But – and this was so galling – he was right. When Niallad's militia plan had first been put forward, the men in the Legion had bitterly opposed it. All the evidence indicated that the Vagrians were preparing for invasion. But Niallad claimed that the Vagrians themselves feared an attack to save money. Our money! If one good thing has come out of this war, it is that the noble class is gone for good.'
'Perhaps. But then Gellan is a nobleman.'
'Yes?'
'You don't hate him, do you?'
'He's no better than the rest.'
'I thought you liked him.'
'I suppose he's not a bad officer. Too soft. But underneath he still looks down on us.'
'I've never noticed it,' said Sarvaj.
'You don't look hard enough,' responded Jonat.
A horseman galloped into the grove and the men lurched to their feet with hands on sword-hilts. It was the scout, Kapra.
Gellan walked from the trees as the man dismounted. 'Anything to the east?' he asked.
'Three gutted villages, sir. A few refugees. I saw a column of Vagrian infantry – maybe two thousand. They made camp near Ostry, by the river.'
'No sign of cavalry?'
'No, sir,'
'Jonat!' called Gellan.
'Yes, sir.'
'The infantry will be expecting supplies. Take two men and scout to the east – when you see the wagons, get back here as fast as you can.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Kapra, get yourself some food and then take a fresh mount and move out with Jonat. We will wait here for you.'
Sarvaj smiled. The difference in Gellan was startling now that the prospect of action loomed – his eyes were bright and alive and his voice curt and authoritative. Gone was the habitual stoop and the casually distant manner.
Egel had sent them out to find supplies to feed his beleaguered force, and so far they had been riding for three days without success. Villages had been wantonly destroyed and food stores taken or burnt. Cattle had been driven off and sheep poisoned in their fields.
'Sarvaj!'
'Sir?'
'Get the horses picketed and separate the men into five groups. There's a hollow past the thicket there and room for three fires – but none to be lit until the north star is clear and bright. You understand?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Four men to stand watch, change every four hours. You pick the places.'
'Yes, sir.'
Gellan smoothed his dark moustache and grinned boyishly.
'Let them be carrying salt beef,' he said. 'Pray for salt beef, Sarvaj!'
'And a small escort. It might be worth praying for a Ten.'
The smile faded from Gellan's face. 'Unlikely. They'll have at least a Quarter, maybe more. And then there will be the cartsmen. Still, cross that river when we reach it. When the men are resting, organise a sabre check; I want no blunted weapons when we ride.'
'Yes, sir. Why don't you get some rest?'
'I'm fine.'
'It wouldn't do any harm,' Sarvaj urged.
'You're fussing round me like an old woman. And don't think I don't appreciate it – but I am all right now, I promise.' Gellan smiled to hide the lie, but it did not fool Sarvaj.
The men were glad of the rest and without Jonat the mood lightened. Sarvaj and Gellan sat apart from the troop, chatting lightly about the past. Careful to avoid bringing up subjects which would remind Gellan of his wife and children, Sarvaj talked mainly of regimental memories.
'Do you mind if I ask you a question?' he said suddenly.
'Why should I?' answered Gellan.
'Why did you promote Jonat?'
'Because he's talented – he just doesn't realise it yet.'
'He doesn't like you.'
'That doesn't matter. Watch him – he'll do well.'
'He brings the men down, lessens morale.'
'I know. Be patient.'
'He's pushing for us to run north – to break out of Skultik.'
'Stop worrying about it, Sarvaj. Trust me.'
I trust you, thought Sarvaj. I trust you to be finest swordsman in the Legion, to be a caring and careful officer and to be a firm friend. But Jonat? Jonat was a snake and Gellan was too trusting to see it. Given the time, Jonat would start a mutiny which would spread like a prairie fire through the dispirited ranks of Egel's army.
That night, as Gellan lay under his cloak away from the fire, he fell into a deep sleep and the dreams returned. He woke with a start and the tears flowed, though he swallowed the sobs that ached to be loose.
As he stood up and wandered away from camp, Sarvaj turned over and opened his eyes.
'Damn!' he whispered.
Towards dawn, Sarvaj arose and checked the sentries. This was the worst time of the night for concentration, and often a man who could stand a shift from dusk until midnight would find it impossible on another night to stay awake from midnight to dawn. Sarvaj had no idea what caused this phenomenon, but he knew what cured it; a man found sleeping on duty was lashed twenty times, and for a second offence the sentence was death. Sarvaj had no wish to see his men hung, so he made a name for himself as a nightwalker.
On this night, as he crept soundlessly through the wood, he found all four men alert and watchful. Pleased, he made his way back to his blankets where he found Gellan waiting for him. The officer looked tired, but his eyes were bright.
'You haven't slept,' said Sarvaj.
'No, I was thinking about the convoy. What we can't steal, we must destroy; the Vagrians must be taught to suffer. I don't understand the way they are conducting this war. If they left the farming villages alone there would always be sufficient supplies, but by raping and killing and burning they are making the land a wilderness. And it will turn on them. Come winter they will be on short rations and then, by all the Gods, we'll hit them.'
'How many wagons do you think there'll be?'
'For a force of two thousand? No fewer than twenty-five.'
'So,' said Sarvaj, 'if we take the convoy without loss we'll have around twenty escort riders, and three days in the open back to Skultik. That's asking for a lot of luck.'
'We are entitled to a little , my friend,' replied Gellan.
'Entitlement means nothing. I've lost at dice ten days in a row!'
'And on the eleventh?'
'I lose again. You know I never win at dice.'
'I know you never pay your debts,' said Gellan. 'You still owe me three silver pieces. Get the men together – Jonat should be back soon.'
But it was mid-morning before Jonat and the others cantered into the clearing. Gellan strode to meet them as Jonat lifted his leg over the pommel and slid to the ground.
'What news?' he asked.
'You were right, sir – there's a convoy three hours to the east. Twenty-seven wagons. But there are fifty mounted guards and two outriding scouts.'
'Were you seen?'
'I do not believe so,' replied Jonat stiffly.
'Tell me of the ground.'
'There's only one spot to take them, but it's close to Ostry and the infantry. However, the trail winds between two wooded hills; there's plenty of cover on both sides and the wagons will move slowly, for the track is muddy and steep.'
'How soon can we be there and in place?'
'Two hours. But that will leave it very tight, sir. We might even arrive as the wagons enter the trees on the far side.'
'That's too damned tight,' said Sarvaj, 'especially since they have scouts out.'
The risks were too great, Gellan knew, yet Egel needed supplies desperately. What was worse, there was no time to plan, to think.
'Mount up!' he shouted.
As the troop thundered to the east, Gellan was cursing his shortcomings. What was needed before setting out was a powerful short speech to the men, something to fire their blood. But he had never been good with groups and knew the men felt him to be a cold, distant leader. Now he was uncomfortably aware that he was leading some of them – perhaps all – to
their deaths on a harebrained attack best left to reckless, colourful men like Karnak or Dundas. How the men worshipped them – young, dashing and totally fearless, they led their Centuries against the Vagrians time and again, cutting and running, letting the enemy know there was still some fight in the Drenai.
They had little time for veterans like Gellan. Perhaps rightly so, he considered, as the wind tore at his face. I should have retired, he thought. He had made up his mind to quit this autumn, but there was no quiet retirement for a Drenai officer now.
They reached the wood in under two hours and Gellan called a swift meeting with his under-officers. Two of his best bowmen were dispatched to deal with the advance scouts, and then he split his force to left and right of the track. He himself took command of the right-hand slope, giving Jonat the left, ignoring Sarvaj's disapproving glare.
With the orders given, the men settled down to wait and Gellan bit his lip, his mind racing round in infuriating circles as he struggled to find a flaw in his plan – a flaw he felt certain was there for all to see.
On the left-hand slope Jonat crouched behind a thick bush, rubbing at his neck to ease the tension. On either side his men waited, bows ready and arrows notched,.
He wished Gellan had given this command to Sarvaj; he felt ill at ease with the responsibility.
'Why don't they come?' hissed a man to his left.
'Keep calm,' Jonat heard himself say. 'They'll come. And when they do, we'll kill them. All of them! We'll teach them what it means to invade Drenai lands.'
He grinned at the soldier and as the man grinned back, Jonat felt the tension ease from him. Gellan's plan was a good one, but then Jonat would expect little else from such an ice-man. To hear him talk you would think that was just another manoeuvre, but then Gellan was one of the warrior class, damn him! Not the son of a farm labourer best known for his ability to dance while drunk. Anger flared, but Jonat quelled it as the first creaking sounds of the wagons drifted up to him.
'Steady now!' he whispered. 'No one lets fly before the order. Pass the word along – I'll flay the man alive who disobeys!'
The wagons were led by six horsemen, their black horned helms down, swords in their hands. Behind them trundled the heavy wagons and carts, twenty-two horsemen filing along both sides of the track.
Slowly they came on and as the lead horsemen passed Jonat's position he notched an arrow to his bow, waiting, waiting …
'Now!' he yelled as the last wagons began the incline.
Black shafts flashed from the trees on both sides. Horses reared screaming and pandemonium came to the woods. One horseman tipped over the back of his horse, two arrows appearing in his chest. Another pitched forward as a shaft sliced his throat.
Cartsmen dived for cover below the wagons as the massacre continued. Three horsemen galloped west, ducking low over their horses' necks. One was brought down when an arrow hammered into his mount's neck; as he scrambled to his feet, three shafts plunged into his back. The other two broke clear over the hill-top and straightened in their saddles …
Only to find themselves galloping towards Sarvaj and ten bowmen. Arrows peppered them and both horses fell dying, pitching their riders to the ground. Sarvaj and his men ran forward, killing the riders before they could rise.
In the woods Jonat led his men on a reckless charge to the wagons. Several of the cartsmen crawled out to meet them with hands raised, but the Drenai were in no mood for prisoners and they were despatched without mercy.
Within three minutes of the onset of the encounter, all the Vagrians were dead.
Gellan walked slowly down to the wagons. Six of the oxen used to pull the lead wagon were down and he ordered them cut clear. The action had gone better than he could have hoped for: seventy Vagrians dead and not one of his men wounded.
But now came the hard part – he had to get the wagons to Skultik.
'Good work, Jonat!' he said. 'Your timing was excellent.'
'Thank you, sir,'
'Strip the cloaks and helms from the dead – and get the bodies hidden in the woods.'
'Yes, sir,'
'We're going to be Vagrians for a little while.'
'It's a long way to Skultik,' said Jonat.
'We'll get there,' answered Gellan.
5
Waylander paused at the foot of a grass-covered hill and lifted Culas and Miriel from the saddle. The trees were thinning now and once over the crest the group would be on open ground. Waylander was tired; his limbs felt heavy and his eyes ached. A strong man, he was unused to this physical weariness and at a loss to understand it. Dardalion halted beside him and Danyal lowered Krylla into the priest's arms.
'Why are we stopping?' asked Danyal. Dardalion shrugged.
Waylander walked to the top of the hill and lay on his belly scanning the plain beyond. In the far distance a column of wagons was heading north, escorted by Vagrian cavalry. Waylander chewed at his lip and frowned.
Heading north?
Towards Egel?
This could only mean that Egel had been forced out of Skultik, or had made a run for Purdol. If either was the case, then there was little point in taking the children to the forest. But where else could they go? Waylander returned his gaze to the plain itself: thousands of square miles of flat, unending grassland, dotted with occasional trees and ground-hugging hedgerows. And yet the land was deceptive, he knew. What looked like flatlands hid scores of gullies and hollows, random dips and curves in the earth. The entire Vagrian army could be camped within the range of his sight and yet be hidden from him. He glanced back and saw the two little girls gathering bluebells. The sound of laughter echoed on the hillside. Waylander cursed softly. Moving back carefully from the crest he stood up and turned towards the group.
As he walked down the hill four men moved out of the trees.
Waylander's eyes narrowed, but he walked on. Dardalion had not seen the men and was talking to the boy, Culas.
The men spread out as Waylander approached. All four were bearded, their faces grim. Each wore a longsword and two of them carried bows. Waylander's crossbow was clipped to his belt, but it was useless, for the metal arms were snapped shut.
Dardalion turned as Waylander walked past him and saw the newcomers. The sisters ceased their flower-gathering and ran to Danyal, Culas moving alongside them as Dardalion went to stand just behind Waylander.
'Nice horses,' said the man at the centre of the group. He was taller than the others and wore a green cloak of homespun wool.
Waylander said nothing and Dardalion could feel the tension rising. He wiped his palm on his shirt and hooked his thumb in his belt close to the hilt of the knife. The green-cloaked newcomer observed the movement and smiled, his blue eyes flickering back to Waylander.
'You don't offer much in the way of greetings, my friend,' he said.
Waylander smiled. 'Did you come here to die?' he asked softly.
'Why this talk of dying? We are all Drenai here.' The man was uncomfortable now. 'My name is Baloc and these are my brothers Lak, Dujat and Meloc – he's the youngest. We're not here to cause you harm.'
'It would not matter if you were,' said Waylander. 'Tell your brothers to sit down and be comfortable.'
'I do not like your manner,' said Baloc, stiffening. He edged back a step and the brothers fanned out to form a semi-circle around Waylander and the priest.
'Your likes and dislikes are immaterial to me,' said Waylander. 'And if your brother makes one more move to the right, I'll kill him.'
The man stopped instantly and Baloc licked his lips. 'You are big on threats for a man with no sword.'
'That should tell you something,' said Waylander. 'But then you look like a stupid man, so I will spell it out for you. I don't need a sword to deal with scum like you. No, don't say a word – just listen! Today I am in a good mood. You understand? Had you arrived yesterday I would probably have killed you without all this conversation. But today I feel expansive. The sun is shining and all is well. S
o take your brothers and go back the way you came.'
Baloc stared into Waylander's eyes, unsure and aware of a growing unease. Two men against four and not a sword in sight. Two horses and a woman as the prize. Yet still he was unsure.
The man was so confident, so calm. Not an ounce of tension showed in his stance or his manner … and his eyes were cold as tombstones.
Baloc grinned suddenly and spread his arms. 'All this talk of death and killing … Is there not enough trouble in the world? All right, we'll leave.' As he backed away, watching Waylander, his brothers joined him and all the men disappeared back into the trees.
'Run,' said Waylander.
'What?' asked Dardalion. But the dark-haired warrior was already sprinting towards the horses, pulling his crossbow clear and snapping the hinges open.
'Lie down!' he yelled and Danyal hurled herself to the ground, dragging the sisters with her.
Black-shafted arrows hissed from the trees. One flashed by Dardalion's head and he dived for the grass; a second missed Waylander by inches. Snapping two bolts into place and stretching the bow-arms tight, he ran for the trees, zig-zagging and ducking. Arrows flew perilously close. One hissed above Dardalion; he heard a choking cry and rolled over. The boy, Culas, had remained standing but now he knelt in pain, his small hands clutching a shaft buried in his belly.
Anger roared through Dardalion and with knife in hand he followed Waylander. As he went, a scream came from the forest … then another. Dardalion entered the trees at a run and saw two of the men down while Waylander, a knife in each hand, faced the other pair. Baloc ran forward, his sword flashing towards Waylander's neck, but Waylander ducked under the sweeping blade and rammed his right-hand knife in to the man's groin. Baloc doubled over and fell, dragging Waylander with him. As the last robber ran forward with sword raised, Dardalion's arm came up and swept down. The black blade thudded home in the robber's throat and he toppled backwards to writhe on the dark earth. Waylander wrenched his knife clear of Baloc and then, grabbing the man's hair, pulled his head back.
'There are some who never learn,' he said, opening the man's jugular.
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