Stormrider

by David Gemmell

  Kaelin Ring had been unusually tense for two days now. He did not doubt the Rigante could stand against the enemy. What concerned him was whether the enemy could still see into the lands of the north. Gaise Macon had assured him that a mighty ward spell had been cast; that they were safe from observation. 'How do we know?' asked Kaelin.

  'Aran Powdermill says it is so. I believe him.'

  'I do not even know him. We could march out from here and be massacred before we realize the error.'

  'True,' said Gaise, with a smile. 'There is, as they say, only one way to find out.'

  So here they were, upon a ridge to the south of the invaders. Kaelin's orders were to follow hard on the heels of the advance force until they reached the abandoned settlement at Three Streams thirty miles north. It was here that Gaise intended to fall upon them. The Rigante would then surprise them by attacking from the rear.

  'They seem to have passed us by without incident,' said Korrin Talis. 'And look. They are making camp.'

  'Aye, but we'll stay wary. Let's move back off this ridge and find two campsites. Rayster, I want you to scout to the south. Potter, you stay here and keep an eye on their camp.'

  'They've already passed us by, Kaelin,' said Rayster. 'What am I to watch for?'

  'As best I could I counted the men moving north. I reckon they have around four thousand. This Powdermill the Stormrider believes in said there were six thousand. So where are the other two?'

  'This would not be a good place to be caught between two armies,' said Korrin. 'Not with just seven hundred of us.'

  As the night wore on the Rigante lay on the cold earth, sleeping lightly. Kaelin dozed for a while, but could not relax into sleep. Just before dawn he roused Korrin Talis and ordered the men to make ready to march.

  As the Rigante roused themselves Kaelin saw Rayster come running into the camp. 'Fifteen hundred men are moving towards us, Kaelin. They are no more than half a mile south.'

  'Order all weapons loaded,' Kaelin told Korrin Talis. 'And send someone to relieve Potter.' Then, followed by Rayster, he ran back through the trees. Just before they reached the ridge Rayster ran alongside him. 'Look!' he said, pointing ahead through the gloom. Moving across the floor of the valley below were three lines of armed men. Dressed in the grey tunics of the King's Fourth, their muskets were held ready, bayonets fixed to the barrels. They were advancing in attack formation, and heading for the trees.

  In that moment something moved to Kaelin's left.

  The trap was well sprung, the four dark-garbed knifemen moving in swiftly. The victims should have been stunned into inaction by the speed of it. Most men would have been. Even most Rigante men. Rayster ducked to his right, Kaelin to his left. One knifeman went down as Rayster's fist slammed into his jaw. Kaelin grabbed another man's knife arm and swung him into one of his comrades. Rayster managed to draw his sabre, which plunged through a man's chest, causing a grunt of pain. Kaelin, with no space to draw his sword, pulled his hunting knife clear, slashing it across the face of a charging man. The blade sliced down over his jawbone, cutting deep into the jugular. As the attacker fell the man behind him sprinted for the safety of open ground. Rayster dropped his sabre, drew his hunting knife and hurled it. The blade took the man at the base of the skull. He stumbled and fell. Rayster ran to him, driving the knife deeper before ripping it clear.

  The first man Rayster had punched tried to struggle to his feet. Kaelin moved in and cut his throat.

  The advancing men below had reached the foot of the ridge. 'Let's move,' said Kaelin. Rayster gathered up his sabre and followed Kaelin back through the trees.

  There was little time for any elaborate battle plans and Kaelin's mind was racing as he sped back to the main body of the Rigante. Calling Korrin Talis to him he swiftly outlined what he had seen. Fifteen hundred men were marching up the ridge to the south.

  Four Rigante emerged from the trees to the south and loped to where Kaelin, Rayster and Korrin were talking. One of them was Korrin's brother, Fada. 'Potter is dead,' he said. Throat cut. They sent assassins into the woods. The whole of their army is marching on us from the north.'

  They were caught in a vice.

  'We need to head east,' said Korrin. 'There's open ground there. We could make it around them and scatter. Meet up later with Macon at Wishing Tree.'

  'Did you see any cavalry?' Kaelin asked Fada.

  'No. Just infantry.'

  'The cavalry will be east of us, waiting for just such a move. They'll hammer into us as we make the break. West is no option. That will take us down onto the valley floor, with nowhere to escape to. No. We have to fight.'

  Then fight it is,' said Korrin.

  Take half the men north and hold the slope,' said Kaelin. 'I'll deal with those in the south, then come to your aid.'

  Three hundred and fifty against four thousand. Well, don't take your time, cousin. Those odds are steep - even for the Rigante.'

  Kaelin ran back among the clansmen. 'Every second man follow me!' he shouted, then headed back towards the south. By the time the Rigante reached the crest of the ridge the enemy musketeers were halfway up.

  'Volley line!' yelled Kaelin. The Rigante instantly spread out along the crest and, kneeling, brought their own muskets to bear.

  'Fire!' A murderous volley tore into the advancing ranks. The front line was scythed down, but the second returned fire, then charged up the slope. Coolly the Rigante reloaded, then sent a second volley into them. 'Down muskets!' yelled Kaelin. 'Charge!'

  With a terrifying battle cry the Rigante drew their sabres and pistols and hurled themselves down the slope into the startled musketeers. They had been told they outnumbered the enemy, and they had expected their attack to be a surprise. Now they themselves were being attacked. At point blank range the Rigante fired their pistols into the enemy. Then they tore into them with sabres and knives. The Varlish musketeers were tough men, but they had never faced a foe as savage and remorseless as the Rigante.

  Even so, they tried to hold to their formation and fight back. They had the advantage of superior numbers, and they were armed with bayoneted muskets. But they had advanced in skirmish lines and were not closely ordered. The Rigante tore into them. Even those clansmen stabbed by the bayonets lashed out, killing the wielders, and, bleeding heavily, rushed forward to kill again and again until they were cut down.

  Kaelin Ring, with sword and hunting knife, cut his way through the first line. Sidestepping a bayonet lunge he stabbed the musketeer in the chest with his knife, then spun to slice his sabre across the throat of another. Rayster was close by, hacking and slashing with two sabres.

  Panic spread through the musketeers like windblown flames through dry brush. They turned and fled, throwing aside their muskets. The Rigante surged after them, cutting them down in their scores.

  Kaelin Ring lifted the horn at his side and blew it three times. The Rigante halted and loped back to where he stood. 'Our comrades need us,' he said. 'Let the rest go. Reload your weapons.'

  As they ran back up to the crest of the ridge Kaelin looked back. Of the fifteen hundred musketeers who had made the charge less than two hundred had escaped. The slope was littered with the dead and the dying. Many Rigante were among them.

  Back at the north end of the woods Korrin Talis had fallen back, and the enemy were into the trees and pursuing the clansmen. Kaelin's men swarmed into the fray. For a while the battle ebbed and flowed, but the sheer ferocity of the Rigante began to tell. They drove the enemy back from the trees and out onto open ground. The fighting was fierce, hand to hand, toe to toe. On the valley floor below the enemy cavalry rode in from the east and began to advance up the slope. The foot soldiers fell back, streaming through the lines of advancing Lancers.

  Then came the sound of trumpets.

  A column of green-clad musketeers emerged from the northern woods, and spread out in a fighting line, before charging into the unprotected enemy camp.

  The Lancers reined in their mounts and g
azed back. Then they swung their mounts and galloped to face the new enemy. As they did so Gaise Macon and two thousand cavalry came hurtling into sight. The Eldacre musketeers sent a volley into the Lancers. Gaise Macon's cavalry ripped into their flank. The Lancers' formation broke and they were soon engulfed.

  At first Kaelin felt a wave of exultation flow through him. Then his expression darkened. Rayster came alongside. There was blood all over his shirt. 'Are you hurt?' asked Kaelin.

  'It's not my blood,' said Rayster.

  'Get some men together to gather the wounded and prepare the dead for burial.'

  'Mighty strange that they should show up,' said Rayster. 'They should have been thirty miles away.'

  'Aye, I was thinking the same thing.'

  Down below the Varlish tried to break and run, but they did not get far. Kaelin watched Gaise gallop in among them, his bright sabre flashing in the morning sunlight. Within minutes the battle had become a rout, the rout a massacre.

  Kaelin swung away from it and walked back into the trees. Korrin Talis was sitting on a fallen tree. He had two shallow wounds, one to his left arm and a second in his right thigh. Kaelin sat down beside him. Korrin swore softly. 'Fada is dead, Kaelin. He was a good lad. Mother's favourite. It will hit her hard. He was beside me. A ball took him in the temple. And I shall miss Badger. He taught me to fish when I was a youngster. Lake salmon. He'd catch them with his hands.'

  'We lost many today, my friend.'

  Kaelin moved back towards the wounded. For an hour he wandered among the Rigante. They had lost one hundred and eighty-two men, with another two hundred and thirty-seven wounded. Most of the wounded would recover, but perhaps another twenty would die. Two hundred Rigante had virtually given their lives this day. Kaelin fought to control his anger.

  Towards midday Gaise Macon came riding up to the ridge. He stepped down from his grey gelding and approached Kaelin. 'You were right, Kaelin,' he said, with a bright smile. 'Your men are the best of the best. By heaven, you damn near cut them to pieces without our help.'

  'I lost two hundred. Would you care to tell me why?'

  Gaise Macon's smile faded. 'This is war. Men die. But we won a great victory.'

  'There was no ward spell. They knew where we were. You let me lead my people into a trap.'

  'There is a ward spell, but it does not extend far beyond Wishing Tree. And, yes, I let you walk into the trap. I took you at your word, Kaelin. You said to use the Rigante wisely. I did that. No-one else could have held this position as you did. As a result we have all but wiped out their advance force. We have a victory - and that will give backbone to the men.'

  'You could have told me.'

  'No. Think on it. Had I done so you would have acted differently. You would have deployed your men in a stronger defensive perimeter. The reason they fell for my trap was that they believed - as you did - in my stated strategy. You understand?'

  'Oh, yes, Stormrider, I understand. You tricked the enemy and tricked me and you won. Now you understand this: if you ever seek to trick the Rigante again I will kill you, and then I will take my men back to the north.'

  'You have my word that it will not happen again,' said Gaise Macon.

  'Your word, Varlish, is dog shit on my boot heel.'

  With that he strode away to supervise the burial of the Rigante dead. Towards the afternoon Kaelin stretched himself out on the ground and slept for a while. He was awoken by Rayster. 'What is it?' he asked sleepily.

  'Something you should see,' answered the clansman.

  Kaelin rolled to his feet and followed Rayster to the top of the crest. Many of the Rigante had gathered there and were watching something below. Kaelin eased his way through the mass of men.

  Long stakes had been hammered into the earth of the valley floor, hundreds of them. The heads of dead Varlish soldiers had been rammed atop them. And the bloody work was continuing.

  'Like a forest of death,' said Korrin Talis. 'Why are they doing it?'

  'To frighten the soldiers who are following,' said Kaelin. 'They will come here with their huge army, and they will see the rotting heads of their comrades. It will tell them that this is going to be a fierce and deadly war, with no quarter.'

  'It is appalling,' said Rayster. 'Makes me ashamed to be part of it.'

  'There's no humanity in these Varlish,' said Korrin Talis.

  They watched as a wagon trundled along the trail below, carrying more stakes, and more heads. Kaelin turned away. 'Let's bury our dead and head back for Eldacre,' he said.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  AT DUSK GAISE MACON SENT OUT ORDERS FOR THE HUNTING PARTIES to cease looking for Varlish stragglers and to return to the captured enemy camp. He should have been exultant, for the victory had been nothing short of spectacular. Four thousand eight hundred enemy dead, the acquisition of four thousand muskets, fifteen supply wagons and twenty unused cannon. There were also tents, tools, sabres, knives, pistols - all of which would be helpful to the cause.

  The only small note of annoyance had come with the escape of Sperring Dale and a group of his officers. They had not taken part in the attack, and had galloped from the camp at first sight of the Eldacre counter attack. But this was not what sat heavy upon the heart of Gaise Macon.

  'Your word, Varlish, is dog shit on my boot heel.'

  Gaise tried to push the memory from his tired mind. He could not. How would he have felt had the same trick been used on him by - say - Sir Winter Kay during the civil war? Yet what else could he have done to gain such a victory? Had he fought in a more noble way he might still have won, but his losses would have been far higher. Many more Rigante would now be dead and buried.

  The Moidart was right. Leadership was lonely. All around him now were happy, contented men. Victors. More than that, they looked to him now as a conqueror. He was the Grey Ghost, unbeaten and invincible.

  He had also learned that two of his other new generals, Ganley Konin and Ordis Mantilan, could be relied upon to follow orders well. Konin's cavalry had performed excellently, while Mantilan's musketeers had shown nerve in the initial charge of the enemy Lancers.

  He wondered about the Moidart's luck. He had chosen none of these men, and yet Beck, Konin and Mantilan - none of whom had ever commanded such large units - were proving to be invaluable.

  What would Mulgrave have made of it? Sadness touched him at the thought of his friend. Mulgrave was back in Eldacre. They had not spoken since arriving home. Gaise missed him terribly.

  Sitting now in the tent occupied so recently by Sperring Dale Gaise lit a lantern and idly searched through the belongings left behind by the Redeemer. Spare shirts and leggings, a crimson cloak, and a small selection of books. One was a book of verse, another the gospel of Persis Albitane. This last made Gaise smile. What did a murderous savage like Sperring Dale gain from reading the words of a man of peace and love? Did he find it humorous?

  An image appeared in his mind and a sweet voice rose up from his memory. 'I think I shall kiss you, Gaise Macon.' He groaned and pushed himself to his feet. The more he struggled to forget Cordelia Lowen, the more hurt he felt when her face came unbidden to his mind. Had he loved her? In truth he did not know. Now he would never know.

  A shadow fell across the tent flap. Gaise glanced up. 'Who is it?' he called.

  'Powdermill, my lord. May I enter?'

  'Come in.'

  The little man ducked under the flap and grinned, showing gold teeth. 'They're still running south. No other force is in sight.'

  'Good. You have done well, Master Powdermill.'

  'It'll be weeks now before any other armies come north.'

  'Yes. Was there something else you wanted?'

  Powdermill shifted uneasily. His eyes flicked towards the golden-hilted sabre. 'I just wanted to ... touch the sword again, my lord.'

  'Feel free,' Gaise told him. Powdermill moved across the tent to where the scabbarded sabre lay. He crouched down and gently placed his hand upon the hilt.


  'It is a wondrous piece. Wondrous,' he whispered. Gaise saw there were tears in his eyes.

  'What do you feel when you touch it?' he asked.

  Powdermill sighed, then straightened. He turned towards Gaise. 'It is not what I feel, my lord, but what I see. Connavar was not as big as legends say. He was the same height as Kaelin Ring and yourself. He was not godlike. He was a man. He made mistakes. He had fears and doubts. He carried a great burden for most of his life. He loved two women. One died because he broke a promise. He was warned by the Seidh never to break his word or terrible harm would befall someone he loved. Connavar bragged that he had never broken his word and never would. But he did.'

  'What promise did he break?'

  'He told his wife he would be home to take her riding. Instead he spent time with his first love. His wife rode off without him -and was murdered.'

  'I have never heard that tale.'

  'Connavar was filled with remorse and a terrible fury. He rode alone into the village from which the murderers came, and he killed everyone, every man, woman and child. Then he burned the village to the ground.'

  'And all this you know from touching the sword?'

  'Yes, my lord, and so much more.'

  'I feel nothing when I hold it, save that it is light and yet perfectly balanced.'

  'You are not a seer, my lord. Sometimes it is a blessing, sometimes a curse. The sword is a blessing. It was made by a man with great love in his heart.'

  'Riamfada.'

  'Yes, my lord.'

  'Did you see Connavar fight and kill the bear?'

  'I saw him fight it, my lord. He did not kill it. Ruathain his stepfather killed it. Connavar could never kill the bear. It was with him always.'

  'The bear was with him?' asked Gaise, mystified.

  'In a way, my lord. The bear represented Connavar's darkest side. He could never quite overcome it, though he battled it hard for most of his life. He never forgave himself for the death of his wife, but his greatest regret was murdering the villagers. The bear was on him then.'