Stormrider (43 page)

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 Pinance. 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 Garon 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 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 plainspeaking 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 behavior, 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 behavior, 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 meager resources.”

Garon 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 likable 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 to deliver letters from her requesting greater cooperation. 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 Pinance, and the news from the east was routine. Supplies were reaching the coastal cities, and Garon Beck had arranged convoys to Eldacre. Gaise Macon rode his two thousand cavalrymen south but encountered no enemy troops.

The attack when it came was sudden and deadly. Thirty thousand soldiers poured into the east, cutting through Garon Beck’s defensive lines. He pulled back expertly and re-formed, but the fighting was fierce and he was forced farther and farther back toward 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 Pinance. Hew Galliott tried to counterattack, but his troops were surrounded and all but annihilated. Hew himself was taken and publicly disemboweled. 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. Those men the Moidart sent west to join 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 the Rigante took a heavy toll on the enemy but could not prevent them from inching ever nearer to the city. In the east 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 Garon 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 had 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. That 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 Pinance, 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 the east and west would draw away men from the center, 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.

The iron box was empty.

Winter Kay spun around, 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 each other. 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 was then 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 footman 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 hilltop, 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 toward the east.”

“What other tracks did you find?”