'It will be dawn soon,' said Beck. 'Perhaps we should send a rider to them.'
'No,' objected the Moidart. 'If I was Winter Kay that is what I would expect from a weaker foe. The fact that we do not request such a cessation will indicate we are ready to fight on.'
'And we are,' said Kaelin, 'but I have less than five hundred fighting men. We'll not hold the position for long.'
A soldier called out, and pointed to the north.
A rider was coming, and behind him marched several hundred men.
The Moidart moved back and narrowed his eyes.
'It is your son,' said Kaelin. 'Where in heaven's name did he find so many fresh troops?'
Kaelin ran down the slope towards the marching men, recognizing Rayster. The clansman looked fit and strong, and there was no sign of a bandage upon his recently shattered arm. Many of the newcomers were Rigante, and all were in good health.
'What happened?' Kaelin asked Rayster.
'I'm not sure I know how to tell you, my friend.' He held out his left arm and flexed the fingers. 'The elbow was destroyed and they cut off my arm yesterday.' Kaelin looked at him closely. 'No, I am not dreaming it all, Kaelin. Gaise Macon came into the hospital wing. Men began to cry out. I couldn't understand it at first. Then the stump of my arm began to throb and swell against the bandages. The pain was indescribable. I took my knife and cut the bandages clear. Within moments this . . . this new arm grew. All of us, Kaelin. He healed all of us. I have never felt better in my life.'
'Oh no,' whispered Kaelin, spinning on his heel and staring at the rider moving slowly up the slope. 'He made a pact with Cernunnos.'
'I have to tell you I do not care,' said Rayster. 'Look!'
The wounded men at the foot of the slope began to cry out. One by one they rose from the ground. Then there was shouting and laughter. It was the oddest sound ever to grace a battlefield.
Kaelin felt a growing warmth in his injured shoulder, and what had been constant pain for more than a day now began to recede.
'Even some of the dead came back to life,' said Rayster. 'The giant, Huntsekker. He was shot three times and stabbed. He had died as they were trying to staunch the bleeding. And Colonel Galliott. I saw him, Kaelin. He was shot through the heart!'
Leaving Rayster Kaelin ran back up the slope, in time to see Gaise Macon dismount and walk towards his father.
The Moidart backed away from him. 'Do not heal me!' he shouted. 'Do not! You do not know what I have done!'
Gaise Macon approached his father and placed both hands on the older man's shoulders. 'I know everything, Father. Everything. I know all your past evils. I even know much of what you may accomplish in the future. But now you will have to find another road to redemption, for I am taking away your pain.' The Moidart's head sagged forward. 'There is something else,' said Gaise. 'All my life you have been tormented by the fear . . .'
'I do not want to know!'
'I think you do. I am your son, Father. Blood of your blood.'
All across the ridge the healing continued. Men began cheering and shouting. Wounds disappeared, strength was restored.
'What happens now?' whispered the Moidart.
'I will be a god for a little while. Then I will be gone.'
'Oh, Gaise . . .' The Moidart shook his head.
Gaise Macon drew the man into an embrace. 'Farewell, Father,' he said.
Gaise turned and walked down the slope towards the earth ramparts. As he did so the corpses lying there began to stir. And not just the men. Within moments horses began to whinny, and struggle to their feet.
Gaise walked on.
Kaelin Ring ran to where the Moidart was standing. 'We have to stop him. The Dark God will return. Everything we have fought for will be worth nothing.'
The Moidart ignored him. The Wyrd of the Wishing Tree wood moved through the throng, and took Kaelin by the arm. 'All will be well,' she said. Kaelin saw there were tears in her eyes.
Gaise was still walking across the field of the fallen. All around him men were rising from the earth, both Eldacre and enemy. The southerners stood for a while, and then began walking back towards their lines. The Eldacre men scrambled up the slope.
General Konin approached the Moidart. There were three holes in the front of his blood-drenched tunic. 'There are no wounds,' he said, opening his tunic and baring his chest. 'No wounds.'
Beck took hold of his arm. 'You are back with us, my friend.'
'I was at a river. We all were. Was I dreaming?'
Distant shots sounded. The Moidart ran to the edge of the slope. Some of the southern soldiers on the eastern ridge were shooting at Gaise. He walked on unconcerned. Not a shot struck him. Then the shooting ceased, and the sound of shouts of joy echoed across the valley floor.
For a while Gaise disappeared among the enemy.
'Why is he bringing them back too?' asked Beck. 'Sweet heaven, will we have to go through this carnage yet again tomorrow?'
'The war is over,' said the Moidart. 'No-one will fight now. Not even Winter Kay.'
'He is dead, my lord,' said Rayster, moving forward from the shadows. 'I cut his head from his shoulders back in Eldacre.' Rayster told them of the raid, and then of how Gaise had come in the night and healed the sick, the dying, and even the recent dead.
As the dawn rose over the mountains they saw Gaise Macon walk from the eastern ridge and begin to move towards the enemy positions on the southern slopes. Hundreds of southern soldiers followed him. Other Eldacre men and Rigante crossed the valley floor, heading west towards where the Moidart and the others were standing. Bael Jace and Mantilan climbed to where they stood. Mantilan embraced Beck and Konin, and the three old friends moved away.
The sun climbed higher in the sky, and a fresh breeze blew over the battlefield. The air was curiously scented. To the Moidart it smelled of rose petals, to Kaelin Ring it was like dew-covered heather, to Rayster the scent was of lavender. For every man it was something different.
All around the ridge men were smiling and laughing. Others wept for joy and hugged their comrades. Taybard Jaekel opened his eyes and saw Jakon Gallowglass sitting beside him, tears in his eyes. 'I had a wonderful dream,' he said. 'I saw Banny and Kammel. I was going to cross a river, but they wouldn't let me.'
Gallowglass patted his shoulder. 'You're back now, Jaekel. Back among the living.'
The Moidart moved away from them all, and stood staring southwards as his son climbed to the enemy position. No-one fired a weapon, and within minutes the cheering began.
Time flowed by.
At last Gaise reappeared. He strolled down the slope, his golden hair gleaming in the sunlight. He did not walk towards his own waiting men, but moved off towards a stand of trees to the west.
Just before he reached them he stopped, lifted his hands in the air, and tilted his head to the heavens.
A single shot broke the silence.
Gaise Macon could feel the growing strength of Cernunnos within him as he walked from the enemy camp. His right arm spasmed and he almost lost control of it. 'Let yourself go, kinsman,' came a voice in his mind. 'You cannot hold me back. You know that.'
'I know,' Gaise told him. He walked on. His legs were feeling heavier, and it was an effort of will to propel himself forward. He looked up. The trees were closer now, but not close enough.
'Why did you not kill your enemies?' asked Cernunnos. 'Now I will have to do it for you.'
'I wanted to show you that we can learn.'
'I always knew that a few of you humans were worthwhile, kinsman. It is just that there are not enough of you.'
Gaise tottered on. Then his legs ceased to move. He stared at the trees. 'I do have a gift for you,' he said.
'I already have your gift. Let your spirit go!'
'You have shown me how to live like a god. Now you can learn what it is to die as a man.'
Gaise raised his arms, and tilted back his head.
The silence was shattered by a single shot. Gaise gr
unted as the ball tore into his chest, ripping through his lungs. His body slumped to the ground. As his life faded he felt Cernunnos desperately, and unsuccessfully, trying to heal the wound.
Hidden in the trees Mulgrave stood up, took the Emburley rifle by the barrel and smashed it against the trunk of an oak. Then he slumped to the ground and began to weep.
High on the western ridge the Moidart cried out and began to run to where his son lay, arms spread out upon the grass. Thousands of men swarmed out behind him.
The body began to glow, brighter and brighter. The Moidart could not gaze upon it and shielded his eyes with his hands. A cold wind blew. The light flared out over the gathering multitude. The Moidart felt its power wash over him. When he lowered his hands and opened his eyes the body of Gaise Macon had disappeared.
The grass beneath the Moidart's feet shimmered and writhed. Small blue flowers swelled from the earth. All across the battlefield they grew. It was as if the sky had painted the earth.
From the ridge to the south came two riders, followed by thousands of soldiers. The riders approached the Moidart. The first man stepped down. He was middle-aged and sandy-haired. He bowed to the Moidart. 'I am Eris Velroy. I command the army of Lord Winterbourne.'
'Winterbourne is dead,' said the Moidart, still staring at the spot where his son had fallen.
'I guessed that. I do not begin to understand what happened here today, my lord,' said Velroy. 'But it is inconceivable that we should continue the fight. Do I have your permission to withdraw my men and travel south?'
'I lost my- son today,' said the Moidart. 'My son. Do you have sons?'
'One, my lord.'
Then go home and joy in that.'
The Moidart walked to the spot where Gaise had fallen. Something glinted upon the lush grass. He reached out and picked it up. It was a partially flattened musket ball of solid gold.
The Wyrd moved to him, and laid a hand upon his shoulder. Then she knelt beside him. 'He is still here, Hawk in the Willow.'
'I cannot see him.'
'You will. Did your grandmother teach you the words?'
'Aye, a long time ago.'
'Then speak them with me.'
The Moidart took a deep, shuddering breath, and together he and the Wyrd spoke the ancient farewell.
'Seek the circle,
find the light,
Say farewell to flesh and bone.
Walk the grey path,
Watch the swan's flight,
Let your heart light
Bring you home.'
As the words tailed away the Moidart saw two ghostly figures in the sunlight. One was Gaise, the other a dark-haired woman in a travelling dress of shimmering green. They reached out and their hands touched. Then they disappeared.
The Moidart remained where he was for a while. Then he stood and walked away, through the silent ranks of Eldacre men and Rigante. There were a great many horses now, standing idle. Gathering the reins of one he stepped into the saddle and rode away across the field of blue flowers.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
IN THE MONTHS THAT FOLLOWED ELDACRE BECAME A CENTRE FOR pilgrims. People travelled from all over the land to see the place where the blessed Gaise Macon had lived and died. Monks and priests walked the battlefield, gathering blue flowers and pressing them between small sheets of glass.
The Eldacre Company was kept together for three months, while events in the south settled. Then many of them were paid off. Lanfer Gosten returned to his clerical work with a merchant company, and took on Taybard Jaekel as an assistant. Jakon Gallowglass remained with the reduced army, with the rank of sergeant.
Two of the Moidart's new generals, Konin and Mantilan, rode south to take part in the new assembly which Eris Velroy had convened. The six hundred men of the assembly, appointed from the surviving nobility and the ranks of the army, were seeking a new king.
The wonders following the death of Gaise Macon did not cease for a long while. It was almost four months before a single person in Eldacre died. For weeks after the battle reports came in of dying people who had been suddenly cured on the day the Stormrider passed from the earth. A tanner in Old Hills, ravaged by cancer, had risen from his bed; an elderly woman, paralysed by a stroke, had the power restored to her limbs; a crippled child had walked again. So many wondrous tales.
Little had been seen of the Moidart since the battle. He had effectively left the running of the castle to Colonel Galliott, and had retired to the Winter House. People spoke of the grief he was enduring at the loss of his son.
Others took the limelight. A little man with golden teeth, named Aran Powdermill, became a celebrity. He had, it became known, aided the Moidart against the evil of the Redeemer devils. He was a man of magic, it was said. A holy man, blessed by the Source.
Garan Beck was also awarded hero status. The burghers of Eldacre presented him with a fine house, overlooking the town.
Huntsekker was also spoken of with awe when word spread of his magnificent fight with thirty Redeemers in defence of the legendary Maev Ring. He, however, did not enjoy the acclaim, and headed north. Some said he was going there to wed Maev.
The clansman Rayster was drawn into the burgeoning legend: the one-armed man who killed the Demon Lord, Winter Kay, and stopped him from acquiring the dread skull. Somehow it became common knowledge that Rayster had no known parents, and had been raised among the Rigante. Already a figure of mystery and heroic nature, it was decided that he had also been blessed by the Source as a man of rare destiny.
But no-one knew of the part Mulgrave the Swordsman had played in the outcome.
People spoke of the last vile act of the Redeemers, the slaying of the god-prince. In church services they prayed that the Source would curse the godless and evil man who had fired that fatal shot, and robbed the world of greatness.
Their curses meant nothing to Mulgrave. The world could offer no greater hurt than the one he carried. He stayed on in Eldacre for some months, assisting in the rebuilding of the war-damaged community. Then he saddled a horse and quietly rode away.
A week later he arrived at the outskirts of Shelding, and drew rein on the high ground from where the enemy musketeers had attacked the Eldacre Company. It seemed so long ago now. Another lifetime.
Mulgrave dismounted and tethered his horse. Taking a canteen from his saddle he drank a little water. He felt light-headed and weak, and realized he had not eaten in two days. He had lost a great deal of weight in the last few months, and was now skeletally thin.
He gazed down at the distant town. It was here that he had experienced the last happiness of his life. It was here that he had served the real Gaise Macon, the young man of honour and courage. Not the killer he had become. Nor the god-prince that legend was now creating.
The days in Shelding had become golden in his memory. Perhaps that was why he felt drawn here. He shivered as a cool breeze blew across his rain drenched clothes. I should have died here, he thought, suddenly. Despair engulfed him and he struggled to his feet. Moving to his horse he drew a pistol from the saddle scabbard. Cocking it he pressed the barrel against his throat and pulled the trigger.
There was a loud click.
Rain had seeped into the flash pan, drenching the powder. Sitting down he cleaned out the pan and recharged it.
'This is not your destiny,' came the voice of the Wyrd in his mind.
'Leave me be!'
'Close your eyes, Mulgrave. Join me at the mill.'
'I just want peace!'
'Join me, Mulgrave. If only to say goodbye.'
He sat back against a tree trunk and closed his eyes. The world shimmered and a warm breeze touched his skin. Opening the eyes of his spirit he gazed down on the old mill and the water glittering in the sunlight. 'I am so lost, Wyrd,' he said.
'You are not lost, my friend. You are alone. Sometimes it feels the same.' The Wyrd took his hand. 'You did not kill him, Mulgrave. He was dead from the moment he accepted the skull.'
'I
know that, Wyrd. The knowledge does not help me. What hurts me most is that he had no life. A tortured childhood with an uncaring father, and then a war. No wife, no family, no love.'
'You loved him.'
'It is not the same.'
'I think you are wrong,' she said, softly. 'Your friendship meant the world to him. You were like the father he never knew, and the brother he never had. You were the rock he could cling to and idolize. You helped a frightened boy become a man of courage. You were his hero always.' She patted his hand. 'Sit here a while, and, when you are ready, return to the flesh.'
Then she was gone. Alone now, Mulgrave stood and wandered down to the mill. The last time the Wyrd had brought him here was to talk in secret with Gaise. He had listened in horror as his friend asked for his help. 'I cannot do it,' Mulgrave had said.
'You must, Mulgrave. There is no-one else. Taybard Jaekel is dead.'
'Then let us fight on, sir. We can win without the skull.'
'Aye, we might - though I doubt it. But what then? The skull cannot be destroyed. One day someone else will be drawn to it. I need your friendship now more than ever before. If you still have love for me after all I have done, then do this one last thing for me, Mulgrave, I beg of you.'
And, in the name of love, he had agreed.
Mulgrave walked away from the mill, and wished himself back to the world of the flesh. When he opened his eyes he smelt woodsmoke. Turning his head he saw the Wyrd sitting by a small fire. 'How did you get here?' he asked.
'By the old ways,' she answered, with a smile. Then she peered at him. 'You look dreadful, Mulgrave,' she said. 'You have no flesh on you at all.'
'I have not been hungry.'
Reaching out she placed her hand upon his head. 'Here is a small gift for you.'
He felt her hand warm upon his skin, and then a wondrous cool breeze seemed to flow through his brain. His muscles relaxed, and all tension fled from him. Opening his eyes he saw the sunlight on the hillside, and joy touched him. Flowers were growing there, and the colours seemed indescribably beautiful. 'What did you do to me?' he asked her.
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