Stormrider (44 page)

“None, my lord. There’s a woman’s footprints in the circle of stone but none leading to them or away from them.”

Sick at heart, Winter Kay once more returned to camp. For the first time in many years he did not know what to do. Panic tugged at his mind.

That night he sat in his tent, trembling and frightened, refusing to meet with his officers.

The orb was gone. Soon it would be in the hands of his enemies. They would wield its power against him.

In his panic his first thought was to order the armies to withdraw from the north, to move away from danger. But what good would that do? Gaise Macon would gather men and, with the power of the orb, come south against him. No, his only hope was to win this war swiftly, before his enemies learned how to manipulate the magic. He felt calmer now. Kranos would not allow himself to be used by such wretches. The Redeemers were the true followers. Kranos loved them and would protect them.

“He will protect
me
,” Winter Kay said aloud. Closing his eyes, he prayed to Kranos: “Lord, show me the way. Help me in my hour of need.”

All was silence.

Winter Kay sat alone.

Somewhere in the night he fell asleep, and in that sleep he saw again his forgotten ride to the Wishing Tree woods and the long walk to the standing stones. A small woman in a pale blue and green shawl was waiting there, her hair silver white in the moonlight.

“Give it to me,” she said.

He handed her the velvet sack. She shuddered as she took it.

Winter Kay watched her walk back to the standing stones. A bright light blazed, and she was gone.

He awoke with a cry and scrambled to his feet. Scrabbling in a pack by the tent wall, he produced papers, a quill pen, and a cork-stoppered jar of ink. Then he wrote messages to his generals and called for riders.

There was no time now for an encircling action. That could take weeks. He would gather all his troops together and smash through to Eldacre in one ferocious battle. The enemy would be slaughtered, and Winter Kay would once more possess the skull.

With the army split there was no way for Gaise Macon to accurately gauge the losses suffered by the Eldacre forces during the last five days, but it was fair to assume they were heavy. Of the force Gaise led in the west more than a third had died, and half of the remainder carried some wounds. They were also close to exhaustion.

The enemy had taken more fearsome losses. Even so, they still outnumbered his force by more than three to one. Even with his daring and occasionally reckless attacks, Gaise knew that such attrition would soon render his force useless.

Earlier they had routed a section of heavy cavalry, only to be driven back by a charge from the knights of the Sacrifice. Gaise had wheeled his force and cut away to the left. His musketeers had then sent volley after volley into the attackers, forcing them to withdraw. Any other force would have fled the field. Not the knights. They swung their heavy chargers and pulled back in good order. Gaise estimated the enemy had lost around 600 men in that one encounter, but he had lost 270. Such odds still favored the Varlish.

Camped now on high ground, his remaining twelve cannon trained on a narrow open section of grassland between two stands of trees, Gaise Macon sent out scouts to report on the enemy’s movements. There was almost no need. Their plan was obvious and strikingly effective. Slowly and steadily they pushed ever nearer Eldacre, inexorably forcing Gaise back. The same thing was happening in the east. Within a few weeks at most only the town itself would offer shelter. Cavalry would be useless, and the forces of the Moidart would be contained within the castle. Unable to get supplies, they would be starved into submission.

It was galling in the extreme. Gaise had enough men to inflict terrible damage on the enemy, but not enough to ensure a victory.

News had also come in that Winter Kay and a further force of twenty thousand were marching from the south. Konin and Mantilan would not be able to stop them for long.

Lanfer Gosten approached where Gaise was standing alongside a cannon. “Another twelve, sir,” he said. “Not so bad.”

“It will get worse, Lanfer,” said Gaise. Twelve deserters a night would not damage his ability to fight, but soon the army would begin to hemorrhage. The more they were forced back, the more desertions would occur.

“I expect the enemy are losing men, too,” offered Lanfer.

“Aye,” agreed Gaise.

“If they didn’t have them damned knights, we’d crack ’em,” said Lanfer.

“But they do have those damned knights,” replied Gaise. “And great fighters they are.”

“We’re not doing so bad against ’em, though, sir.”

Gaise placed his hand on the older man’s shoulder. “No, my friend, we have done ourselves proud. We will continue to do so.”

Moving to the picket line, Gaise saddled a chestnut gelding. His gray had been killed under him two days earlier. He rode down the slope to the left and into the camp of Bael Jace and his Rigante. They had fought coolly and well since their arrival and were the match of any the enemy could offer—including the knights. They had lost eight hundred of their two thousand, and each man now carried two muskets as well as pistols, knives, and sabers.

Bael Jace strode out to greet him. There were no smiles or handshakes when Gaise dismounted. Jace had a bandage around his temples, and blood had leaked down, staining the right side of his face.

“What news?” asked the Rigante leader.

“None yet. I just wanted to see how you were faring.”

“We are fine, Stormrider. Never better.”

“We’ll draw back tomorrow. There is a good defensive site around four miles east, a high ridge and before it a killing ground.”

“Whatever you say.”

“I want you and your men to guard the left flank as we pull back. That’s where the attack will come from. I’ll keep the cavalry in reserve to come to your aid.”

“I saw a few of your men running away to the east tonight. They had thrown away their muskets.”

“A shame you didn’t stop them.”

“Not my problem, Stormrider. A man wants to leave, he is free to do so.”

“I note that no Rigante has left.”

“I wouldn’t stop them if they wanted to. They are fighting a war they cannot win.”

Gaise was irritated, but he struggled not to show it. “There is always a chance of victory no matter what the odds.”

“Oh, that’s true,” said Jace, “but in this case our fate is in the hands of the enemy. I may not be the strategist my father was, but I know what I know. The only way we can win is if the enemy makes a big, big mistake. As matters stand we are killing two of them for every one of us. Since they outnumber us more than three to one, you don’t need to be a scholar to know that when we are all dead, they’ll still have a few thousand men left.”

“Are there any more Rigante to call upon?”

“Aye, there are a thousand warriors back home, Stormrider, and that’s where they’ll stay. I’ll not see the clan wiped out down here. There are enough left there to man the high passes, and I doubt the enemy will want to march north after the pounding we’ve given them here.”

Gaise considered his words. There was wisdom in them. “We would never have held out this long without you and the Rigante. I want you to know that I am grateful.”

“Don’t be. We didn’t come for you. We came because the Wyrd said we should. I don’t care if Eldacre falls. I don’t care if your head and the Moidart’s end up on stakes. You are the enemy of my people. It grieves me to see men die in your cause.”

Gaise said nothing for a moment. “I have Rigante blood, Bael, and I value the clan highly. You know this. That is why you call me by my Rigante soul-name.”

“Aye, and that is why I despise you. You are a brilliant fighter, Gaise Macon. I’ve seen few better. You are fearless, and you lead men well.
That
is your Rigante heritage.
That
is what
would
make me proud. Yet you slay without compunction or compassion, and you cut off the heads of fighting men and plant them like a forest of death. You murder men who put up their hands, and you soak yourself in blood.
That
is your Varlish heritage. To see a Varlish do these things is bad enough, but we expect it from them. To see a man with Rigante blood do it is sickening beyond belief.”

Something deep, dark, and cold touched Gaise Macon in that moment. There was no anger. He looked at the redheaded clansman and felt his body relax. “Eight hundred years ago Bane led the Rigante to the city of Stone. They defeated the armies. The world was theirs to do with as they pleased. Rigante codes and laws, notions of honor and courage, could have been imposed on all the peoples. Instead Bane brought the clans back across the sea to the Druagh mountains. The Rigante did not want to rule. The honest truth, Jace, is they did not have the stomach for it. History shows us one harsh and iron fact: Those who do not rule are themselves ruled. Once the Keltoi roamed the lands, strong and free. Now you are a tiny, conquered people holding to a few rocks in the far north. If I want lessons in how to be defeated, I will come to you, Jace.” Stepping into the saddle, Gaise steered the chestnut from the Rigante camp and rode back up to the ridge.

He saw a rider galloping across the open ground below. It was one of his scouts. Remaining on his horse, Gaise waited for the man. He was young and fair-haired, and his horse was lathered and weary by the time it reached the crest.

“They have pulled back, my lord. They are heading southeast.”

“What?”

“It is true. In full formation, with all supply wagons.”

Gaise sat very still. Was this a trick? Were they seeking to outflank him? It made no sense. The three-pronged attack assured them of victory. Why would they change plans so suddenly? “Get a fresh horse and follow them,” he told the man. “Keep well back. I will send other riders to join you. Every hour one of them will come back to report. You understand?”

“Yes, my lord. You think they are retreating? Have we won?”

“Time will tell.”

18

Kaelin Ring ducked as he ran though the cannon-blasted ruins of the village. Enemy snipers were hidden in the woods to the northeast, and some of them were highly skilled. Dropping to his knees, Kaelin crawled along the shelter of a low wall, then sprinted across a short section of open ground.

No shots were fired.

Garon Beck and his senior officers were inside the ruins of a church. The stained-glass windows had been blasted away, and fragments of colored glass littered the nave. Musketeers had set up a firing platform by the windows, and at the far end of the church a surgeon and his orderlies were tending to close to a hundred wounded men.

Kaelin approached Beck. The general had lost weight, and the skin of his face was sagging, adding years to his features. His dark hair was also showing a white line from the temples and up over his brow. Kaelin realized he had previously dyed his hair in a bid to appear younger. Idly he wondered how old Beck really was. The general glanced up as Kaelin entered.

“We were discussing where to fall back to and when,” said Beck. “They have a cavalry force which has punched a breach in our lines. The Source only knows where they are now.”

“Mostly dead, the rest scattered,” said Kaelin. “We trapped them in a wood to the south.”

“That’s a damned relief.” Beck spread a map over the altar table. “As far as I can see, there is no adequate defensive ground between here and Eldacre. It is mostly flatland. Once we pull back, we’ll be at the mercy of any fast-riding column.” As he listened, Kaelin rubbed at the wound in his left shoulder. The bayonet had stabbed deep. He could no longer feel any sensation in the fingertips of his left hand, and movement was painful. The bleeding had taken an age to stop, and a deep bruise had extended down over his chest and under his armpit.

“I hope you keep checking that,” said Beck. “Don’t want it to go bad.”

“I smear it with honey every morning,” said Kaelin. “It will be fine. Go on.”

“My best estimate is that we have around six thousand fighting men left. If we are to withdraw successfully, we’ll need a tough rear guard to keep them from us.”

“My Rigante.”

“Only if you are willing, Kaelin. It’s likely to be a murderously tough assignment, and your Rigante have already performed miracles here. I’ve seen fighting men for most of my life, and I’ve never known the equal of you clansmen. If you feel you have done enough, then I’ll stay myself with a division of musketeers.”

Kaelin gave a broad smile. “I like you, General,” he said. “Damned if I don’t! We’ll be your rear guard.”

“If we had a few thousand more men, I’d try to hold this line. It’s the best defensive site I’ve seen in years. However, if we stay, we’ll be encircled and cut off from supplies.”

“What is your plan?”

“There is heavy cloud cover. We’ll pull back in the deepest darkness and as quietly as possible. You and your Rigante will stay until tomorrow night and fend them off. Twenty-four hours should see us clear.”

“And then what?” inquired Kaelin. “Supplies from the east are already lost to us. The western line is barely holding. You think we can win by withdrawing?”

Beck shook his head. “No. We’ll just survive a little longer.”

“What about the badly wounded?”

“I’ll take as many as I can, but we lack the wagons. Many will have to be left behind.”

“To be slaughtered,” pointed out Kaelin.

“Aye, that’s the reverse side of the coin. It is all very well for Macon to stick heads on poles, but that only encourages the enemy to behave in a similar fashion. That said, we are facing Redeemers and their lackeys, and they are not known for compassion, either.” Beck sighed. “I don’t like asking you to undertake this assignment, Kaelin. I’ll be honest. The chances of you getting out alive are very slim.”

“Perhaps, General,” Kaelin said softly, “but I have nine hundred fighting Rigante here. I’d bet them against five thousand of the enemy.”

“So would I. Unhappily, there are around fifteen thousand of them. Do you have enough powder and shot?”

“Plenty. Not much food, though.”

“I’ll leave what I can. Just twenty-four hours, Kaelin, and then you and your men should break out and scatter. Go home would be my advice.”

“Take care, General,” said Kaelin, reaching out and gripping the man’s hand.

“You, too, Kaelin. It was a rare pleasure to lead the Rigante.”

Kaelin moved to the doorway, braced himself, then ran across the open ground, dropping flat behind the low wall. The impact caused his shoulder to burn, and he felt the warmth of fresh blood oozing from the wound. Ignoring the pain, he pushed on, reaching the abandoned buildings beyond the marketplace.

Rayster was there with around fifty men.

“What is happening?” asked the clansman.

“The army is pulling back to Eldacre.”

“About time,” said Rayster.

“We stay and act as rear guard for twenty-four hours.”

“They’ll be long hours,” Rayster said dryly.

Korrin Talis squirmed across open ground and joined them. “They seem to have pulled back their snipers,” he said.

“I noticed,” said Kaelin. “Let’s not get complacent, though. We need to spread out more. Tomorrow we are going to need to look like a much larger force.”

“If we spread too thin, we’ll not be able to concentrate firepower,” put in Rayster.

“Once the concerted attacks begin, tell the men to fall back to the church and the outlying buildings. We’ll make a last stand there.”

“Maybe the Stormrider will come galloping to the rescue again,” said Korrin.

“Not this time. Go and speak to the men. Tell them that if any wish to leave, they can. We all have families back home. They should at least be offered the chance to return to them.”

“I’ll do that,” said Korrin, “but no one will leave, Kaelin.”

“I know.” Suddenly he laughed. “If anyone had ever told me I’d be risking my life so that Varlish soldiers could make a withdrawal, I’d have laughed in his face.”

“Some of those boys are fine lads,” said Korrin. “Varlish or no. And I like Beck. I’ll bet there’s a touch of clan in him somewhere.”

Korrin moved away to spread the word among the men. Rayster remained with Kaelin. “How is the shoulder?”

“Painful.”

“You were lucky. I thought for a moment he had speared your heart.”

“Came close.” Kaelin grinned. “Lucky for me that Eldacre lad was close by.”

“Aye, it was luck. Let’s hope it holds. I’d like to see Sorrow Bird again. I love that lake.”

“It’s a beautiful spot, right enough.”

Kaelin settled down on his back. The hard ground felt soft as a feather bed, and he lay there thinking about the man who had saved him.

Enemy musketeers had almost broken through. The Rigante had rushed in and with the aid of some Eldacre men had turned them back. As the enemy was retreating, one of the musketeers had run at Kaelin, his bayonet lancing into the clansman’s shoulder. Kaelin had fallen. The musketeer had loomed above him, his blood-drenched bayonet poised to strike through Kaelin’s heart. A young Eldacre volunteer had leaped at him, knocking him from his feet.

A shot sounded. The Eldacre man spun and then toppled to the ground. The enemy musketeer rose again. Kaelin pulled his Emburley from his belt and shot him in the head. Then he scrambled to the Eldacre man. He had been shot just under the breastbone. There was little blood and his face had gone gray. Rayster appeared alongside him. He patted the dying young man’s shoulder.

“I thank you for your courage,” said Kaelin.

“I’ve got a wife and youngsters,” whispered the man. “Will I live?”

“No, lad,” said Rayster. “You are mortally hit.”

“I’ll burn, then,” he said. “The Source will burn me.”

“You’ll not burn,” said Kaelin. “A brave young man like you, fighting for your homeland. Nonsense.”

“I’ve done . . . bad things.”

“We all have,” Rayster told him. “But today you gave your life to save a man you didn’t know. That will count.”

“I know him. He’s Kaelin Ring. I saw him once, back in Black Mountain.”

“I used to go there often,” said Kaelin. “Were you in the barracks there?”

“Yes, but I saw you walking with your wife. I was with my family. I waved to you. You remember? By the stream?”

“Yes,” said Kaelin, though truth to tell, he did not. “Tell me your name, and if I live, I shall find your family and tell them what you did here today.”

The man whispered his name and then reached up and gripped Kaelin’s arm. Pain from the bayonet wound flared, but he showed no sign of it.

“I will burn for what I did,” said the man, tears in his eyes. “Tell her I was drunk. Tell her that I am sorry. Tell her . . .” He sagged back. A tremor went through him, and he died.

Kaelin eased the dead fingers from his arm. He was still pondering the young man’s death when he fell asleep.

Rayster woke him with the dawn. Kaelin sat up. “Have we not withdrawn?” he said. “I heard no wagons.”

“There has been no movement,” said Rayster. “Obviously, Beck changed his mind. Maybe the enemy has moved behind us.” Rayster glanced across toward the church. “Now, there is an idiot!” he said, pointing toward an officer walking across the open ground. The man seemed to have no care. He waved at Kaelin as he approached.

“Get down!” shouted Kaelin.

The man grinned and walked over to where the two Rigante lay. Then he crouched down. “The enemy have pulled back,” he said. “Our scouts report they are moving southwest. The woods are empty. No snipers. No infantry. No cannon.”

“Where is Beck?”

“The general sent me to find you. He is at the church. Faith, sir, but it’s a miracle, is it not?”

Kaelin did not answer. Moving swiftly, he dashed across the open ground and made his way to the church. Beck stepped out into the morning sunlight just as he approached. A troop of Eldacre cavalry was riding up toward the wooded slope beyond.

“Is this some strategy of theirs to cut us off?” asked Kaelin.

“It can’t be,” said Beck. “They’ve surrendered good ground and pulled out. By heading southwest they’ve also freed the eastern supply lines. None of it makes military sense.”

“What do we do?”

“Hold our lines until we get orders from Eldacre. The Source just smiled upon us, Kaelin Ring. I don’t know why, and I don’t care. Perhaps the Moidart is a religious man.”

“If he is, it’s not a religion I’d choose to follow.”

On the second day after the surprise withdrawal of the southern armies the Moidart summoned his generals back to Eldacre for a strategy meeting. Scouts had reported the enemy armies were converging on a point some forty miles south of the town and regrouping. The force was estimated to be close to forty-five thousand strong, considerably smaller than even the Moidart had hoped.

Even so, that left the defenders heavily outnumbered.

The meeting was held in the Moidart’s east-facing apartments. The sun was shining brightly in a clear blue sky, its light streaming through the high arched windows. Around the table sat Garon Beck, Gaise Macon, Kaelin Ring, Ganley Konin, and Ortis Mantilan. Bael Jace and Bendegit Law were scouting to the south.

Ganley Konin was the first to speak. A slim, well-spoken man, he had been a cleric in Varingas for twenty years and had become a soldier only upon the outbreak of the civil war, purchasing his commission in a cavalry unit. He had proved to have a fine eye for ground and had been promoted steadily to the rank of colonel. An argument with the doomed Lord Ferson had seen him transferred north into the army of the Pinance. “It seems to me, sirs, that we have a respite. No more than that. There is no indication that the enemy intends to withdraw south. It is my view he will advance in full force upon the town.”

“I agree,” said Garon Beck. “What I don’t understand is why. His plan was working. We could not have held out for more than a few weeks.”

“I believe I have the answer to that,” said the Moidart. “Our seer, Powdermill, reports that there is no longer any indication of Redeemer spirit activity. He thought at first that the Orb of Kranos had been overused and was in need of replenishment. That, however, is not the case. The orb is no longer with the Redeemers. In short, Winter Kay is without any special powers now. He has panicked and drawn his army around him like a wall.”

“Then now is the time to strike him,” said Kaelin Ring.

“Given a few thousand more men, I would agree with you, lad,” said Garon Beck. “The truth is that we simply do not have the manpower to launch an attack as swiftly as would be required. As far as I can tell, we have around eleven thousand men fit enough to fight and another two thousand recruits who don’t know one end of a musket from the other. Given another week, we might add more and train those we have. I don’t believe we will have another week.”

Ortis Mantilan spoke next. A commander of musketeers for twenty years, he was a short, stout man with a shock of tightly curled graying hair. “I’d like to know two things,” he said. “First, how did Lord Winterbourne lose the Orb of Kranos, and, more important, where is it? If it is as powerful as has been claimed, we could surely use it ourselves.”

“I have it,” said Gaise Macon. The room was suddenly silent. All eyes were on the young general. “It cannot—must not—be used. To do so would unleash an evil upon the world far in excess of anything Winterbourne would bring.”

“Then why did they not unleash it?” asked the Moidart.

“They couldn’t. We could. The skull is the last remnant of a Seidh lord named Cernunnos. He seeks a return to life.”

“It is a magical relic, no more,” said the Moidart. “Winter Kay used its power. So should we.”

“It is more than a relic, Father. Believe me. The spirit of Cernunnos lives. I have spoken with it. I have also listened to the Wyrd, who brought the skull to me. Cernunnos transcends evil. He cannot be allowed to return.”

“She gave you the skull?”

“Yes, Father.”

“How did she acquire it?”

“Winter Kay gave it to her at the Wishing Tree woods.”

The Moidart shook his head. “Perhaps you can tell us
why
he would have done something so monumentally stupid?”