. Then I’ll charge the musketeers confronting you.”

Mulgrave smiled grimly. “
If
the cavalry is to the south, you will be outnumbered three to one, and the King’s Second Lancers are veterans.”

“I know. If Macy is skilled, we may not get out of this alive.”

“He is not as skilled as you, my lord.”

“We will see.” Gaise moved toward the door. “I’ll either see you at the eastern end of town or in the Void.”

“The eastern end of town would get my vote,” said Mulgrave. “Take care, sir.”

“Care? Oh, no. This is a time for recklessness.”

“For the Stormrider,” said Mulgrave.

This time Gaise did smile. Then he left the cottage. Mulgrave heard him call out orders to Lanfer Gosten.

Jakon Gallowglass crouched behind a low, drystone wall, two muskets close by and a smell reminiscent of old pea soup radiating from the armpits of the borrowed Eldacre tunic he wore. He was not a happy man. Beside him Taybard Jaekel was priming a musket, which he then leaned against the wall beside his Emburley rifle.

“I thought maybe we’d be leaving this place,” muttered Gallowglass.

“Don’t look like it,” observed Taybard, his eyes scanning the tree line some three hundred paces from the wall. This section of wall was no more than forty feet long, bordering the garden of the mayor’s house. Fifty of the Eldacre musketeers were hidden there. Across the roadway were three houses. There was little cover there, and Mulgrave had ordered carts and wagons to be drawn up. Beyond them was a long ditch originally built to prevent cattle from wandering through the vegetable gardens behind the three houses. More musketeers were hunkered down in the ditch, under the command of Lanfer Gosten. All the Eldacre men had been ordered to stay low.

“I thought maybe I’d go north with you,” said Gallowglass. “Maybe take a break from the war. Maybe even settle down up there.”

“That’s a lot of maybes.”

Gallowglass raised his head and peered over the wall, gauging the distance from there to the trees. A running man could make that distance in just over a minute. Laden with musket or pike, it would take perhaps two minutes. Certainly no more than that. Any time now, with the dawn breaking, some five hundred soldiers would be charging across that area with maybe fifteen hundred cavalry. Cavalry would cover the ground in a third of the time. He tried to figure the odds. The Eldacre Company had around ninety musketeers, half of them issued with two muskets. Most good musketeers could load and fire around three times in a minute. The mental arithmetic made his brain hurt. Whichever way he looked at it, there was no chance of ninety musketeers holding back a determined charge, even if the cavalry had headed around the town. The Eldacre men could perhaps take out around half of the attackers, and then only if they were all as skilled as Taybard Jaekel. How likely was that? Gallowglass swore softly.

“You ain’t thanked me yet,” he said.

“Gray Ghost thanked you,” said Taybard. “Heard him say it. That why you did it? For thanks?”

“Reckoned I owed you my life. Didn’t expect to die for it, though. Can you smell this tunic from there?”

“I can. Pretty ripe.”

“Didn’t expect to die in no stinking tunic. And it’s too big.”

“It belongs to Kammel Bard. He’s the big fellow over there,” said Taybard, pointing to where Kammel was sleeping again.

“He’s welcome to it. Reckon if I took it off, it’s ripe enough to walk back to him by itself. If I don’t die here, he can have it back.”

“You usually talk a lot about whores. I never liked it, but I’d prefer it right about now to talk of dying.”

“I ain’t scared of dying, Jaekel,” muttered Gallowglass. “It’s just that the odds favor it, I reckon.”

“Look on the bright side. You could have been about to walk out over that open ground with my rifle aimed at you.”

“Not likely. If I hadn’t warned you, there would have been no one here to stop us.”

“True,” agreed Taybard. “Having regrets?”

“Damn right I’m having regrets. I don’t even know why this is happening. Were you all thinking of joining Luden Macks?”

“Not as I know of.”

“Makes no sense to me. And where the hell has the Gray Ghost gone?”

Taybard shrugged. “No idea.”

“Well, that’s comforting. I’m going to feel damned foolish if he’s riding off north and leaving us behind.”

“He wouldn’t do that, Jakon.”

“Well, you know him better than me,” Gallowglass said doubtfully.

“Hardly know him at all. What I do know is he’s always the first to lead a charge, and he don’t put us through nothing he won’t tackle himself. Expect he’s gone out to fight on ground of his choosing. What’s Macy like as a commander?”

“How would I know?” replied Gallowglass. “Hardly ever see him. Wish I hadn’t seen him in that damned wood. His brother’s a real turd.
That
I do know. Now,
him
I’d like to get in my sights.” Gallowglass suddenly chuckled. “Actually, I’m not so good with a musket, so I’d prefer him to be in
your
sights. Do you ever miss, Jaekel?”

“Once or twice. Not since I’ve had the Emburley.”

“Well, I’ll point him out to you if the cavalry comes. What are the whores like in Shelding?”

Taybard Jaekel smiled. “That’s more like it, Gallowglass.”

The sound of distant gunfire came to them. Taybard glanced to the south. “Expect their cavalry has just found out why he’s called the Gray Ghost,” he said, licking his thumb and touching it to the sight of his Emburley.

Crouching low, the officer Mulgrave came alongside them. “They’re in sight,” he said. “Wait for the command. Pass it along.”

Gallowglass resisted the urge to peer over the wall. His heart was beating faster now, though he could feel the beginnings of calm in his mind.

It is just another fight, he told himself, taking up his musket.

The first thin rays of the new dawn were shining above the eastern mountains, and the air was cold and clean as Mulgrave watched the advancing enemy leave the sanctuary of the trees. Hidden behind a wagon, the white-haired swordsman took a deep breath and scanned the line of red-coated musketeers. They were moving forward slowly, in open formation, their muskets fitted with the newly designed bayonets. Mulgrave kept his face calm. He knew the men would be watching him. More and more of the enemy moved into sight. The formation, with each man more than ten feet from his nearest companion, would lessen the effects of the volley fire.

Did they know that the Eldacre men were ready?

With practiced eye Mulgrave swiftly counted the advancing line. More than five hundred men were now in sight and moving out over the open land. To the extreme right came a group of lancers. When Mulgrave first saw them, his heart skipped a beat. If Gaise was wrong and the full force of the enemy was to strike here, the Eldacre men would be overrun in moments. His tension eased when he realized there were only thirty riders.

Everything depended now on the discipline of the men on both sides.

The King’s Second were veterans, battle-hardened and tough. They would not panic.

The first volley would need to be timed to perfection. Too soon and the distance would leach power from the shots and cause the enemy to charge; too late and the distance between the advancing line and the defenders would be less than the distance back to the trees. This would inspire the musketeers to continue their attack.

Mulgrave stared hard at the enemy. Did they know what they were walking into?

He focused on a group at the center of the wide line. They were advancing warily, but he saw several of them swing their heads to talk to comrades. That calmed him. An advance against a defended position tended to make men feel isolated. There was little conversation.

As the first of the units got to within a hundred paces from the woods—a third of the distance to the defensive wall—Mulgrave shouted an order. “Make ready!” he called. All along the wall men reared up. Muskets and rifles bristled over the stone. Mulgrave held his breath. If one idiot fired early, it would cause a reaction. Others would follow suit, and the full effect of the volley would be heavily diluted.

No one fired.

The advancing line faltered. The men immediately behind the front carried on walking, compressing the open formation.

“Fire!” bellowed Mulgrave. Lead shot tore into the infantry, hurling men from their feet. Gray smoke billowed over the defensive wall like sudden mist, and the stink of black powder filled the air.

“Second units prepare!” shouted Mulgrave.

The fifty men issued with second muskets brought to bear, while the other men swiftly and smoothly reloaded their weapons.

“Fire!”

Another volley ripped into center of the King’s Second Infantry.

Some of the enemy began pulling back, but others stood their ground. One of their officers tried to assemble the men to return fire. He was barking out orders, and they were obeying.

“Jaekel!” yelled Mulgrave. Taybard Jaekel glanced over. Mulgrave pointed toward the officer. The young, sandy-haired rifleman nodded, licked his thumb, and applied it to the sight of his Emburley.

Mulgrave swung to his right. Lanfer Gosten and the men in the long ditch were waiting for his command. “Gosten, hold fire until we see what the lancers plan.”

“Yes, sir.”

A single shot came from Taybard Jaekel’s rifle. Mulgrave saw the officer crumple and fall, his saber spinning from his hand.

“Prepare to volley!” shouted Mulgrave.

Once more the muskets came into sight. A ragged volley came from the attackers. Most of the shots struck the wall or screamed by the defenders, but several men were hit.

“Fire!”

Instinctively the Eldacre men concentrated their weapons on the group struggling to reload their muskets. They were scythed down. Beyond them the musketeers began to withdraw in good order toward the woods. On the right, however, the thirty lancers heeled their mounts and charged.

It was a gallant and reckless move, the kind Gaise Macon might well have made. If the lancers broke through, the infantry would gain fresh heart and charge again. They had timed the move well, between volleys, but their officer should have noted that on the third volley no fire had come from the ditch.

They galloped forward, lances leveled, the new dawn sun glinting on their brocaded blue tunics.

“Ready, Gosten!” shouted Mulgrave.

The fifty Eldacre men reared up. Muskets thundered. Twenty of the advancing riders were hammered from their saddles. Four other horses went down, pitching their riders to the ground.

The remaining six lancers ducked low and continued forward.

Several shots screamed into them. Another four went down. Mulgrave climbed to the wagon and drew his pistol. One of the remaining two lancers swung his horse and tried to flee. Three shots struck him in the back. Slumping over his saddle, he rode back toward the trees for a little way, then tumbled from his mount.

The last of the lancers rode at the defenses, his huge chestnut gelding clearing the wall with a graceful leap. The rider headed directly for Mulgrave.

It was Konran Macy, the officer who had tried to remove their horses.

“Give it up, sir,” said Mulgrave, his pistol leveled. “There is no need to die today, and you can achieve nothing.”

“I can kill you, you treacherous cur.”

“You have been misled, sir. No one here is a traitor. No one here planned to quit the army or join Luden Macks. You have been lied to.”

Macy dismounted, thrust his lance into the ground, and drew his cavalry saber.

“Do you have the nerve to fight me, sir?” he asked. “Or are you a coward as well as a traitor?”

Mulgrave uncocked his pistol and thrust it into his belt. Then he leaped down from the wagon and drew his blade. Macy slapped the rump of his horse. The beast moved away from the two men. Macy advanced.

“You are making a second mistake, Captain,” said Mulgrave. “You are being used in a private feud between Winterbourne and Gaise Macon. There are no traitors here.”

Macy attacked. Mulgrave parried and swayed away. Their sabers clashed. Macy launched a furious assault, hacking and slashing, seeking to overcome Mulgrave by brute force. Mulgrave swayed and moved, blocking and parrying, always in balance.

“Dammit, sir, can you not see you are outclassed?” said Mulgrave. “Put up your sword.”

“They are coming again, sir!” called out Lanfer Gosten.

Macy took that moment to attack. His saber lanced out toward Mulgrave’s heart. Mulgrave blocked the lunge with ease, rolling his blade over and around Macy’s weapon. The point of Mulgrave’s saber entered Macy’s throat, ripping through the jugular. The officer stumbled to his knees, then pitched to the earth. Mulgrave stepped across his body and ran back to the defensive wall.

The enemy was charging. Two more volleys, which was all the defenders had time for, would not stop them now.

As Gaise Macon left the cottage and walked across to where his cavalrymen were preparing their mounts, his mind was calm. There would be, he hoped, time for anger later, when the danger had passed. Of all the lessons he had learned during this ghastly war this was the most important. A leader needed a cool mind in battle. As he walked, he pictured the route south of Shelding. Fighting an enemy that outnumbered a man three to one required several key elements for success. First there was surprise. That was vital. Men needed time to gear themselves for fighting. A sudden onslaught could lead to the most seasoned troops buckling and fleeing the field. Luden Macks, in his famous book on cavalry warfare, had called it the consideration effect. In short, he maintained that many men would willingly risk death for a cause they believed in and would fight relentlessly if given time to consider the reasons for battle. Others, less principled, would fight if they knew that to refuse would mean vicious punishment or death. Hence the discipline of the army: Take orders and do your duty, for if you do not, we will hang you for a coward. Given time to consider, most men would also convince themselves that
they
would not die.