David Gemmell - Rigante 4 - Stormrider 1.0

by Stormrider [lit]

  Aran jerked. The change of tack was sudden. He struggled to gather his thoughts. 'I have met her, lord. She is of the Old Way. There are not many left now.'

  'Fewer since Winter Kay began seeking them out and killing them. She is one of the last. Why would he want her dead?'

  'I have no idea, lord.'

  Then use your brain,' snapped the Moidart. 'I do not expect you to be able to answer these questions instantly. I pose them so you can consider the answers. These Dezhem Bek must desire something. In order to achieve it they need to kill a mad woman of the forest. Looked at another way, they fear her. As matters stand, Master Powdermill, we cannot win against these Redeemers. They not only have the power of the Orb, but are masters of the army. Therefore we need to know what knowledge this woman possesses. Not so?'

  ‘I see your point, lord,' said Aran. 'According to the legends Kranos was slain by a great hero. Some even say it was his son. He cannot again return to the world of blood and flesh. Yet his body was invested with enormous powers, and so his Orb - his skull -carries great magic. It seems inconceivable that such magic could be threatened by a Rigante Wicca woman.'

  ‘I do not believe it is necessarily the magic which is threatened,' said the Moidart. 'The magic is merely the power which drives them towards whatever they desire. It is that goal which the Wyrd threatens. If a man has a race horse and someone seeks to cripple it he does not do so because he does not like the horse. He does it so that it will not win a race. It is the race we must identify. In legend what do these Dezhem Bek desire?'

  Aran considered the question. He had not studied the texts for many years. 'I do not think I can help you with this problem, my lord,' he said, at last. 'You need a scholar of greater wit than I.' He took a deep breath. 'I was rather hoping to return to my home, having fulfilled the service I promised.'

  'Your hopes are immaterial to me. And you are not thinking clearly. Do you believe you can appear at my side, engineer the deaths of three Redeemers, be seen by Lord Winterbourne himself, and then depart to your home with no fear of reprisal? God's teeth, man, they will be hunting you till the day you die. Believe me, you will be safer in my service.'

  'As you wish, lord,' said Aran, determined to be gone from Eldacre as soon as the household was sleeping.

  'I will also supply you with an extra ten pounds for every month you serve me up to a full year. If we are both alive at year's end I will double the entire amount and give you lands and a fine house. It is up to you, Master Powdermill. Serve me and become rich, or run off into the night and answer to the Redeemers or the Harvester - whichever finds you first.'

  'A difficult choice, lord. I'll need time to think on it.' Aran looked into the Moidart's eyes, and felt a shiver go through him. 'I have thought on it and will accept your kind offer,' he said.

  'Wise,' said the Moidart. 'Now, these ward spells you have placed around the manor. How far can we rely on them?'

  'They will need to be recharged daily, lord. I cannot guarantee they will keep out all the spirits. It would be advisable not to discuss plans of action unless I am present to see whether any Redeemers have breached my defences. What we need are holy relics. True relics, not the dross held in the cathedral. Charms blessed by the Veiled Lady or Persis Albitane are the strongest. There are not many in the north.'

  'Can you find them?'

  'Given time, lord. Time, however, is not with us, I fear.'

  'That is true. I expect another attempt on my life any day now. The Redeemers can communicate with each other over vast distances. They have people in the north. They will have been primed to come after me. The Finance is also allied with Winterbourne. I expect he will be raising an army even as we speak.'

  'You seem to be taking this matter very calmly, my lord,' said Aran.

  'Go and rest, Master Powdermill. Then set to work finding out what Winterbourne really wants. Find out why he fears the Wyrd. This, I believe, is the key.'

  'I will, lord,' said Aran, rising. 'Did you want me to spirit-travel south and find out what is happening with your son?'

  'Can you communicate with him?'

  'No, lord.'

  'Then he is on his own. Concentrate instead on what will keep us alive.'

  Back in his own room Aran Powdermill pondered the questions set by the Moidart. Could the Wyrd truly be so powerful that she could prevent the Redeemers achieving their goal? Aran doubted it. Why then did they hunt her? The reason men have hunted our kind since the dawn of time, he thought. Fear. We have a natural power they neither possess nor understand. The Wyrd knew the old magic, Powdermill believed. It could both heal and kill. The fact that she hesitated to use the darker spells would not placate the Redeemers. Merely knowing she possessed greater power than they would be enough to make them want her dead.

  And me, thought Powdermill, miserably.

  Kaelin Ring had never been close to the Moidart's Winter House. Few highlanders ever had - unless to be taken to the lower dungeons, never more to see the light of day. The building was impressive, without a trace of gaudiness, and crafted in the style of the country manors found in the south. Three storeys tall and built of stone, faced beneath the eaves with white-stained timbers, it was an elegant structure of some forty rooms. The grounds were extensive and bordered by a high wall. Entry to the manor was through a huge set of wrought iron gates, guarded by four sentries in bright yellow uniforms.

  Both Maev and Kaelin were searched for weapons, and then escorted through to the inner buildings.

  As Kaelin walked alongside Maev he glanced at the many soldiers patrolling the grounds. The precautions seemed excessive. The Moidart was not a popular man, but he was not as hated as he had been back in the days of the clan uprisings.

  Galliott the Borderer came out to meet them at the main doors. He offered a bow to Maev. It seemed to Kaelin that the soldier was uneasy in the presence of his aunt. As well he might be, since he had commanded the soldiers at her abortive execution and it had been his musketeers who had shot down Grymauch.

  'Welcome to the Winter House, Maev Ring,' he said.

  'Thank you, captain,' she replied coolly. 'You remember my nephew, Kaelin.'

  'I do. You have grown, young man. Life in the north obviously agrees with you.'

  'Aye,' said Kaelin.

  A huge figure emerged from the doors above them. Huntsekker, in his old bearskin coat, came walking down the steps. He bowed as he saw Maev. 'You are looking well, lady,' he said. 'It is good to see you again.' Maev nodded in his direction, but did not speak. Huntsekker glanced at Kaelin, and he smiled broadly. 'Well,' he said. 'Another familiar face. Last time I saw you it was with that old rascal Grymauch. Damn, but I miss him.'

  Kaelin was surprised by the sincerity in the man's voice. 'We all miss him, Harvester,' he said.

  Galliott led them inside. A small, white-haired man came out of a side room and walked up the stairs. He glanced back at Kaelin and gave an awkward smile, showing gold teeth. Galliott showed them to a waiting room and summoned a servant, ordering the man to fetch refreshments for the Moidart's guests. Maev sat in a deep armchair, but Kaelin remained standing and strolled to a window. Through it he could see a stretch of lawn leading to a meadow. Beyond that he watched a squad of soldiers patrolling the perimeter wall. Galliott left them and Maev let out a sigh. 'Relax, Kaelin,' she said. 'You are making me nervous.'

  He turned from the window and smiled. 'It is hard to feel comfortable when one is this close to evil,' he said. 'The last time I saw Huntsekker I held a pistol to his face. Had Jaim not stopped me I would have sent him to hell.'

  ‘I know. And yet it was Huntsekker who escorted me from the execution square. Had he not done so I would now be dead.'

  'I never understood that,' admitted Kaelin. 'The man is a cold killer.'

  'He liked Jaim. He did it for him.'

  'How could he like him? Jaim stole his bull and made a fool of him, and he stopped him catching Chain Shada. It makes no sense to me.'

 
'You of all men should know that Jaim touched hearts. No-one hated him. Not even Galliott. When those musketeers came Galliott tried to stop them shooting. Even he didn't want to see Jaim dead. Beware the Harvester, Kaelin. But don't hate him.'

  'Have you noticed how many guards there are?' said Kaelin, transferring his gaze back to the window. 'It is as if they are expecting a siege.'

  At that moment the door opened and a servant told them the Moidart would see them. Maev pushed herself to her feet and Kaelin followed her and the servant along a panelled corridor, up a flight of stairs, and into a long study. A fire was burning in the hearth. Kaelin found his heart beating faster as he gazed upon the Moidart. The man was sitting at a desk by the window, his black and silver hair drawn back tightly from his lean face. His eyes were hooded and pale, his lips thin. He did not rise from his chair as Maev approached, but gestured for her to take a seat. Kaelin he ignored.

  'Welcome back to Eldacre, madam,' he said. The voice was deep and cold. There was a controlled tension in the man that put Kaelin on edge.

  'I trust you are well, my lord,' said Maev. 'This is my nephew, Kaelin.'

  The Moidart's eyes flickered towards the young highlander. 'The son of Lanovar,' he said. 'I have heard of you.'

  At the mention of his father's name Kaelin felt a rise of anger. All colour fled from his face. He stood staring at the seated man, and, in that moment, wanted nothing more than to leap across the room and tear out his throat. He looked into the Moidart's eyes, and knew that the older man understood his feelings. He could read him as easily as a child's book. Kaelin also saw that the Moidart's right hand was hidden below the desk top. He took a deep breath. 'Aye,' he said, 'the son of Lanovar. Though, sadly, I never knew him.'

  The malevolent gleam left the Moidart's eyes, and he transferred his attention back to Maev Ring. For a little while they spoke about the business of cattle, the improvement of stock and the shipping of herds. In that time Kaelin regained his composure. Maev had been right. It was wise to have taken this opportunity to meet the Moidart. He was not like any man Kaelin had ever met. It was not just that he was chilling; there was about him a fierce intelligence that should never be underestimated.

  The meeting ended and Maev rose and curtseyed. The Moidart thanked her for taking the time to visit. As Kaelin turned away towards the door the Moidart spoke. 'Give me a few moments of your time, Master Ring.' He walked to the door, opening it for Maev, who glanced back anxiously at her nephew. The Moidart gave a thin smile. 'No harm will befall him, madam, I can assure you.' He pushed shut the door and returned to his seat.

  'You are an able and astute young man,' he said. 'Some years ago you entered the barracks building at Black Mountain and freed a prisoner. A brilliant and well thought out action, requiring initiative and nerve.' Kaelin stood very still. 'I mention this to show a little goodwill,' continued the Moidart. 'On another day I would have had you arrested and hanged, but - happily for you - this is not another day.' The Moidart looked away from Kaelin and called out, 'Come in and join us, Master Powdermill!'

  A panel behind Kaelin slid open, and the little man with the gold teeth entered the room. 'Are we alone?' asked the Moidart.

  'We are, my lord.'

  The Moidart swung back to Kaelin. 'My understanding is that you are acquainted with a woman known as the Wyrd of the Wishing Tree woods.'

  'She is a friend of mine,' said Kaelin.

  'Good. There are those who want her dead.'

  'Are you one of them?'

  'Not today. My enemies want her dead. Therefore I want her alive. These enemies have great powers, Master Ring. They can attack her through magic, and through might. You cannot protect her from magic. You can, however, use your strengths and your skill to ensure no assassin reaches her. You can also tell her that she has an ally in the Moidart.'

  'An alliance she would not welcome,' Kaelin pointed out.

  'I dare say you are correct. Have you heard recently from Call Jace?'

  'No, but he was well when last I saw him. I shall tell him you asked about his health.'

  'He is not well now, Master Ring. Two days ago he had a stroke, and is paralysed down his left side.' The Moidart gestured towards the little man with the gold teeth. 'This is Master Powdermill. Like the Wyrd he has an ability to see events over great distances. The Black Rigante are, at this moment, leaderless. The timing is unfortunate. By the spring an army will be marching on us. I can raise perhaps three thousand good fighting men, two thousand more in chaff and cannon fodder. Ten times that number will oppose me. A force of Rigante would be most welcome.'

  Kaelin suddenly laughed. 'I find this hard to believe,' he said. 'The man who murdered my mother and father, and hundreds of other Rigante men, women and children, believes the clan would fight for him. I admire your gall. If an army is coming against you I hope they take you, and rip your heart out.'

  'Yes, yes,' said the Moidart. ‘I am sure you feel better for that. Now that it is out of the way let us look coolly at the facts. The army that will come will devastate the land, butchering the people of the north in their thousands. All the people, not just Varlish. Destruction, terror and chaos will sweep the land. For some reason - though I have yet to ascertain why - the enemy is fascinated by Rigante history and myth. Their leader has been gathering maps of Black Rigante lands for some years. It is he who seeks to kill the Wyrd. Why her death is important to him I have - as yet - no idea. It is my hope that she will. All I require from you is to protect her as best you can. Powdermill will contact you, and perhaps, together, we can find a way to thwart the enemy.'

  'Who is this enemy?' asked Kaelin. 'Luden Macks?'

  'No, the threat will not come from the Covenanters, but from Lord Winterbourne, the marshal of the king's armies, and his Redeemers.'

  'You are standing against the king?' said Kaelin, amazed. 'But your own son is a part of that army.'

  'Indeed he is - if he still lives. Fate, Master Ring, often displays a grim sense of humour - as evidenced by this conversation. You are my natural enemy. I do not deny it. Both blood and history make us what we are. Should we both survive the coming bloodshed - which, sadly, is highly unlikely - we will become enemies again. I would certainly enjoy watching you hang. At this moment, however, you are important to me. Will you protect the Wyrd?'

  'I shall. She is my friend. I do not desert my friends in their need.' 'Most touching. Think also on what I said about the Rigante, Master Ring. If Eldacre falls you cannot stand alone. I will also supply one thousand pounds in gold to distribute among the Rigante warriors and their families should you decide to fight alongside me.'

  Kaelin Ring felt tension easing from his frame. 'You need to be a little more persuasive,' he said. 'All I have is your word that these things are happening. You say an army is coming against you. This I believe. Perhaps the king has finally decided to rid himself of your evil. Or perhaps it is exactly as you say. The problem is that your word is worthless. A long time ago you promised my father safe conduct at a meeting to make peace. You murdered him there.' 'He actually died a little later,' said the Moidart, 'but that is by the by. Interestingly enough that is the only time I have ever broken my word. I won't say that I have been haunted by it ever since, or any other such nonsense, but it was regrettable. I will say that because of this - small - regret I did not later seek out and kill the big fool who tried to rescue him on that day. Grymauch was his name. He charged in, wearing a scarf wrapped round his face. It was a ludicrous disguise. He was the biggest clansman in the area, and everyone knew he was Lanovar's right hand man. However, this is also irrelevant. I do not dispute, Master Ring, that in the eyes of the Rigante I am evil. It is a matter of perspective. History is largely concerned with achievers, men who change the course of their nation. To the people of Stone the Emperor Jasaray was a great man and a hero, and Connavar was a vicious and evil savage. To the Rigante Jasaray was a vile conqueror and Connavar a hero. Heroes and villains, Master Ring, are largely interchangeabl
e depending on historical circumstance. It is almost amusing. I loathe the clans. Always have. Their independence of thought prevents any cohesion of purpose. They were conquered because of this. And conquered peoples are weak. I abhor weakness. Yet - and here is the sweet irony, Master Ring - if we succeed in this venture we will protect the Rigante, and future generations will talk about the blessed, heroic Moidart who stood tall against the forces of evil. The Varlish in the south will view me - a man who admires them above all races - as a grotesque traitor. Perspective, Master Ring. I cannot convince you of the truth at this time, but I expect the Wyrd - if she still lives - will do so.'

  'Then you had better pray she does live,' said Kaelin.

  'I don't pray, Master Ring. I act. Given the choice I would now be allied to the enemy and on the verge of becoming richer and more powerful. Unfortunately that enemy chose to threaten my son. They sent men to kill me. So here I am getting ready to battle in a cause I do not believe in, against an enemy with superior forces, and superior powers. The one advantage I have is that the enemy has displayed stupidity. My hope is they will do so again.'

  'That stupidity would be . . . ?' enquired Kaelin.

  'Coming against me, Master Ring. Oh, and the small matter of trying to kill the child . . . Feargol. They failed not once but twice.'

  ‘Twice?'

  The Moidart swung to Aran Powdermill. 'Tell him.'

  'They sent killers out to murder your wife and son and Feargol Ustal. They did not succeed,' he added swiftly. 'Draig Cochland and his brother got to them first and helped them escape into Call Jace's territory.'

  'They are safe?'

  'Aye, they are,' said Aran Powdermill. 'Though your man Senlic is dead, as is Eain Cochland.'

  'I shall return north,' said Kaelin. 'If the Wyrd tells me your words are true I will do all I can to raise a Rigante force and march them to Eldacre.'

  'Very good, Master Ring,' said the Moidart, extending his hand. Kaelin Ring stared at it, then looked into the man's pale eyes. The Moidart gave a wry smile. 'Yes, I suppose that the sweetness of irony can only be pushed so far.'