David Gemmell - Rigante 4 - Stormrider 1.0

by Stormrider [lit]

  Chara Ring stood in the long kitchen, staring down at the pistol lying now beside the bread board. 'You can't stay, Chara,' said Senlic.

  'I have weapons here, and I know how to use them,' she told him.

  'There are eight of them, girl.'

  Chara swung on him. 'Do not call me girl! I don't care how many there are. You think I'd be safer out in the wilderness with them?' she asked, keeping her voice low and pointing back towards the living room. 'I know men like them, Senlic. I spent a day and a night in a dungeon with men like them. Never again!' She leaned back against the work surface and began to tremble. Senlic reached towards her with his good hand. 'Do not touch me!' she told him sharply.

  'I am sorry,' he said. 'I meant no offence. But Tostig will come here. There's nothing to stop him now. I expect he knows Kaelin and the men are gone. You'll not be safe, and neither will the boy.'

  'I am staying in my home,' she told him.

  Senlic sighed. 'Very well then. I'll load more weapons. I expect we'll hit a few of them. Then they'll stay back and pick us off as we leave the house over the next few days. Or they'll come at night. Then sooner or later, Chara, with me dead - and likely the Cochland boys too - you'll find yourself once more back in that dungeon.'

  'I'll kill myself before I let that happen again.'

  'Perhaps we could save the boy heartbreak and terror by killing him now,' said Senlic.

  'Don't say such stupid things,' she told him.

  'You need to be away from here,' he urged her.

  'Then I'll go alone - just me, little Jaim and Feargol. I don't need the Cochlands.'

  'Tostig and his men have horses. The snow is still deep and you'd have to carry Feargol and Jaim. You'll make no distance. You'll be exhausted within an hour and Tostig will catch you long before nightfall.'

  'Has it occurred to you that all this is a trick? Ten pounds, Senlic. The Cochlands could be planning to murder me in the wilderness and collect the money themselves.'

  'I don't believe that. Not once has Draig or Eain ever been accused of attacks upon women or children. They steal cattle, Chara. They are lazy men and thieves. You heard Eain. He wants no part in this. He is terrified of Tostig. They both are, though Draig would not admit it. With them you can get to the high country, where Tostig's horses will be useless. Without them we are all dead.'

  'I can't do it, Senlic. I can't.'

  'You can, Chara,' he said, softly. 'You are Rigante. We don't let fear rule us. Given a little time you would come to this realization yourself. But we don't have time. Every heartbeat of time we waste brings them closer.' He leaned in towards her, lowering his voice still further. 'The Cochlands are scum. I'll grant that. They may even desert you when trouble comes. They won't harm you, though. Or the boy. So use them like pack ponies until you art clear. Then send them on their way. And bear in mind that they too have Rigante blood.'

  'So did Wullis Swainham,' she reminded him.

  'Aye, he did,' admitted Senlic, 'and he shamed us all. The Cochlands aren't like him, though. I'd stake my life on that.'

  'You are not staking your life,' she said, softly. 'You are staking mine and Jaim's and Feargol’s.'

  'I am aware of that, Chara.'

  They stood in silence for several moments, and Senlic saw the trembling cease, and colour return to Chara's cheeks. She took a deep breath. 'Take the Cochlands to the supply store,' she said. 'Find them snowshoes and packs, and anything else you think they'll need.' She put her hand on the old man's shoulder, then leaned in and kissed his cheek. 'You are Rigante, my friend,' she said. 'I am sorry I spoke harshly.'

  'Whisht, woman,' he said, then moved away.

  Chara took Feargol upstairs to pack clothing, and Senlic led the Cochlands across to the supply hut. Eain was still complaining, urging Draig to reconsider. Draig told him he was free to return home alone. They continued to argue as they rummaged through the supplies, packing them untidily in canvas backpacks. Senlic left them to it and sat down upon a tack box.

  'We'll need a musket each,' said Draig.

  'Why do we need muskets?' asked Eain. 'I'm not fighting anybody.'

  As they continued to argue Senlic leaned back against the wall of the hut. When the bright light obscured his vision he jerked. It had been years since the Sight had flared. He had thought it long gone now. In that moment he wished that it was. He suddenly groaned. Draig moved alongside him. 'Are you ill, old man?'

  'I am all right,' said Senlic, struggling to his feet. 'You are right. You will need muskets, and a spare pistol each. We have some long hunting knives, bone-handled. Take two of those. You can keep them. You can keep it all once Chara and the children are safe. I don't doubt that Call Jace will also reward you for saving his daughter and grandson.'

  'This isn't about rewards,' muttered Draig.

  'I know, Cochland. I meant no offence. I am grateful you came, and I know Jace will be too. That is all I meant.'

  When they had gathered all the supplies, and filled their packs Senlic picked out two muskets and a pair of pistols, plus powder and shot. Then he allowed both brothers to choose hunting knives. Once they had done so Draig hoisted his pack and moved towards the door.

  'Wait,' said Senlic. 'There is something we must speak of.'

  'You can trust us,' said Draig. 'Do not concern yourself.'

  'It is not my trust that is lacking, Cochland. I do believe you.' He sighed. 'You know the history of Chara and Kaelin?'

  'Aye, he rescued her from the Varlish. Walked into their castle and killed the guards.'

  'Aye, he did. A grand deed it was. They had her though for some time before Kaelin got to her.'

  'What is this about?' asked Eain.

  'Quiet,' snapped Draig. 'You are saying they raped her?'

  'More than that. They beat her, Cochland. They punched and thrashed her, kicked and bit her. It was torture. Their taunts and their vileness damned near broke her spirit. It haunts her still. Always will, I suspect. Now she has a fear of men. A great fear. You understand me? She is about to walk out into the wilderness with the Cochland brothers. By heaven, if I was a woman I wouldn't have that kind of courage.'

  Draig stiffened. 'You think I would ever . . .'

  'No, I don't,' said Senlic. 'What I am saying is be aware of her fears as you walk together. She is a strong woman. In this one area, though, she is as fragile as an ice crystal come the thaw.'

  'I understand,' said Draig.

  'I don't,' said Eain. 'And I'm getting damned cold standing here.'

  Half an hour later Senlic stood at the farm gate, Patch beside him, and watched as the little group walked out across the snow. Draig was carrying Feargol on his hip, while Eain held two-year-old Jaim. Chara walked just behind them both, a musket cradled in her hands.

  'You'll be all right, will you?' Chara had asked him.

  'Aye, I will,' he had lied.

  He waited until they had reached the first crest. His eyes were no longer good enough to see whether Chara or Feargol waved back at him, but he waved anyway. It was around three hours to dusk, and a sunset he knew he would not see.

  Senlic Carpenter went back to the main house, and sat waiting, his pistol in his hand.

  It had been a good life. He had not changed the world for the better, nor led a Rigante charge against the enemy. He had not sired a dozen tall sons. He would die now, as he had lived most of his life, alone. Yet he was content. Senlic had lived as a Rigante should, loving the land, and holding strong to the clan values of loyalty and courage. He would leave behind no ill will, no seeds of malice or hate to bedevil future generations.

  He thought of loading a second pistol, but the vision had been clear. He would have time for one shot before they cut him down.

  Actually this was not strictly true, he realized. In the vision he had seen two futures. In the first he had walked away from Ironlatch, and hidden until the riders moved on. He had then seen the eight men hunt down Chara and the others. In the second he did not hide. He
saw himself murdered, and then watched as the scene shifted to the High Rigante. There he observed little Jaim clambering on to Call Jace's lap, Feargol standing close by, his white cap in his hands. Jace reached out to him too, and Feargol had smiled happily.

  As he sat at the table, Patch beside him, he wondered why he had been offered such a ridiculous choice.

  Was there a Rigante anywhere who would choose the first?

  -

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHARA RING STRUGGLED ON, HER LEGS WEARY. FOR THE LAST HOUR she had carried little Jaim. He was tearful now and cold and hungry. She also sensed his fear. He had never been carried out into such weather before and the biting wind and the wide, empty land frightened him. For the first two hours the hulking Eain had carried the child, but he was close to exhaustion now. Like most thieves Eain was a lazy man, and though he had enormous strength he was short on stamina. Draig too was suffering as they climbed yet another hill.

  The snow here was thick and deep, and they had been forced to use snowshoes. Chara knew this area well, and, close to dusk, she headed them towards a cliff face where there were several shallow caves. At the first Draig began to remove his pack. 'Leave it,' said Chara. 'We will not be staying here.'

  'Why?' asked Eain. 'It's shelter, isn't it?'

  Chara was too tired to answer, and having checked the interior moved out once more into the wind and the snow. Draig followed her. Eain brought up the rear, too weary to complain. After a brief survey of the second cave she moved out again.

  This time Draig asked her what she was looking for. Feargol, walking now beside the big highlander, looked up at him. 'She is seeking the cave where Uncle Kaelin left firewood,' he said.

  A few minutes later Chara entered a third cave. Draig stepped in behind her, and saw a large stack of dry wood set against the far wall. 'Uncle Kaelin says a man should always be prepared,' said Feargol. 'He has hiding places like this everywhere.'

  'A clever man, your uncle,' muttered Draig, slipping his pack from his shoulder. Pulling off his thick woollen gloves he rubbed at his fingers, trying to thaw them. Eain had slumped down by the wall, lacking even the energy to remove his pack. Chara glanced at Draig. Now they had stopped he saw the fear in her eyes. 'I wish it would snow,' he said.

  'How can you want more snow?' muttered Eain. 'I've seen enough snow to last me a lifetime.'

  'To cover our tracks,' Draig told him. 'A blind man could follow us.'

  'There's a nice thought. Help me with the pack, will you?'

  Draig stepped across to where his brother sat and eased the pack from his shoulders. Feargol had begun to build a fire. Draig moved alongside him, squatting down. 'No, lad, find the tiniest twigs first. You can't light a log with a spark. Logs come later.'

  Within minutes a small fire was burning within a circle of stones. At first there was precious little warmth. Little Jaim came over and sat beside Draig, who ruffled the child's dark hair. 'Don't sit too close now,' he said. 'It might spit sparks.'

  'My hands is cold,' said Jaim.

  'They'll be warm soon.'

  Draig added another chunk of wood to the blaze. Then he stood and wandered back to the cave mouth. It was already dark outside. He trudged through the snow for a short distance then turned to look back at the cave. Kaelin had chosen it well. It was deep and curved, the fire casting no flickering light against the wall close to the entrance. Not that it mattered, he realized, staring out at the tracks they had made coming here. The wind would eventually fill them in, but not before Tostig found their shelter, he knew. What then? Draig's mood was sombre as he made his way back to the cave.

  'You see anything?' Chara asked him, as he slumped down by the fire.

  'Only our tracks.'

  Eain was at the fire now, preparing his cook pot. Feargol asked him if he needed more snow to melt. Eain nodded and the child took a wooden bowl and ran out past Draig, disappearing from sight. Jaim toddled after him, but Chara called him back. Draig removed his bearskin coat. Chara was still sitting by the far wall, her musket close by.

  'Boy looks like his father,' he said, nodding towards Jaim. 'Though he has your eyes.'

  Chara said nothing.

  'I had a son,' he went on. 'A boy. Died when he was two.' He did not stare at her as he spoke, but out of the corner of his eye he saw her relax a little.

  ‘I’m sorry.'

  'Me too. Had a fever. Recovered. We were that happy, I can tell you. Then he just slipped away in his sleep. Fever took too much out of him, I guess.'

  'I didn't know you were wed,' said Chara.

  'Aye, I was. She left me . . . four years ago this coming spring. Don't blame her. Never was much of a husband.'

  'Where did she go?'

  'Lived with Eain for a while. Left him last year. Living with a crofter now, east of Black Mountain.'

  'She was a sour woman,' said Eain. 'Not a good word to say about anyone or anything. Days were either too hot or too cold, too windy or too damp. I told her once she was the most complaining woman I'd ever met. Whacked a cook pot into my face, she did. Knocked out a tooth. Damn, but that hurt.'

  'She must have loved you, Eain,' said Draig. 'Any other man had said that she'd have cut his throat in his sleep.'

  'I do miss her,' admitted Eain.

  Chara eased herself towards the fire, and Draig moved back to give her room, Feargol brought two more bowlfuls of snow before Eain told him it was enough. Jaim sat beside Draig, leaning in against him. 'You are good with children,' said Chara.

  'Don't know why,' he said, with a grin. 'Can't stand 'em. All that noise and mayhem.'

  'He's good with dogs too,' said Eain, stirring dried oats into the cook pot.

  Draig called out to Feargol. 'Can you see the men chasing us now?' he asked. Feargol closed his eyes for a moment. Then his face crumpled and he sobbed. Chara scrambled across to him, taking him in her arms. Little Jaim began to cry too. Draig patted his shoulder. Eain sat nonplussed, idly stirring the porridge.

  'What's wrong, Feargol?' asked Chara, stroking her fingers through the boy's red hair.

  He looked up at her, tears falling from his eyes. 'They killed Senlic and Patch,' he said.

  Draig felt a cold touch of dread and glanced at Eain. 'Shouldn't have got involved,' mouthed his brother, silently. 'Let's go home.'

  Draig shook his head. 'Too late,' he mouthed back. Feargol was crying again. Chara kissed the top of his head and held him close. Jaim moved alongside her, his chubby arms reaching up. Chara drew him into the embrace and Draig sat silently watching them. It seemed to him that Kaelin Ring was a lucky man. This was a woman to walk the mountains with.

  'Feargol,' he said softly. The boy looked up. 'We need to know where they are now.'

  'They are coming,' said Feargol. 'Senlic shot one of the riders. He's hurt. They rode their horses after us, but then found the deep snow. The hurt man has taken the horses away, and the others are walking now. They are following our tracks.'

  'Are you good with a musket?' Chara asked Draig.

  'No. Neither is Eain, though he thinks he is.'

  'What about pistols?'

  'No. No good with them either.'

  Chara sighed. 'This would be a good time to tell me something you are good at.'

  'I don't quit,' he said. Tostig won't get you while I live. And I'm not the kind of man who dies easy.'

  'Then let's you and I go out there and give them something to think about,' said Chara.

  'What about me?' asked Eain.

  Chara moved to the far wall and swung on her sheepskin-lined long coat. Then she took up her musket. 'You look after the children. Feed them and sit with them until we get back. And you should stir that porridge. It'll burn else.'

  'Black bits in his porridge every time,' said Draig. 'And the horse you rode in on,' said Eain.

  There were a number of surprises for Draig Cochland as he followed Chara Ring through the snow. The first was that despite his lack of rest he was no longer weary. The second
was that the cold was not affecting him. The fur of his bearskin coat was bristling with ice. Crystals had also formed on his moustache and beard, where his hot breath had instantly frozen. Draig's heart was pounding wildly, and, at first, he could not identify what he was feeling. When he did it was the most surprising thing of all.

  He was terrified.

  Draig was not unused to fear. Any man who risked his life stealing other men's cattle or belongings understood what fear was. A chance shot could bring him down. Soldiers could surprise him. His life would likely be snuffed out on the end of a rope. These fears were common, and easily dealt with. Not so this unreasoning terror.

  He stumbled on behind Chara Ring, following the line of tracks they had left earlier in the day, trying not to think about Tostig. But it was no use. The man's face was constantly in his mind, with its mocking half-grin. Draig had always been frightened of him. There was something unhinged about Tostig; something cold and empty.

  He had come to the Low Valley around six years ago. At first he had been like every other outlaw; careful lest the Moidart's soldiers learned of him. However, since the war in the south had started there were few soldiers in the north, and Tostig had grown more reckless and more daring. Many of the vilest crimes of the last few years - rapes and murders - had gone unsolved. But Draig knew that Tostig and his men were behind them. One lowland farmer and his nine-year-old daughter had been killed in a raid two years ago. It had stunned the lowland community, for the child had been abused before being murdered. No-one had discovered the identity of the killers, though it was rumoured they were deserters from the army, passing through. Draig knew otherwise. One of Tostig's men had tried to sell him a silver engraved powder horn bearing the initials of the farmer.

  Tostig was a man with no soul, and he had gathered to him like-minded men.

  However, his evil deeds were not what bothered Draig Cochland. Draig was not responsible for the sins of others. What tormented Draig was that from the first moment he had met Tostig he had known fear. There was something in the way the man looked at him - the way in which a butcher might study a carcass, measuring the cuts and the joints with practised eye. For some time after that first meeting Draig had suffered nightmares. He had dreamt Tostig was coming to kill him.