by Kate Forsyth
‘We have another problem,’ the quartermaster said. ‘The forests are still infested with bandits, who attack our supply wagons as well as those o’ the enemy. We canna be planning a strong push into Blèssem and Clachan if we canna secure our supply routes. Ye ken the NicHilde has told us the Bright Soldiers burn the fields and barns in their wake.’
A pained expression crossed the MacThanach’s face, and he cast an imploring glance at Elfrida who nodded gravely, and said, ‘Aye, what they canna use or carry, they’ll burn. The only way to prevent it is to drive them so quickly they have no’ got time to burn too thoroughly.’
Iseult nodded gravely. ‘To triumph in war, starve your enemy,’ she said.
‘All very good advice,’ the MacThanach said, annoyed, ‘but it seems it is us who are starving, Your Highness. Tell me how we can cause the blaygird Bright Soldiers to go hungry and I’ll thank ye for the advice.’
‘We have no’ got the men to be subduing the outlaws,’ Lachlan said, troubled. ‘They have run wild in the forests for years now and know them far better than we do.’
‘Can we no’ offer the outlaws amnesty?’ the MacRuraich said. ‘Were no’ many o’ them turned out o’ their crofts by the Red Guards or charged with plotting against the Ensorcellor’s rule?’
‘Some, it is true, but most are thieves and murderers, and rightly accused,’ the MacThanach protested.
‘It would be one way o’ swelling the ranks o’ our armies,’ the MacRuraich argued. ‘True, they’re rough and undisciplined, but I am sure many o’ them would rather be pardoned for the past and given a chance to start afresh than be hanged as outlaws.’
‘No’ a bad idea,’ Lachlan said. ‘If they steal or murder while under our command, we can punish them then. Cameron, make a note! We shall send out messengers to every village and town offering to pardon outlaws and bandits as long as they present themselves to our army for active service.’
The chancellor nodded, scribbling industriously. Lachlan paced the floor thoughtfully, then said, ‘Make it clear the amnesty is also extended to all former Red Guards, Cameron. Any we can swing to our cause will make our job o’ subduing the countryside that much easier, and we could do with their military experience.’
Daillas the Lame said, ‘Is that wise, Your Highness? The Red Guards have spent the last sixteen years burning witches and faeries. Surely we canna be pardoning their wicked crimes so easily?’
There was a mutter of agreement from the other witches, and Gwilym the Ugly cried, ‘They never showed any mercy to the witches, why should we offer it to them?’
Both Daillas and Gwilym had suffered cruel torture at the hands of the Awl and were crippled as a result, so a murmur of sympathy arose at their words. Iseult leant forward and said, ‘Why blame the common soldier for the misdeeds o’ their leaders? Many were just following orders, and indeed that is a trait ye should encourage in your troopers. If we offer them pardon, they may tip the balance towards victory; otherwise they are just more power to our enemies.’
They argued the point for some time, Gwilym pointing out that the Red Guards had been indoctrinated with the philosophy of the Awl for sixteen years and were unlikely to serve under a rìgh who had reinstated the Coven of Witches.
Iseult shrugged rather wearily and replied, ‘In that case, they are likely to join Renshaw the Ruthless at Blairgowrie anyway. Surely we should offer them an alternative? Too many have gone to swell his ranks as it is.’
There was a subdued murmur, for all had heard the reports of the army the former Grand-Seeker was gathering together at Blairgowrie. The subject made the lairds uneasy, for the disappearance of Maya’s child from the court had given rise to many rumours. Lachlan MacCuinn may have said the Banrìgh’s sister, Isabeau the Red, had taken her to a place of safety, but many suspected a darker reason for her absence.
Lachlan flushed at the mutters but held a tight rein on his temper, saying merely, ‘That is one nest o’ gravenings that must be cleaned out, and soon!’
‘Aye,’ Iseult agreed: ‘I think it should be our first target. If we strike them hard and fast, we can prevent them from gathering too great a force.’
The MacThanach frowned. He strongly disapproved of his new Banrìgh, who did not speak or act in a way he thought appropriate for a young lass. After all, she was not yet seventeen, the same age as his fourth daughter, who would never dare put forth her opinions with such boldness. ‘Surely we should secure the harbour and river first, Your Highness,’ he said gruffly. ‘As it stands, the Bright Soldiers can simply sail into the Berhtfane any time they wish, bringing in reinforcements and controlling the supply routes up the river.’
Iseult began to say something, but he cut across her, an indulgent tone in his voice. ‘No’ that it is no’ a good idea to nip the Renshaw rebellion in the bud, Your Highness, but happen we’d best relieve the siege at Rhyssmadill first, aye?’
Most of the other lairds nodded their heads in agreement, but Iseult said clearly, ‘Nay, my laird. And indeed, such action would be foolish at this point.’
The MacThanach stiffened, his beard bristling. ‘Happen ye’d best look to your babe and your spinning and leave the scheming o’ war to the men,’ he said brusquely. ‘I think I know better than a mere lassie like yourself.’
‘How could ye?’ Iseult replied. ‘Blèssem has been, fat and peaceful for decades, and your only training the tilting at stuffed dummies with a wooden lance. I am a Scarred Warrior and have fought many a battle and won them all. The fact that ye advise us to concentrate on relieving the siege at Rhyssmadill only proves to me ye have no’ thought the matter through. We should no’ send more men there but tell our forces in the city to retreat.’
‘Retreat?’ A startled cry rose up, and the MacThanach drew himself up to his full height, clearly offended.
Before he could retort, Duncan Ironfist asked curiously, ‘Why do ye say so, Your Highness? I too would have thought the relieving o’ Rhyssmadill one o’ our first priorities.’
‘Have ye forgotten the Fairgean?’ Iseult said impatiently. ‘We all ken they come with the rising o’ the spring tides. We should arrive on the shores o’ the Berhtfane in time to fight both the Bright Soldiers and the sea-faeries. Why do we no’ just let the Fairgean do our work for us?’
‘What do ye mean?’ someone cried, and Iseult stifled a sigh.
‘The Fairgean will sweep into the firth and river as soon as they have arrived on our shores,’ she said. ‘Since the Bright Soldiers destroyed the river gates, there is nothing to keep them out. They will swarm into the city and into the surrounding countryside, killing whatever they can. Surely ye can see it would be foolish to have any o’ our forces there at that time? If we retreat, the Bright Soldiers will seize the chance to consolidate their position in the city and reinforce the assault on the palace. They will-then take the brunt o’ the Fairgean’s attack, and we can move all our forces east instead, moving to attack Blairgowrie and to relieve the siege at Dùn Eidean …’
The MacThanach had opened his mouth to protest, but at Iseult’s final words he closed it, fingering his beard thoughtfully. Some of the plum-red colour in his cheeks died away, and he said rather reluctantly, ‘Well, there be some sense in that.’
Lachlan could not help giving a chuckle, for he knew the MacThanach was most anxious that his home city be relieved and the Bright Soldiers driven out of Blèssem. He said quickly, to hide his amusement, ‘And even better, we show the people that no defiance will be tolerated! For us to bring peace to the land, we must have the unconditional support o’ the countryside; while we allow seekers to roam the land, spreading vile rumours and causing disquiet, we shall never have peace.’
So it was decided. The Rìgh’s army would move east, striking deep into the heart of Blèssem, while Lachlan’s supporters would be ordered to withdraw from the river and coast. After long discussion, Dide the Juggler and Cathmor the Nimble were given the dangerous job of riding for Dùn Gorm to spread the new
s. Dide had been close-lipped and gloomy since Hogmanay, and he seized upon the chance of action with disturbing alacrity.
Lachlan looked at him in some perturbation, saying, ‘But Dide, would ye no’ rather ride with me for Blairgowrie?’
‘Ye ken I be friends wi’ all the lads in Dùn Gorm,’ Dide replied. ‘Many times we’ve worked together to rescue a witch or thwart some plan o’ the Ensorcellor’s. They ken me and trust me.’
‘True enough,’ Lachlan replied. ‘Still, I would like to have ye with me.’
‘I will come and join ye when I can, master,’ Dide replied, with a lightening of his dour expression. ‘It has been some time since we fought together. I shall take the news to the blue city first, though—they must be in hard straits there.’
‘I shall ride to Dùn Gorm with ye,’ Dughall MacBrann said, lifting his slumberous black eyes from the contemplation of his rings.
Dide and Cathmor looked at each other dubiously. Dughall was a slim, languid man, dressed always in black silks and velvets, with jewels on each finger and hanging from his ear lobe. ‘It will be dangerous, my laird,’ Cathmor said. ‘Dùn Gorm is occupied by the Bright Soldiers, and our men attack from the shadows when they can. We shall have to make our way through occupied land and sneak through their lines. If we are caught, all is lost.’
Dughall yawned behind one delicate, white hand. ‘Indeed, I understand that,’ he answered in a fatigued voice. ‘Ye may remember I was at Rhyssmadill when the Bright Soldiers attacked, and I saw the city had been overrun. Besides, we have talked about little else for weeks. Strangely enough, I have managed to keep my attention on the war conference much o’ the time.’
‘We shall have to travel rough, my laird,’ Dide said tentatively, trying to convey his concerns to the prionnsa without offending him. ‘Most probably we shall have to disguise ourselves as crofters, or even as beggars …’
Dughall raised one eyebrow. ‘You surprise me, lad. Did ye expect me to ride to war in my best silk? It might get damaged. Nay, rest assured, my lad, I’ll change before we ride out.’
Lachlan glanced at his cousin quizzically. ‘Why do ye wish to ride to Dùn Gorm, Dughall? Would ye no’ rather ride east with me?’
Dughall spread his fingers so he could admire the flash of his rings. ‘As ye mentioned before, Your Highness, we have had no word from Ravenshaw. The last missive from my beloved father was six months ago, and it said only that the Bright Soldiers had approached him wanting to use Ravenshaw’s harbours and bays. Naturally enough I feel some filial concern. It occurred to me that it might be time for a visit to the ancestral acres.’
‘Indeed, I would like to know whether the Tìrsoilleirean have invaded Ravenshaw as well,’ Lachlan said.
Dughall shrugged. ‘I too feel some small interest in the matter, Your Highness.’
‘And ye will be able to scry to us with news,’ the Rìgh mused, remembering belatedly that the rings weighing down his cousin’s hands were not just for decoration. Dughall MacBrann was a fully trained sorcerer, one of the few left in the land. He was as qualified to join the council of sorcerers as Daillas the Lame, but as heir to the throne of Ravenshaw he could not for the council was designed to be independent of the prionnsachan.
Lachlan’s cousin smiled. ‘Indeed I can, my dear. It also occurs to me that we should be sending messengers to Tìreich to see how they fare there and whether they can offer us support. The horsemen o’ the plains would be most useful just now.’
‘Indeed they would,’ Lachlan agreed fervently. One of his most pressing problems was the lack of cavalry, for only the Red Guards had been trained to fight on horseback and most of them had fled the new regime.
‘By all accounts, Kenneth MacAhern is a proud man and protective o’ his dignities. I met him when he came to Rhyssmadill for the Lammas Congress, and a haughty, stiff-backed prionnsa he was indeed. I think he would be more willing to help us if the Rìgh sent his own cousin to negotiate rather than a lowly messenger.’
‘True again,’ Lachlan said, eyeing his cousin with some scepticism. ‘Though surprised I am indeed to have ye offering for the role o’ lowly messenger yourself, Dughall. Ye are sure ye would no’ rather come and win glory on the battlefield at Blairgowrie?’
‘I aim only to serve my Rìgh,’ he answered with a languid bow. ‘Though I must admit I hope to return with the forces o’ both Ravenshaw and Tìreich at my back and win acclaim and your approval that way.’
‘Well, if ye can manage such a feat I shall be most grateful,’ Lachlan replied. ‘Though I shall miss ye at my shoulder when we challenge Renshaw the Ruthless. By all accounts, we shall need every soldier and every sorcerer we can get!’
Anghus MacRuraich stirred uneasily and the wolf sat upright, dislodging the sleepy little girl who leant against her. The thud as she slid to the floor caught Lachlan’s attention and he turned to glance in their direction. ‘My pardon, Your Highness,’ Anghus said, ‘but I fear I may have to beg your forbearance as well. Now that the winter snows are melting, I am eager indeed to return to my own lands. Ye know it is close on a year since I left Rurach, and I have no’ seen my wife or my men in all that time.’
‘But I need ye with me when we lay siege to Blairgowrie,’ Lachlan cried in some dismay, having found the advice and support of the MacRuraich invaluable in the past.
Anghus returned his glance steadily. ‘I thank Your Highness for his regard and shall ride at his side if he so commands it. However, as ye know, I have only a handful o’ men with me. If I return to Rurach, I shall be able to secure peace in my lands, enforce the repealing o’ the decrees against witchcraft and the faeries, and raise an army to bring to your assistance. Most importantly, I shall be able to return Fionnghal to the arms o’ her mother. It is close on six years since she was stolen from us, my laird, and Gwyneth suffered her loss cruelly.’
Lachlan glanced at Iseult, whose face had softened at the MacRuraich’s words. A new mother herself, she could imagine how much Gwyneth NicSian had grieved when her young daughter had been stolen from her and held at ransom by the Anti-Witchcraft League. She gave a slight nod, and Lachlan reluctantly gave Anghus permission to return to Rurach.
‘I shall need ye, though, Anghus, so be sure to put your affairs in order and return to me,’ he said. ‘Blairgowrie is only the first o’ our objectives. It shall he a long and bloody war, never forget that, and I need all the prionnsachan behind me.’
‘I shall return as soon as I am able,’ Anghus replied. ‘And I shall bring an army with me, Your Highness, that I promise.’
Lachlan nodded in thanks, though his face was drawn with worry. He had never had to plan a war before, for the years of rebellion had mostly been spent in small engagements and minor conflicts. For all their shrewdness, Meghan and Enit did not have the tactical or logistical knowledge to help him, and most of his brother’s military advisers had fled to join Renshaw’s forces. Iseult was well trained in the art of the Scarred Warrior, but her experience involved close hand-to-hand fighting and not the arming and deploying of almost six thousand soldiers.
With his small staff of officers, Lachlan not only had to command the army troops but also to organise efficient service corps, with farriers to tend the horses, carpenters to build siege machines, and engineers to plan and build fortifications. He also had to try and set up secure lines of communication between the various battalions, as well as organise supply trains with herds of sheep and goats to feed them all. Worst of all, he had to try and raise the funds to pay for it all. Most of the royal treasury had been left behind in the hurried escape from Rhyssmadill, and with the palace still under siege from the Tìrsoilleirean army, Lachlan had to find alternative sources of money.
Luckily Lucescere was a rich city, with over fifty different guilds ranging from silk weavers to clock-makers to potters. In return for promises of significant grants in the future, the young rìgh had managed to secure sufficient funds for the immediate future, but he knew all too well how mu
ch the merchants’ support depended on quick success in the countryside.
His major problem remained the feeding of the soldiers, for he was determined not to simply take what he needed from the farmers and crofters, as the Red Guards had done. Rionnagan, Clachan and Blèssem were rich in grain and fruit and meat, but the Bright Soldiers had descended on the countryside like locusts, stripping what they needed and destroying the rest. Those parts of southern Eileanan that had not fallen to the invaders had already been plundered to feed the thousands of refugees who had fled to Lucescere and upper Rionnagan. Lachlan knew it was imperative that the spring planting went ahead if they were to have food for the winter, and so he had to deploy some of his troops to help the farmers and protect the crops.
With a frown etched deep into his brow, Lachlan wondered whether he would have gone ahead with the rebellion had he known exactly how much responsibility being the rìgh entailed. It was too late to baulk now, though; he was the MacCuinn, Rìgh of all Eileanan and the Far Islands, bearer of the Lodestar, and the future of the land weighed on his shoulders. He sighed and turned back to the maps.
‘It be a cold, raw morn,’ the weaver woman said with a shiver, holding the shawl close about her head with a bluish hand. Her feet on the icy cobblestones were bare, and she shifted from foot to foot in a vain attempt to keep warm. In her arms she carried long bolts of rough-woven grey cloth.
‘Aye, that it is,’ the guard at the palace gate replied with a grin, ‘but I’d be happy to warm it for ye.’
‘Och, ye’re a cheeky lad,’ she said. ‘Wha’ would my man be saying if he heard ye?’
‘He’d give him a mouthful o’ knuckles, if I know Jimmy Cobbler,’ the other guard said, blowing on his hands. He glanced up at the sky, a dull grey behind the rooftops of the city. ‘Looks like we’ll have a touch o’ rain before too long.’