He rubbed at his temples in a firm, circular motion. The veins were like wire under his fingers. A water jug was placed on a folding table. Lifting it he drank deeply. The water tasted sour and metallic. There was only one sure way to clear his head. Rising from the bed he walked to where the iron box lay, and opened the lid. The shock that struck him was like a blow to the belly. His body convulsed.
The iron box was empty.
Winter Kay spun round, his eyes scanning the tent. There was no sign of the skull.
The pain in his head forgotten he stumbled to the tent entrance and dragged back the flap. Two Redeemers stood guard outside.
'Who has been in here?' yelled Winter Kay. Both men stood transfixed. Never had Winter Kay appeared so distressed before his men. 'Answer me, damn you!'
'No-one, my lord,' said the first. 'We've been on guard ever since you came back.'
'Came back?'
'Yes, my lord. From your ride.'
'What are you talking about? What ride?'
'The men glanced at one another. Then the second Redeemer spoke. 'Just before dawn, my lord, you told me to saddle your horse. Then you rode off to the north.'
'Liar!' screamed Winter Kay. His fist hammered into the man's face, hurling him from his feet. Dragging a knife from its sheath he knelt over the fallen Redeemer. 'Give me the truth or you die now!'
'It is the truth, lord!' The knife point plunged through the man's right eye. Blood spurted and he writhed under Winter Kay's grip. The knife tore into the man's brain and he twitched once and then was still. Winter Kay tore the knife loose and swung on the first man, who was backing away, horrified.
The truth - or you die too!'
'What do you want me to say, my lord? I'll say anything you want!'
'Just the truth!'
'He told you the truth. You called for a horse and rode out. Everyone saw you. The captain asked if you wanted guards to ride with you, but you ignored him.'
Winter Kay stood very still. The knife dropped from his fingers. 'What was I carrying?'
'A black sack, my lord. Velvet, I think. It's true, I swear it.'
'Did I have it when I came back?'
'I don't recall . . . Wait! No, sir, you did not. I remember helping you down from the saddle. You seemed weary and we wondered if you were ill.'
'Fetch me a horse, and find someone who knows how to track,' said Winter Kay.
Two hours later Winter Kay and a footsoldier entered the Wishing Tree woods. The undergrowth was heavy and Winter Kay needed to dismount and tether his horse. He followed the man deeper into the woods, down a long slope and up to an ancient site of broken standing stones.
The tracker knelt and examined the soft earth around the stones. 'You came here, my lord. You were met by someone with small feet. Likely a woman, though it may have been a child. Then you turned back.'
'Where did the woman go?'
The tracker took an age walking around the rim of the hill. 'There are no fresh tracks at all leading away from the hilltop, my lord, save yours.'
'Check again.'
The nervous man did so, and returned with the same story.
'Are you telling me there was someone here who did not leave?'
'No, my lord. She left all right. She just didn't leave a sign. Must have picked her way with care over firm ground. It'll take me time to find anything.'
'How long?'
'Could be most of a day.'
'You need more men?'
'No, my lord. They'd only churn up the ground and make it even more difficult.'
'You find where she went. Your life depends on it.'
'Yes, my lord.'
Winter Kay walked away from the man. For a while he became lost among the old trees, but at last he found his horse and rode back to the camp. The body of the Redeemer had been taken away, and two new guards awaited him. Both looked nervous.
All day the army waited. By dusk the tracker had still not returned and Winter Kay rode out with four men, and another tracker, to find him.
The second tracker walked around the hill top, kneeling to study the ground. After an hour, with darkness approaching, he returned to Winter Kay.
'I found his trail, my lord. He ran off towards the east.'
'What other tracks did you find?'
'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] said Winter Kay aloud. Closing his eyes he prayed, '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 had handed her the velvet sack. She had 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 some 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 men here 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 men 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 six hundred men in that one encounter, but he had lost two hundred and seventy. Such odds still favoured 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 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 haemorrhage. The more they were forced back, the more desertions would escalate.
'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 grey had been killed under him two days ago. 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 anything 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 sabres.
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. If 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. Then: '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 red-headed 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 honour 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 that 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 one of his scouts galloping across the open ground below. 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 south-east.'
'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 you will come back to report. You understand?'
'Yes, my lord. You think they are retreating? Have we won?'
Time will tell.'
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
KAELIN RING DUCKED AS HE RAN THOUGH THE CANNON-BLASTED RUINS of the village. Enemy snipers were hidden in the woods to the north-east, 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.
Garan Beck and his senior officers were within the ruins of a church. The stained glass windows had been blasted away, and fragments of coloured glass littered the nave. Musketeers had set up firing platforms by the windows, and at the far end of the church a surgeon and his orderlies were tending close to a hundred wounded men.
Kaelin approached Beck. The general had lost weight, and the skin of his face was sagging now, 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.
'Ah, Ring,' he said. 'We were discussing where to fall back to, and when. 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.' 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 rearguard to keep them off our backs.'
'My Rigante.'
'Only if you are willing, Ring. 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 rearguard.'
'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 supply.'
'What is your plan?'
'There is heavy cloud. 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?' enquired 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 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 it 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, Ring. I'll be honest, the chances of you getting out alive are very slim.'
'Perhaps, general,' said Kaelin, '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.'
David Gemmell - Rigante 4 - Stormrider 1.0 Page 41