Stormrider (41 page)

Aran Powdermill looked quizzically at Gaise. “It is a modern saber.”

“Use your talent, man.”

Aran took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Then he reached out. His hand lightly touched the golden hilt. He stiffened and drew in a deep breath.

“This is the sword of Connavar,” he said. “Sweet heaven, how did you come by it?”

“A dead man gave it to him, apparently,” said the Moidart.

“A dead man named Riamfada. Can you use the magic, Master Powdermill?”

“I need time to prepare, my lord. This is . . . this is remarkable. Priceless.”

“Forget the monetary value,” snapped the Moidart. “Can you cast a spell with it?”

“Oh, my lord, I can,” said Powdermill.

Mulgrave was wandering in a green meadow under starlight. He had no idea how he had arrived there or, indeed, where he was.

He thought he could hear running water and realized he was thirsty. The sound was coming from somewhere to his left. Walking on a little, he saw an old mill, its wheel slowly turning as the river pushed against its blades. It was very much like the mill back in Shelsans where his father had worked. On some summer afternoons Mulgrave would run along the riverbank, bringing the food his mother had prepared for his father. He would emerge from the warehouse alongside the mill and sit in silence, breaking bread with his son. Even now the memories of those quiet days filled Mulgrave with a mixture of sadness and great joy.

He walked on toward the riverbank, half hoping his father would be there. Instead he saw the white-haired woman he had dreamed of so often lately. A pale blue and green shawl was wrapped around her shoulders. She turned toward him, beckoning for him to sit beside her.

“Can you speak now?” he asked her.

“I could always speak, Mulgrave. You could not hear.” Raising her hand, she tapped a finger to his chest. “The little amulet Ermal Standfast gave you contains earth magic. Not much, but enough to allow a Rigante to make contact with a foreigner.” She said it with a soft smile.

“Is Ermal safe?”

“Of course. Men like Ermal are always safe. They run and hide when danger threatens.”

“Good for him. I wish I could run and hide from it all. I hate what I see now, and I despise what I have become.”

“Love often carries us along roads we would not wish to travel,” she said. “Love is a burden sometimes. Yet it is still to be treasured.”

Mulgrave picked up a stone and threw it out over the river. “I see myself in him,” he said. “After the massacre I was raised for a while by a coldhearted couple who used me badly. I don’t know why, but after I escaped them, I found it hard to trust anyone. When I met Gaise, I saw the same secret sorrow in his eyes. I wanted him to find the happiness that was lost to me. I wanted to see him with a wife and family, knowing the joys of life. Instead he is following a darker path.”

“He has unchained the bear,” the Wyrd said sadly. “It is a curse of his bloodline. Great men they can be, but there is inside them a terrible beast. While they control it, they are heroes. When it controls them, they become . . . the Moidart and villains like him.” She sighed. “I have no right to criticize them. Not anymore.”

“Have you killed people?” he asked.

“Not directly. I urged the Rigante to march to Eldacre. Many of them will be slain. Perhaps all of them. I have taken the first tottering steps on the road to damnation. Do you believe that committing a small evil to prevent a greater evil is justified?”

“I don’t know,” said Mulgrave. “I remember once thinking it would have been a good thing if the Moidart had been strangled at birth. Now he is fighting against evil. I don’t know what any of it means. I just wish I wasn’t part of it.”

“I know,” whispered the Wyrd. “I once dreamed of bringing back the Seidh to guide the world, to renew its magic. I would then spend my life healing and encouraging people to do good. When I died, I would leave the world a better place than it was before me. Now I have encouraged a people I love to take part in a war to
stop
the Seidh from coming back, to shoot and stab and kill. Perhaps Cernunnos is right. Perhaps we are a race not worth saving.”

They sat in silence for a while, watching the sunlight gleaming on the water and listening to the slow splashing of the mill wheel blades as they turned.

“Are you a seer, lady? Can you see the future?”

“Glimpses only, swordsman. I have known for twenty years that Gaise Macon would hold our destiny in his hands. I knew the future of the Rigante would depend upon it. I did not know how or why it would come to pass. I guessed wrongly that the Moidart would be the evil force. Now I see something else. I see you, Mulgrave. Gaise Macon will ask a service of you. It will break your heart.”

“My heart is already broken. I shall refuse him. I want nothing more to do with his evil.”

“It will not be evil which inspires him to seek you. I see him in the vision wearing a patchwork cloak. This signifies that his Rigante heritage will be in the ascendant, not the beast which now rules him.”

“What will he ask me?”

“I do not know. But he will ask it here. By this stream. Where he cannot be overheard. I will arrange it, for that is my destiny.”

For four days the new generals and colonels met with Gaise Macon and the Moidart, discussing battle strategies. Gaise conducted further meetings, getting to know the men and making judgments about their talents. Mostly they were solid officers with a good understanding of strategy and logistics. Three were exceptional. Kaelin Ring had a fine mind and despite appearing outspoken showed a subtle and perceptive understanding of human nature. Bendegit Law, the only officer appointed directly by the Moidart, had already proved himself by acquiring fifty cannon in a bloodless raid to the east. He was a natural leader, well liked by his men. Garon Beck was a career soldier who had served in three wars across the seas and had been hired by the Pinance to train his infantry. Without a trace of noble blood he had never held any rank higher than colonel. Bluff and powerfully built, the middle-aged soldier talked little during the meetings, but when he did speak, his words were direct, cutting to the heart of the problems they faced.

When the broader meetings were over, Gaise would discuss them with the Moidart. Much as he disliked the man, he found his observations to be razor-sharp.

“Beck can be relied upon,” said the Moidart as they sat in the high office, the windows open to the northern stars. “He feels no need to prove himself and will do nothing reckless. My advice would be to appoint him as your number two.”

“I agree. I need to be heading south tomorrow. I’ll leave Beck in charge of training here. Who do you see as leading the eastern force? Galliott?”

“No,” said the Moidart. “Galliott is not equipped to be a battle commander. He is a peacetime officer with a fine understanding of bureaucracy. He does not have the mind of a warrior.”

“Kaelin Ring and his Rigante?”

“He would be fine,” said the Moidart, “but I doubt you really want to send them.”

“Ring says they are the best of the best,” said Gaise. “Do you agree with that?”

The Moidart leaned back in his chair. “I abhor the Rigante. Always have. They could have conquered the world. Finest fighting men I have ever seen. Their biggest problem is they are not ever
prepared
for war. Battles, yes. They will fight like demons. Then they want to go home and plant their crops and tend to their cattle. In this instance, though, Ring is right. They are the best we have. In my view they should be central to our plans.”

“Who, then, for the east?” asked Gaise.

The Moidart looked at him for a moment. “Is the responsibility beginning to weigh on you, boy?”

“I am not a boy, Father. Not anymore. But yes, I feel the weight of responsibility. Is that unnatural?”

“Not at all. Now you seek to offload some of that weight. You cannot. It pleased me when you stood up to me and said that I would be the figurehead. That is as it should be. The young lion stretching his muscles. Now you must discover whether you have the stamina and the power to sustain leadership. To do that you must accept that it is lonely on the top of the mountain. You may ask for advice. You may listen to the plans of others. But yours is the final decision. Yours is the only word that counts. Success and glory, defeat and death will be laid at your door. So now, tell me what you think of your other generals.”

Gaise took a deep breath. He wanted to argue, to rail at his father. His emotions were in turmoil. Instead he rose to his feet and began to pace the room. “They are solid but unimaginative.”

“Do you need dashing and reckless in the east?”

“No,” said Gaise. “The east cannot be held for long.”

“Then what do you need?”

“I need a man who can maintain an organized and spirited withdrawal, keeping the men in good order while holding up the enemy advance.”

“Someone who will not panic.”

“Of course.” Gaise suddenly relaxed. “I need Beck for the east,” he said.

“Good choice.”

“Why, then, did you agree when I said I would keep Beck in Eldacre?”

“You are the leader, Gaise. Men always tend to agree with the leader. It is the nature of things.”

“This is not a game, Father.”

“Of course it is: the oldest game in the world. You have proved yourself in battle, leading men in cavalry charges. This game is different. This game is unlikely to be won by a single heroic charge. This will be like the wolf pack hunting the stag. This will be about planning, movement, wearing down the enemy, bringing him to bay at exactly the point where he is at his weakest. This will be about subtlety and deception. Winter Kay is an excellent strategist. He thinks he is the wolf. He is right. We are the stag. To win you must make
him
the stag.”

Gaise walked to the window and stared out at the moonlit mountains. “You realize this is the longest conversation we have ever had?”

“I am not much of a talker. This is no time to be maudlin.”

Gaise laughed. “Maudlin? Oh, Father. You have no idea. You talk brilliantly of strategies and leadership. You understand men and what motivates them. Do you have the remotest idea of what motivates me?”

“No, and nor do I care to,” snapped the Moidart, rising.

“Why did you risk yourself for me that night?” asked Gaise.

The Moidart stiffened. “What are you talking about?”

“The manor was ablaze. Those who could had escaped into the night. You were one of them. When you heard no one had brought me out, you ran back into that blazing building. You found me in my crib. You covered me with a blanket, and you ran through the flames and smoke. When you leaped from that upper window, your clothes were on fire. The only wound I received was this small burn on my face. You almost died. Why did you do that for me when you so obviously despised me?”

The Moidart walked to the door and opened it. He glanced back. “I am the Hawk in the Willow,” he said.

Then he was gone.

Three days south of Eldacre Kaelin Ring and seven hundred Rigante made camp on a high ridge overlooking a long wooded valley. No fires were lit, and Kaelin gathered his senior men together. Among them were Rayster, Korrin Talis, and Potter Highstone.

Earlier that day they had seen the advance columns of Varlish cavalry and their outriding scouts. The Rigante, as ordered by Gaise Macon, kept out of sight, fading back into the woods and allowing the enemy to pass unhindered.

A force of several thousand men was heading north, complete with supply wagons and twenty cannon, almost exactly as Aran Powdermill had predicted. They were not, Kaelin was encouraged to know, reinforced by knights of the Sacrifice but were made up from elements of the King’s Fourth Army and Fifth Army. Many of the foot soldiers of the Fourth had been recruited from prisons. They were known as hardy, brutal fighters. Some of the atrocities committed upon covenant towns had been laid at their door. The cavalry was a mixture: some battle-hardened veterans, some recruits from the south. The force was led by a Redeemer knight named Sperring Dale. Gaise Macon’s generals all knew the man. He had ridden into Eldacre with the Pinance but had fled swiftly after the Pinance had been slain. None liked him, and none knew whether he was a talented officer. All they knew was that his conversation generally revolved around punishment and death for the enemies of the cause. It was said he had supervised the massacre at Barstead, when women and children had been burned alive. However no one asked him, and it was just as likely to be mere rumor.

Kaelin Ring had been unusually tense for two days now. He did not doubt that the Rigante could stand against the enemy. What concerned him was whether the enemy could still see into the lands of the north. Gaise Macon had assured him that a mighty ward spell had been cast, that they were safe from observation. “How do we know?” asked Kaelin.

“Aran Powdermill says it is so. I believe him.”

“I do not even know him. We could march out from here and be massacred before we realized the error.”

“True,” Gaise said with a smile. “There is, as they say, only one way to find out.”

So here they were, upon a ridge to the south of the invaders. Kaelin’s orders were to follow hard on the heels of the advance force until they reached the abandoned settlement at Three Streams thirty miles to the north. It was there that Gaise intended to fall upon them. The Rigante would then surprise them by attacking from the rear.

“They seem to have passed us by without incident,” said Korrin Talis. “And look, they are making camp.”

“Aye, but we’ll stay wary. Let’s move back off this ridge and find two campsites. Rayster, I want you to scout to the south. Potter, you stay here and keep an eye on their camp.”

“They’ve already passed us by, Kaelin,” said Rayster. “What am I to watch for?”

“As best I could, I counted the men moving north. I reckon they have around four thousand. This Powdermill the Stormrider believes in said there were six thousand. So where are the other two?”

“This would not be a good place to be caught between two armies,” said Korrin. “Not with just seven hundred of us.”