Stormrider Stormrider

by David Gemmell

  “Aye, you are right,” muttered Draig. Just as he was turning away, a small redheaded boy appeared in the doorway. Eain glanced at him. He was pulling on a white cap with ear protectors. Once it was in place he ran across the snow to stand between Chara and Senlic.

  “You’d be Feargol, the boy who killed the bear,” said Draig.

  “It killed my daddy,” said Feargol.

  “Go inside now,” Chara told the child. “This is no place for you. These two men are leaving.”

  “They only just came,” said Feargol. Chara did not answer, but she moved the pistol to her side.

  Draig stared hard at Senlic Carpenter. “It was once said you had the sight, Carpenter. I see that’s no longer true.” He glanced around at the farm buildings. “Not many men here. I hope they’re not gone long.”

  Chara once more raised the pistol. Draig looked at her. Eain tugged at his brother’s sleeve. There was no doubting her willingness to shoot.

  “I also hope,” said Draig, “that you are as good with that pistol as you claim. Chances are you’ll need to be.”

  “You should ask them if they want to rest,” said Feargol. “You should give them something warm to drink.”

  “Be quiet, boy!” snapped Senlic. “Highland hospitality does not extend to rogues and thieves.”

  “Would you like a biscuit?” asked Feargol, stepping forward and pulling a crumbling oatcake from the pocket of his coat. He ran to the gate and pushed his hand through the gap in the slats. Draig dropped to one knee and took the offering. Then, with a sigh, he rose.

  “Don’t say anything!” urged Eain. “We’re not going to get involved!”

  “The boy is in danger,” said Draig. “That’s why we came. That’s why we walked twenty miles.”

  “Eighteen miles,” said Eain.

  “Whatever!” snapped Draig, casting a murderous glance at his brother. He looked back at Senlic. “If you had the sight, you’d know I was telling you the truth.”

  Senlic stepped forward and met Draig’s gaze. “I don’t have it anymore, Cochland. But the boy does.” He looked down at Feargol. “You think these are bad men?” he asked.

  “I think we should give them something hot to drink,” said Feargol. “My daddy always did when people came to us from the cold.”

  Chara walked to the gate. “Are you armed?” she asked.

  “Aye,” said Draig, opening his long bearskin coat and showing her the butts of the two pistols in his belt. Eain saw the concern on her face.

  “Walk ahead of me to the house,” she told Draig. “I’ll not have it said I turned away any man in this weather, not even a Cochland.”

  Eain wanted to tell her what to do with her damned hospitality, but the cold was really beginning to get to him and he longed to sit down in the warmth. He followed Draig into the house and shivered with pleasure as the heat from the fire touched his skin.

  Draig sat down at the table and munched on the oatcake biscuit the boy had given him. Chara whispered something to Senlic, who went and stood by the far wall, his pistol now in his hand. Feargol clambered up on the bench seat alongside Draig and stared at him. “Who is the man with the little beard shaped like an arrow?” the boy asked.

  “I see the boy does have the sight,” Draig said to Senlic.

  “He is coming here,” said Feargol.

  “I know,” Draig told him. “He’s not close now, though, is he?” he added, suddenly nervous.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Chara gave Draig a mug of warm tisane, then poured another for Eain. As Eain took it from her, their hands touched. He felt himself blushing and looked away without thanking her.

  “Now, what is this danger you spoke of?” asked Chara.

  “Maybe the boy should go upstairs,” said Draig.

  “He is fine where he is.”

  “I wouldn’t want to frighten him.”

  “Just say what you have to say,” Chara told him.

  “Very well. A man—a Varlish man—came to me and asked me if I wanted to earn ten pounds. He said that his lord wanted two people dead.”

  “I can see why he came to you,” said Senlic.

  “Shut your trap!” hissed Eain.

  “Leave it!” Draig ordered him. He sipped his tisane, then turned to Chara. “One he wanted dead was the Dweller, and the other was this boy. I told him I wasn’t interested. My guess—and the boy has just confirmed it—is that he then went to Tostig and the Low Valley scum he leads.”

  “Tostig sports that beard style that was popular among the Varlish a few years back,” said Eain. All three adults swung to stare at him. “You know, the one where the chin is shaved but you leave a small wedge of beard under the lower lip. Looks damn stupid, if you ask me. ’Course you wouldn’t say that to Tostig, him being a killer. Wouldn’t catch me with a beard like that. Beards should be beards, I say. Proper beards.” Eain fell silent. They were still looking at him, and no one was speaking. Senlic was staring at him bemused, and Draig had an expression of barely suppressed anger. Eain did not want to look at Chara Jace even when she spoke.

  “How did we get to talking about beards?” she asked.

  “It’s just that the boy mentioned an arrow-shaped beard,” said Eain, blundering on. “It was a Varlish fashion, like I said, and—”

  “Enough about damned beards!” thundered Draig. “Gods, you’re like a dog that won’t let go of a bone.”

  “Do you believe this story about hiring assassins?” Chara asked Senlic. “Why would any Varlish want . . .” She glanced down at Feargol, who was listening intently. “. . . such a thing?” she concluded lamely. “The Dweller has no links with the Varlish. And neither does Feargol.”

  “The Cochlands steal cattle, Chara,” said Senlic. “They are not subtle or clever men.”

  “Thank you,” said Eain.

  “That was actually an insult, Brother,” Draig said, wearily. “But let’s move on.”

  “Then you do believe them?” put in Chara.

  “I do. It has the ring of truth,” replied the old man. “And Feargol has seen that Tostig is coming here.”

  “He is a bad man,” said Feargol.

  “Yes, he is,” said Draig. “As soon as Kaelin gets back, I’d suggest you take the boy into the Rigante passes. Tostig won’t be able to enter Call Jace’s land. Now we’ll be leaving you.” Draig rose. “Thank you for the tisane.”

  “Kaelin will be gone for three weeks,” said Senlic. “He is taking a herd down to Eldacre. Most of the men are with him.”

  “This is not our problem,” Eain said, sharply. “We’re not to get involved.”

  “You don’t need to be involved,” said Chara. “I’ll fetch you some food for your journey home.”

  “Forget the food,” Eain told her. “Come on, Draig. Our business here is done. Let’s just go now. We’ll get a bite in Black Mountain. At the Dog Tavern. Come on.”

  “How many men are with Tostig?” Draig asked Feargol.

  The boy closed his eyes, and Eain saw him counting his fingers. “Eight,” he said.

  Eain swore.

  “Can you see where they are?”

  “Yes, but I don’t know where it is.”

  “What can you see, boy?” asked Senlic.

  Feargol closed his eyes again. “I can see a big building, all stone. And lots of houses. The man with the arrow beard is riding over a stone bridge. There are people fishing in the river.”

  “Black Mountain,” said Senlic.

  “That’s no more than a two-hour ride in this weather,” added Chara.

  Eain looked at Draig and saw his features harden. “Don’t do this, Draig,” he pleaded. “They don’t want us. They hate us. It’s got nothing to do with us now. You promised we wouldn’t get involved.”

  “The boy gave me a biscuit,” said Draig.

  Eain’s heart sank through his boots.

  Chara Ring stood in the long kitchen, staring down at the pistol lying beside the breadboard.
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  “You can’t stay, Chara,” said Senlic.

  “I have weapons here, and I know how to use them,” she told him.

  “There are eight of them, girl.”

  Chara swung on him. “Do not call me girl! I don’t care how many there are. You think I’d be safer out in the wilderness with them?” she asked, keeping her voice low and pointing back toward the living room. “I know men like them, Senlic. I spent a day and a night in a dungeon with men like them. Never again!” She leaned back against the work surface and began to tremble. Senlic reached toward her with his good hand. “Do not touch me!” she told him sharply.

  “I am sorry,” he said. “I meant no offense. But Tostig will come here. There’s nothing to stop him now. I expect he knows Kaelin and the men are gone. You’ll not be safe, and neither will the boy.”

  “I am staying in my home,” she told him.

  Senlic sighed. “Very well, then. I’ll load more weapons. I expect we’ll hit a few of them. Then they’ll stay back and pick us off as we leave the house over the next few days. Or they’ll come at night. Then, sooner or later, Chara, with me dead—and likely the Cochland boys, too—you’ll find yourself once more back in that dungeon.”

  “I’ll kill myself before I let that happen again.”

  “Perhaps we could save the boy heartbreak and terror by killing him now,” said Senlic.

  “Don’t say such stupid things,” she told him.

  “You need to be away from here,” he urged her.

  “Then I’ll go alone—just me, little Jaim, and Feargol. I don’t need the Cochlands.”

  “Tostig and his men have horses. The snow is still deep, and you’d have to carry Feargol and Jaim. You’ll make no distance. You’ll be exhausted within an hour, and Tostig will catch you long before nightfall.”

  “Has it occurred to you that all this is a trick? Ten pounds, Senlic. The Cochlands could be planning to murder me in the wilderness and collect the money themselves.”

  “I don’t believe that. Not once has Draig or Eain ever been accused of attacks on women or children. They steal cattle, Chara. They are lazy men and thieves. You heard Eain. He wants no part in this. He is terrified of Tostig. They both are, though Draig would not admit it. With them you can get to the high country, where Tostig’s horses will be useless. Without them we are all dead.”

  “I can’t do it, Senlic. I can’t.”

  “You can, Chara,” he said softly. “You are Rigante. We don’t let fear rule us. Given a little time, you would come to this realization yourself. But we don’t have time. Every heartbeat of time we waste brings them closer.” He leaned in close to her, lowering his voice further. “The Cochlands are scum. I’ll grant that. They may even desert you when trouble comes. They won’t harm you, though, or the boy. So use them like pack ponies until you are clear. Then send them on their way. And bear in mind that they, too, have Rigante blood.”

  “So did Wullis Swainham,” she reminded him.

  “Aye, he did,” admitted Senlic, “and he shamed us all. The Cochlands aren’t like him, though. I’d stake my life on that.”

  “You are not staking your life,” she said softly. “You are staking mine and Jaim’s and Feargol’s.”

  “I am aware of that, Chara.” They stood in silence for several moments, and Senlic saw the trembling cease and color return to Chara’s cheeks.

  She took a deep breath. “Take the Cochlands to the supply store,” she said. “Find them snowshoes and packs and anything else you think they’ll need.” Chara put her hand on the old man’s shoulder, then leaned in and kissed his cheek. “You are Rigante, my friend,” she said. “I am sorry I spoke harshly.”

  “Whisht, woman,” he said, then moved away.

  Chara took Feargol upstairs to pack clothing, and Senlic led the Cochlands across to the supply hut. Eain was still complaining, urging Draig to reconsider. Draig told him he was free to return home alone.

  They continued to argue as they rummaged through the supplies, packing them untidily in canvas backpacks.

  Senlic left them to it and sat down on a tack box.

  “We’ll need a musket each,” said Draig.

  “Why do we need muskets?” asked Eain. “I’m not fighting anybody.”

  As they continued to argue, Senlic leaned back against the wall of the hut. When the bright light obscured his vision, he jerked. It had been years since the sight had flared. He had thought it long gone. In that moment he wished that it had gone. He suddenly groaned.

  Draig moved alongside him. “Are you ill, old man?”

  “I am all right,” said Senlic, struggling to his feet. “You are right. You will need muskets and a spare pistol each. We have some long hunting knives, bone-handled. Take two of these. You can keep them. You can keep it all once Chara and the children are safe. I don’t doubt that Call Jace will also reward you for saving his daughter and grandson.”

  “This isn’t about rewards,” muttered Draig.

  “I know, Cochland. I meant no offense. I am grateful you came, and I know Jace will be, too. That is all I meant.”

  When they had gathered all the supplies and filled their packs, Senlic picked out two muskets and a pair of pistols, plus powder and shot. Then he allowed both brothers to choose hunting knives. Once they had done so, Draig hoisted his pack and moved toward the door.

  “Wait,” said Senlic. “There is something we must speak of.”

  “You can trust us,” said Draig. “Do not concern yourself.”

  “It is not my trust that is lacking, Cochland. I do believe you.” He sighed. “You know the history of Chara and Kaelin?”

  “Aye, he rescued her from the Varlish. Walked into their castle and killed the guards.”

  “Aye, he did. A grand deed it was. They had her, though, for some time before Kaelin got to her.”

  “What is this about?” asked Eain.

  “Quiet,” snapped Draig. “You are saying they raped her?”

  “More than that. They beat her, Cochland. They punched and thrashed her, kicked and bit her. It was torture. Their taunts and their vileness damn near broke her spirit. It haunts her still. Always will, I suspect. Now she has a fear of men. A great fear. You understand me? She is about to walk out into the wilderness with the Cochland brothers. By heaven, if I was a woman, I wouldn’t have that kind of courage.”

  Draig stiffened. “You think I would ever . . .”

  “No, I don’t,” said Senlic. “What I am saying is, Be aware of her fears as you walk together. She is a strong woman. In this one area, though, she is as fragile as an ice crystal come the thaw.”

  “I understand,” said Draig.

  “I don’t,” said Eain. “And I’m getting damned cold standing here.”

  Half an hour later Senlic stood at the farm gate, Patch beside him, and watched as the little group walked out across the snow. Draig was carrying Feargol on his hip, while Eain held two-year-old Jaim. Chara walked just behind them both, a musket cradled in her hands.

  “You’ll be all right, will you?” Chara had asked him.

  “Aye, I will,” he had lied.

  He waited until they had reached the first crest. His eyes were no longer good enough to see whether Chara or Feargol waved back at him, but he waved anyway. It was around three hours to dusk and a sunset he knew he would not see.

  Senlic Carpenter went back to the main house and sat waiting, his pistol in his hand.

  It had been a good life. He had not changed the world for the better or led a Rigante charge against the enemy. He had not sired a dozen tall sons. He would die now as he had lived most of his life, alone. Yet he was content. Senlic had lived as a Rigante should, loving the land and holding strong to the clan values of loyalty and courage. He would leave behind no ill will, no seeds of malice or hate to bedevil future generations.

  He thought of loading a second pistol, but the vision had been clear. Senlic would have time for one shot before they cut him down.

&nb
sp; Actually, that was not strictly true, he realized. In the vision he had seen two futures. In the first he walked away from Ironlatch and hid until the riders moved on. He had then seen the eight men hunt down Chara and the others. In the second he did not hide. He saw himself murdered and then watched as the scene shifted to the High Rigante. There he observed little Jaim clambering onto Call Jace’s lap, Feargol standing close by, his white cap in his hands. Jace reached out to him, too, and Feargol smiled happily.

  As he sat at the table, Patch beside him, he wondered why he had been offered such a ridiculous choice.

  Was there a Rigante anywhere who would choose the first?

  6

  * * *

  Chara Ring struggled on, her legs weary. For the last hour she had carried little Jaim. He was tearful now and cold and hungry. She also sensed his fear. He had never been carried out into such weather before, and the biting wind and the wide, empty land frightened him. For the first two hours the hulking Eain had carried the child, but he was close to exhaustion. Like most thieves Eain was a lazy man, and though he had enormous strength, he was short on stamina. Draig, too, was suffering as they climbed yet another hill.

  The snow there was thick and deep, and they had been forced to use snowshoes. Chara knew the area well, and when it was close to dusk she headed them toward a cliff face where there were several shallow caves. At the first Draig began to remove his pack. “Leave it,” said Chara. “We will not be staying here.”

  “Why?” asked Eain. “It’s shelter, isn’t it?”

  Chara was too tired to answer and, having checked the interior, moved once more into the wind and the snow. Draig followed her. Eain brought up the rear, too weary to complain. After a brief survey of the second cave she moved out again.

  This time Draig asked her what she was looking for. Feargol, walking now beside the big highlander, looked up at him. “She is seeking the cave where Uncle Kaelin left firewood,” he said.

  A few minutes later Chara entered a third cave. Draig stepped in behind her and saw a large stack of dry wood set against the far wall. “Uncle Kaelin says a man should always be prepared,” said Feargol. “He has hiding places like this everywhere.”