Stormrider

by David Gemmell

  'I understand the bear,' said Gaise Macon. 'Sometimes it is necessary.'

  'If you say so, my lord.'

  'Any time you want to touch the sword you may come to me, Master Powdermill. I would like to learn more of Connavar.'

  'Thank you, my lord.' Powdermill bowed and left the tent.

  For several hours Gaise busied himself with the needs of his force, meeting with Ganley Konin and Ordis Mantilan. The wounded were to be taken back to Eldacre in the morning, but Gaise and his force would head north-west into the lands of the former Finance, there to link with Hew Galliott and his men and discuss the defences.

  It would also be an opportunity to survey the possible battle sites in that area, and see how the new power structure sat with the communities there. The Finance, like the Moidart, was not well loved by his people, but even so they would need to be reassured concerning their safety. It was important that they did not view themselves as a conquered people.

  When Konin and Mantilan departed Gaise tried to sleep, but his mind was filled with the problems and potential problems of this coming war. In the dark of the night he rose from his blankets and relit the lantern. Then he sat for a while reading the small book of verse he had found among Sperring Dale's possessions. The wind rippled the canvas walls of his tent, and the lantern flickered, making his eyes tired. Gaise put down the book and yawned.

  Suddenly there was silence. Utter and total. No breeze billowed the canvas, no sound came from the camp outside. Not a horse whinnied, not a bough creaked. The lantern no longer flickered. Gaise rose from his folding canvas chair and stared at the flame. It sat proud and unmoving.

  Moving to the tent flap Gaise lifted it and stared out at the camp. Everything was as it should be. Men were sleeping, sentries stood quietly, the picketed horses were asleep on their feet. No, not as it should be, thought Gaise. The sentries were statue still. Nothing moved. He stepped out into the night and approached a sentry, walking in front of the man. The sentry's eyes stared ahead. They did not flicker as Gaise peered into his face.

  'The death heads were a fine idea,' said a voice. Gaise spun. He was not wearing his sabre, but he drew his knife. 'No need for that, kinsman.' A tall man was standing some twenty feet from him. His hair was golden and long. He was dressed in an old-fashioned knee length tunic of pale green, embroidered with gold thread. His feet and legs were bare.

  'Who are you?' demanded Gaise.

  'I am your ancestor, Stormrider. Look upon me. Can you not see the resemblance?' Gaise looked into the man's eyes. One was emerald green, the other tawny gold.

  'You are Connavar?'

  The man laughed. 'No. He was yet another of my children. I am Cernunnos, the father of the Rigante. My children did well today. Fighters all of them.'

  'This is some trick,' said Gaise. 'You are the enemy.'

  'No, Gaise. I am with the enemy. Since I do not as yet have a body I have little choice as to who carries me and where.'

  'What do you want with me?'

  'I want to be your friend, Gaise. You are important to me. You are a part of my destiny. You just do not know it yet. Let us sit and talk. I will answer all your questions. If you wish you may summon the little mage. He will hear what I say and will vouch for my honesty.'

  'I will judge that myself,' said Gaise.

  'Good. I always did prefer one to one conversation.' A small fire sprang up and the golden-haired man sat down before it. Gaise sheathed his knife and joined him.

  'You give power to the Redeemers. Is that not true?'

  'Absolutely true. I enable them to use their puny minds with greater focus.'

  'Why?'

  'Do you know how long I have languished in an iron box? Thousands of years. Alone with my thoughts. Winter Kay found me. I tried to communicate with him, but it was largely useless. There is no Rigante in the man. It is easier now since he killed the unfortunate king, and allowed his blood to touch the decaying bone of my skull.'

  'And now you are leading him north to destroy us?'

  'Now he is bringing me north. He is the one who will be destroyed. If you allow me to help you.'

  'Why would you wish to?'

  'The north is my home, Stormrider. I once had a palace there, though it drowned beneath a lake aeons ago when the ice melted. I sired the Rigante. I took human wives and one of them bore Rigantis, my beloved son. Ah, but I joyed in his strength and courage. The Rigante owe their name and their clan to my son. But I am what makes them - and you - special. You have traces of my blood. Seidh blood. You are touched by magic. I want to be among my own people, Gaise.'

  'To rule them.'

  'Of course to rule them. I am a god. Can you imagine a ruler better qualified?'

  'And what if they don't want to be ruled by you?'

  'Ah, but they will. All men desire strong leaders. There are none stronger. I am their father. I gave them life. I can give them immortality. Those I choose to walk beside me will live for almost as long as I do.'

  'You are offering me immortality to serve you.'

  'Sadly no, Gaise. You have a different purpose. I wish that it could be altered, but, as I said, it is a part of destiny. You are the vessel which will allow my return to the flesh. I will, in short, become you.'

  'And I die?'

  'Yes.'

  'You don't make serving you sound very attractive.'

  'I promised you the truth, Stormrider. I will not take your life. You will give it freely. You will take my skull in your hands and you will ask me to return.'

  'Why would I do that?'

  'To win, Gaise Macon. To save the lives of those you love. To destroy the enemy utterly. When you accept the skull you will be a god for a few hours. You will have all the powers I once possessed. In that time you can do as you will.'

  'Why would you give me that time?'

  'I will have no choice. It will take me some hours to fully control your body, to fill it with the essence of my being. But in those hours you will be a Seidh, Gaise Macon. That will be my gift to you. Until then be assured that I will not show the Redeemers how to pierce the ward spell Powdermill has cast. This war will be fought between men. You have my promise on that. And now I shall leave you to rest. Rest is most important for a human. The mind needs to be sharp.' The golden figure rose. 'The Rigante made me proud today,' he said.

  'What happened to this beloved son of yours?' asked Gaise.

  'He chose life as a man and died after three hundred and twenty-two years.'

  Gaise heard the sorrow in his voice. 'You were close, then?'

  'We were until he cut off my head. The boy was misguided. It is a familiar tale, Gaise, and one which you will understand more than most. Fathers and sons, squabbles and conflicts. The laws of nature cannot be avoided - even by the gods. Ah, but that reminds me. You asked your father a question back in Eldacre. He gave an elliptical answer.'

  'Yow can pierce our ward spells?'

  'Of course. They are tiny. The Redeemers cannot, so put aside your fears. I do not share with them what I observe. You asked your father why he carried you from the flames. Would you like to know why?'

  'No.'

  'It also explains why he and you have never found that bond of love you so desperately needed as a child.'

  'Tell me,' said Gaise.

  'Your mother had an affair with a clansman. Kaelin Ring's father, Lanovar. He was golden-haired, and had one eye of gold and one of green. When you were born and the Moidart saw your eyes he believed you to be the result of his wife's infidelity. He would have had you killed, save for one small doubt.'

  'My great-grandmother had the same eyes.'

  'Exactly. So he has lived in torment ever since, never knowing if you are the only son he will ever have, or if you are the son of the man who cuckolded him. But when the flames engulfed the manor house he acted as a father should. Heroically. Instinctively. Like a Rigante.'

  'Is he my father?'

  'Do you really wish to know?'

  Ga
ise hesitated, then he sighed. 'No,' he said.

  'Farewell, Stormrider. When next we meet I will give you what you ask for. Though first you will receive a visit from the Wyrd. Delightful woman. If I were but a thousand years younger and alive . . . ah, well. She will bring you something of mine. Keep it safe for when you need it.'

  'Why would the Wyrd do anything for you?'

  'Because she must, Stormrider. Win or lose, this is her destiny also.'

  The spirit disappeared.

  The month that followed saw frenzied activity on both sides of the border. In the north the Moidart recruited men, leaving Galliott and Mulgrave to oversee the training. In the south Winter Kay began gathering three armies, each more than twenty thousand strong. The massacre of Sperring Dale's force had galvanized the Redeemers, and stories of the atrocities committed by the 'foul northern barbarians' spread through the land. Winter Kay was now leading a holy war of vengeance upon the evil men who had killed the king.

  He sent a second advance column against the lands of the Finance. They were turned back by Gaise Macon. Four hundred Varlish prisoners were taken. All but one were hanged and then beheaded. The survivor was placed in a wagon loaded with the heads of his comrades and sent back to the south. Other skirmishes followed. The fighting was brutal and vicious. No prisoners were taken by either side.

  News of Gaise Macon's excesses were the talk of the northern army. The middle-aged general Garan Beck made a special journey from the east to see the Moidart. The two men were strikingly different in appearance. The Moidart, slim and fine-boned, his clothes immaculately tailored from the finest cloth, and Beck, round-shouldered and stocky, his broad, flat face and large hands betraying his peasant stock. He wore now a ready made uniform jacket in pale green, bearing the Fawn in Brambles crest. The sleeves were slightly too short. Despite the oddness of his appearance he still radiated a sense of physical power and purpose.

  ‘I’m a plain speaking man, my lord,' he said, 'and this butchery turns my stomach.'

  'It sends a powerful message, Beck.'

  'Indeed it does, my lord, but - putting aside the restraints of civilized behaviour - it is also bad soldiering. An enemy who knows he can surrender and be well treated is the more likely to surrender when faced with disaster. If they know that certain death awaits them they will fight all the harder.'

  'What of our own troops, General Beck? How do they view my son?'

  'Close to adoration, my lord.'

  'So - as you say, apart from considerations of civilized behaviour - our morale is high?'

  'Yes, my lord.'

  'These are perilous times, general. Within a month we may all be dead. My son is taking harsh measures. Like you I would prefer to be more humane in my dealings with the enemy. For, in the end, enemies must become friends. In this case our enemy is particularly vicious. He has already proved this by murdering his own king. You are also aware of the butchery that took place during the civil war in towns like Barstead. The truth is, we are short of food and men. Prisoners would need to be fed and guarded. Every prisoner taken would sap our meagre resources.'

  Garan Beck sighed. 'Aye, my lord, there is truth in that. Even so it sits badly with me.'

  'You can always leave my service, general. I would hate to lose you but you must follow your conscience.'

  The general shook his head. 'You are the first nobleman to give me the chance to prove myself in the highest rank. You ignored my lack of noble blood. I need to repay that debt to you, my lord. I will do so. You have my loyalty, and I will die for this cause if necessary.'

  'Well said, general. Now get yourself some rest before returning east. You are looking tired.'

  After he had gone Huntsekker appeared from behind the hidden panel. 'You still want him killed tonight, my lord?' he asked.

  'No, I have changed my mind.'

  'I am glad. I like the man.'

  'What odd times these are, Huntsekker. Did you hear him declare his loyalty?'

  'Yes, my lord.'

  'Damn, but he meant it. Every word.'

  'I believe you are right.' Huntsekker suddenly chuckled.

  'What is so funny, Harvester?'

  'I have walked the city these last weeks, running errands for Maev Ring. I have spoken to a lot of people. You have always been feared, my lord. And always respected. Did you know that you are now popular? The people like you. They speak of you with affection.'

  'I have become a likeable fellow,' said the Moidart. 'How annoying.'

  'I can see that it would cause a man grief,' said Huntsekker.

  'Good heavens, Harvester, was that a joke?'

  'A small one, my lord.'

  'Try to avoid them. How is Maev Ring?'

  'Irritating. She has increased the supplies fourfold, and those who do not succumb to her charming manner and promise of riches get visits from me. I am not to threaten them, she says. Merely deliver letters from her requesting greater co-operation. Of course, she says I should take my scythe with me.'

  'Clever woman. I rather admire her. You should marry her, Harvester. You need a wife.'

  Huntsekker was aghast. 'The woman has a tongue on her that could cut through steel. You know she is now looking after that murderous hound your son brought back? It behaves like a little puppy around her. One word and it sits. A flick of her fingers and it crouches down. Never seen the like. I don't know if the hound loves her or is terrified by her. I suspect the latter.'

  'You could marry in the cathedral. I could give the bride away.'

  Huntsekker shook his head and stared hard at the Moidart. 'There is a change in you, my lord. It is very unsettling.'

  'Perhaps I am mellowing with age.'

  The next two weeks brought a lull in the fighting. No new forces attacked the lands of the Finance and the news from the east was routine. Supplies were reaching the coastal cities and Garan Beck had arranged convoys to Eldacre. Gaise Macon rode his two thousand cavalry south again, but encountered no enemy troops.

  The attack when it came was sudden and deadly. Thirty thousand soldiers poured in to the east, cutting through Garan Beck's defensive lines. He pulled back expertly and re-formed, but the fighting was fierce and he was forced further and further back towards Eldacre. Gaise Macon sent Kaelin Ring and the Rigante to support Beck, and waited. A second army, spearheaded by the dreaded Knights of the Sacrifice, thrust like a lance into the lands of the Finance. Hew Galliott tried to counter attack, but his troops were surrounded and all but annihilated. Hew himself was taken and publicly disembowelled. Gaise Macon led a series of lightning raids on the knights, temporarily halting their advance. Then he too pulled back to re-form.

  Two thousand more Rigante, led by Bael Jace, arrived in Eldacre to support the army. These the Moidart sent west to join with Gaise Macon and his cavalry. The generals Konin and Mantilan remained in Eldacre with six thousand men, plus Bendegit Law and his fifty cannon.

  For three days battles raged to the east and west. Beck and Ring's Rigante took a heavy toll on the enemy, but could not prevent them inching ever nearer to the city. In the west Gaise Macon fought desperately to prevent the knights from advancing.

  Then came the news that a third army, led by Winter Kay himself, was heading up from the south. Twenty thousand men and two hundred cannon.

  'I think we should make plans to leave Eldacre,' said Huntsekker, as he and the Moidart walked the battlements of the castle.

  ‘I disagree,' said the Moidart. 'There is nothing north of us now. The Rigante are here, fighting with us. Running would only accelerate the inevitable. You may leave, Huntsekker. I shall stay. I may even fight.'

  'You have arthritis in your right arm, my lord. I doubt you could wield a sword for long.'

  'Then I shall take a selection of pistols. This is my land, Huntsekker. Damned if I'll flee like a wretch.'

  Then a surprising event occurred. Winter Kay's southern army suddenly ceased its advance. Scouts reported that it had stopped at the Wishing Tree woods,
and remained camped there for two days.

  Winter Kay had awoken with a throbbing headache and a feeling of nausea. He had sat up long into the night holding the skull in his lap while reading reports from his generals. Eris Velroy was making slow progress in the east and taking heavy losses. He kept trying to draw the enemy into a major pitched battle, but Garan Beck was proving a wily adversary. Then there were the damned clansmen. Velroy had finally broken through and was in the act of encirclement when the Rigante charged, ripping through his ranks. Velroy had fallen back and summoned heavy cavalry. By the time they arrived the Rigante had melted away into the woods. Of the original thirty thousand men he had led east only around twelve thousand were able to fight. The enemy had suffered too. By Velroy's estimation they had lost around half their men. This left between four and five thousand. Not enough to prevent him advancing, but more than enough to take a terrible toll on the attackers. In the west the Knights of the Sacrifice were faring little better. True, they had taken the castle of the Finance, but Gaise Macon had won several small victories, and the main force was pinned down some thirty miles from Eldacre. Gaise Macon's cavalry, split into fast-moving strike units, raided behind the lines on one day, and on the flanks the next. Losses among the knights were also substantial. Yet day by day both armies were moving ever closer to Eldacre.

  The plan was essentially simple. The three armies would converge on the city, closing in like a mailed fist, crushing the life from the defenders. The attacks from east and west would draw away men from the centre, and then Winter Kay would strike like a lance, leading his Redeemers on a sudden, deadly thrust to the castle. On this day Winter Kay's twenty thousand were due to march to within twenty miles of Eldacre.

  Only they did not march.

  Winter Kay had rolled from his pallet bed and sat up. His head was aching terribly, and his mouth was dry. He felt exhausted, drained of energy. It was then that he realized he was fully clothed, and his muddy boots had stained the blankets. He stared down at the boots. It was inconceivable that he would have slept like this. He clearly recalled undressing some hours before dawn.

  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.