Stormrider Stormrider

by David Gemmell

  Then he took his old coat from its hook and struggled into it. Mulgrave walked with him to the wagon.

  They spoke no more, and Mulgrave stood silently as the vehicle trundled over the snow. Ermal did not call out a farewell, nor did he wave.

  Mulgrave returned to the silent house. The fire was still burning, though there were no chairs to sit upon. Even the old fire rug was gone. The swordsman sat down on the floor. Ermal’s words had been strange. Mulgrave knew he was trying to tell him something, but he had spoken as if they were being overheard. The white-haired woman was in the north, not the south. She had been hunted not by death but by the Dezhem Bek.

  “I have been having the same dreams, Mulgrave. The very same ones that you told me about.”

  Ermal had also dreamed of them.

  “I don’t want hungry carrion birds pecking at my eyes. You understand? They are here. You only have to look in the trees around us to see them waiting to feed.”

  Hungry carrion birds. The Ravenous Ravens. The Dezhem Bek.

  They are here.

  Winter Kay had long believed himself to be above rage. He saw the outpourings of violent anger as indications of a lesser intellect. That was why he was struggling to control the volcanic state of his mind. How could Marl Coper have been so stupid? Could he not detect the simple ward spells around the manor? And to shoot the Harvester without bothering to find the body? Such complacency deserved torture and death. Winter Kay poured himself a cup of cold water and sipped it. Calm yourself, he thought. Think!

  All his plans over the years had been meticulously orchestrated, with almost complete success in every quarter. Orders had been given and carried out. Good men had been recruited, while the weak and the difficult had been brushed aside or killed. The king was now an irrelevance, the covenanters about to be destroyed, and the wonderful wholeness of the strategy on the verge of a triumphant completion.

  Winter Kay wandered to the window and stared down at the castle grounds. Some of his guests were wandering in the gardens. Several riders were cantering across the open land beyond the western wall on a hawking venture. The lead rider, wearing a purple sash, was the king. The sun was shining now with the promise of spring. Winter Kay took a deep breath.

  “Let us seek a little perspective here,” he told himself aloud. “I was complacent in the question of Gaise Macon. Ferson was a cowardly fool, Macon brighter than I had anticipated. It will not save him now.” Thoughts of Macon’s impending demise helped relax him. Yet what of the Moidart? This was a real source of regret. The man would have been a great help in the cause. I should have gone to him sooner, thought Winter Kay. I should have healed his burns and made him one of us.

  Too late now.

  A light tapping sounded at the door. “Come in, Velroy,” he called.

  Eris Velroy entered and bowed. The man looked tired, his face ashen. His eyes darted to the box on the table containing the Orb of Kranos.

  “Sit down, man,” said Winter Kay. Velroy pushed a hand through his thick, sandy hair, then rubbed at his dark-ringed eyes. He slumped to a seat.

  “You managed to break through the ward spell?”

  “It was not necessary, my lord. The Moidart had no spell placed over the dungeon. I think he wanted us to see the torture of Marl. It was ghastly.”

  “No doubt. The Moidart is highly skilled in such practices. He frightens you, doesn’t he?”

  “He does, my lord,” admitted Velroy.

  “Where is the Pinance now?”

  “He is gathering his forces. They will march on Eldacre at week’s end. Twelve thousand men, boosted by a division of five hundred knights. They have few cannon, though, as yet. The Pinance believes that the Moidart will move his men into Eldacre Castle and seek to hold out there.”

  “As soon as Macks is destroyed, we will deploy three more regiments in the north. What of Macy and his men?”

  “They will attack Shelding tomorrow morning at dawn.”

  “Always dawn,” said Winter Kay. “I have often wondered why it is never midnight or dusk.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Eris Velroy said wearily.

  “Macy has two thousand men. How are they allocated?”

  “Three hundred musketeers, fifteen hundred cavalry, and two hundred heavy infantry with pike and sword.”

  “And Macon?”

  “Just under six hundred, my lord. One hundred musketeers, four hundred fifty cavalry, and forty riflemen.”

  “Most of whom will be asleep when the attack begins. Very well. You made it clear that I want Macon’s head delivered to me?”

  “I did, my lord.”

  “Excellent. Tonight the world order changes, Velroy. Tomorrow a new age begins. It will be the age of the Redeemers. I shall be riding with Kalmer and his knights after saying my sweet farewells to the king and his family.”

  “Will you take the crown yourself, my lord?”

  Winter Kay looked into Velroy’s tired eyes. “You know, young Marl was always asking me such questions. He wondered why I never answered them. I suspect, having watched him die, you now know why.”

  Velroy swallowed hard. “Yes, my lord.”

  “Come, make obeisance to the orb. Restore your strength. The night to come will be long and bloody.”

  Gaise Macon scanned the reports from his scouts. Columns of mounted soldiers had been seen heading west, some three miles north of Shelding. That was most odd. Luden Macks, who was camped some twenty miles to the west, had agreed to a truce and a four-mile-wide neutral area between the armies. Shelding was at the western edge of that area, and if cavalry units were heading west, they would be in danger of breaking the cease-fire.

  And it was not only cavalry that had been identified. Taybard Jaekel had seen units of artillery on the southern road the previous night. Major movements of that kind usually would have followed meetings of the general staff, yet Gaise had not been summoned to any such gatherings.

  Not only was the Eldacre Company now apparently excluded from such meetings, with the withdrawal of supplies, it had been left with food that would not last more than another two days.

  Had it not been for a moment of luck they also would have lost their horses. This last incident had angered Gaise, and he had written a letter to Lord Winterbourne. Earlier in the afternoon he and Mulgrave had decided to ride out and scout the countryside. They had walked to the long meadow where the four hundred cavalry mounts were picketed and had arrived to find the gray-haired sergeant Lanfer Gosten involved in a furious argument with an officer of the Second Lancers. A troop of twenty riders was sitting their mounts close by.

  “What is going on, Lanfer?” Gaise asked, as he approached the group.

  “This gentlemen says he has orders to remove our horses to new locations, sir,” said Gosten. “It’s not right. You can’t leave cavalrymen without mounts.”

  “Indeed you cannot,” agreed Gaise. He walked to where the officer sat on his own gray gelding.

  “I am Gaise Macon.”

  “I have orders, General, to remove—”

  “Get off your horse.”

  “Sir?”

  “You are in the presence of a general. Get off your horse and salute.”

  The man stepped down from the saddle and offered a swift salute. He was tall and slender and was wearing the red tunic emblazoned with gold epaulets of a captain in the King’s Second Lancers.

  “Your name?”

  “Konran Macy, General.”

  “You are related to General Barin Macy?”

  “I am his brother, sir.”

  “Very well. Now, what is this about the mounts?”

  Macy handed Gaise his orders. They were explicit. All mounts in Shelding were to be taken to Lincster, four miles east. The order was signed by Macy’s brother.

  “There seems to be an error here,” said Gaise Macon. “First, the Eldacre Company does not come under the control of the Second Lancers.”

  “Lord Winterbourne has put General Macy in co
mmand of this section of the front, sir,” the officer said, smugly.

  “And second, the Eldacre mounts are private property, owned by myself, not the property of the army. Should General Macy wish to commandeer my mounts, he can seek a written order from Lord Winterbourne. Such an order would be challenged by me and subject then to a decision from a military court of inquiry.”

  “My orders are to take the horses, sir. I intend—”

  “Be silent! Your intentions interest me not at all.” Gaise swung to Lanfer Gosten. There were some fifteen musketeers close by. “Sergeant, gather your men.” Lanfer Gosten barked out an order, and the musketeers ran forward. “Are those weapons primed?” asked Gaise.

  “Yes, sir,” answered Gosten.

  “Very well.” Gaise returned his attention to Konran Macy. “Remount your gelding, Lieutenant. Return to General Macy and tell him I do not appreciate discourteous behavior. Now get thee gone.”

  Konran Macy stood for a moment without moving. His face had lost all color, and Gaise could see he was struggling to control himself. His blue eyes shone with anger. “Are you deaf or just stupid?” asked Gaise, stepping in close.

  At that moment a rider behind Macy edged his horse forward. “Konran!” he called out sharply. “Let’s go.”

  Macy blinked and relaxed. Turning on his heel, he walked to his horse and stepped into the saddle. With one backward glance, burning with hatred, he rode away, his men following.

  Mulgrave approached Gaise. “I think that man does not like you, sir,” he said.

  “And I shall never sleep again for worry,” muttered Gaise.

  “I think we should put off our ride, sir,” said Mulgrave.

  Gaise nodded agreement. “Move the horses into town, Lanfer. Picket them on the common land beyond the market square.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Now, as he sat in his small study, Gaise was growing more concerned. What if Lord Winterbourne was intending a surprise attack on Luden Macks in violation of the truce? What if Macks were to break out? He would head due east, directly toward Shelding. Without mounts, with little ammunition and only forty musketeers, the Eldacre Company would be overrun.

  With evening approaching Gaise pulled on a fur-lined topcoat and, with the black hound Soldier padding at his side, left the house. Taybard Jaekel and another rifleman, a big fellow with a bushy red beard, saluted as he came into sight.

  “Warmer tonight,” said Gaise.

  “Aye, sir,” answered Taybard Jaekel. “Spring’s coming.”

  “Taking its bloody time,” muttered the bearded soldier. Gaise struggled to remember the man’s name, which he acknowledged was a symptom of his weariness.

  “Bard, isn’t it?” he said at last.

  “That’s right, sir. Kammel Bard. You had me flogged.”

  “You seem to have recovered well,” Gaise said with wry amusement. He wished Mulgrave could have been there to witness the moment. What on earth was the proper response to a man one had ordered lashed?

  “Breed ’em tough in the highlands,” said Bard. “Rigante blood, you know.”

  Gaise laughed. “Only a few years ago it would have been an offense to say that. Now I can tell you that my own family is equally blessed. My grandmother was half-Rigante. Fine woman, so the legends have it. Even the king now talks of his grandfather and his Rigante heritage.”

  “That’s why we’re unbeatable, sir,” said Kammel Bard. “We’re a Rigante army.”

  Gaise smiled and strolled past the soldiers, who fell in step behind him. As they reached the gate, Gaise saw Cordelia Lowen walking toward him. She was dressed as if for riding, with a heavy split skirt and boots and a tunic coat with a fur collar. Her dark hair was hanging free. Gaise felt his breath quicken and his heart pound.

  “Good evening to you, General,” she said.

  “And to you, lady. May I introduce my guards, Taybard Jaekel and Kammel Bard, two fine lads from my homeland.” Both men bowed clumsily. Soldier padded to her. Cordelia dropped to one knee. “Best be careful,” said Gaise. “He’s nervous around strangers.”

  Cordelia tilted her head to one side and flicked her fingers. The hound instantly settled down on his haunches at her feet. Cordelia patted his head. “He seems perfectly sweet to me.”

  “Indeed so, lady.”

  “Are you going to invite me inside for a hot tisane, or do I stand in the cold?” she asked.

  “Inside? I . . . er . . . have no servants.”

  “Is it beyond the skills of a general to fill a kettle with water and hang it over a fire?”

  “I did not mean that. I meant we would be . . . alone.”

  “Oh, I see. Well do not worry, General. I am sure if I attack you, your guards will swiftly come to your aid.”

  Gaise sighed. He noticed both soldiers struggling not to smile. “Very well, lady.” Turning to Taybard, he said: “If I call for help, come running.”

  “We’ll be there in a heartbeat, sir.”

  Despite her apparent confidence Cordelia Lowen felt confused and uncertain. Her normally rational mind had been in turmoil since the meeting with Gaise Macon at the mayor’s gathering. It was most unsettling. She could not seem to push him from her thoughts. She kept picturing those strange eyes of gold and green and his quick, nervous smile.

  For most of the day she had found herself thinking of him and had managed to convince herself that it was concern for his safety that was unsettling her. After all, he was a servant of the king, and if danger loomed, it was her bounden duty to assist him.

  Now, as he led her into the little house, she knew this was only partly true. At nineteen Cordelia Lowen was no stranger to the exquisite joys of physical attraction. There had been young officers whose presence quickened her blood and handsome men who caused thoughts that were quite wicked. No one, however, had come close to affecting her in the same manner as this young nobleman. The thought that she would leave the next day and perhaps never see him again was truly ghastly.

  “There is a kettle somewhere,” she heard him say.

  “Pray do not concern yourself with tisane, General. I was only teasing. Might I sit by your fire?”

  “Of course. May I take your coat?”

  “It is a little unconventional for a single woman to enter the home of a bachelor,” she said. “It would be considered even more unseemly were she to undress there.”

  “Yes, indeed. Would you object if I removed mine? It seems uncommonly hot.”

  She laughed at his discomfort. “Ah, to the Void with convention,” she said, unbuttoning her jacket and removing it. Beneath it she wore a shirt of heavy silk and a brocaded riding waistcoat of shimmering green. Gaise took the jacket from her and hung it on a hook by the door.

  “I understand you are leaving early tomorrow,” he said. “Do you yet know your destination?”

  “Father says we have been allocated a house in Lincster.”

  “That’s only four miles away,” said Gaise, surprised.

  “I know,” she said, her good mood fading as she recalled the reason for her visit. “It is one of the matters I wished to discuss with you.”

  “It makes no sense.”

  “My father is frightened, General Macon. I have never seen him frightened before. It is most unsettling. He is talking of leaving the army, even of going to our estates near Stone. I spoke to him this afternoon, and . . . your name happened to come up. He warned me not to become fond of you. My impression was that he believes something is going to happen here.”

  “I think so,” he said with a sigh. “All powder and supplies have been removed, and this afternoon they even tried to remove our mounts. We are isolated here. If Luden Macks were to attack, we’d be sorely tested.”

  “I don’t believe Luden Macks is the problem, General.”

  He looked at her and said nothing. She found herself reddening under his gaze. “I know my father well, and what I see in him is not just fear. I think he is ashamed. You have powerful enemies, Ge
neral. I think they mean to bring you harm.”

  “The thought has crossed my mind,” he admitted with a wry smile. “They have tried to kill me twice now. I’m sure a third attempt will come in due course.”

  “Then why do you stay?”

  “A good question, lady. Honor. Duty. I am a king’s man. I have pledged myself and my men to his service. I cannot just ride away. That would make me an oath breaker and bring shame upon my family.”

  “Shame upon the Moidart? Now, that is a novel idea.”

  “He and I have never been close,” he said, a touch of ice in his voice. “Yet still he is my father, and I will not hear him slighted.”

  “My apologies, sir.”

  His expression softened, and he smiled. “I have heard the stories, Cordelia. I even lived some of them. My father is a harsh man, aye, and cruel. I wish I could know of one good deed to set on the side of righteousness. I don’t. It is my hope that I am not like him and that I never will be.”

  “I do not think you are like him,” she said, rising from her chair. “I do not think you are like any man I have ever met.”

  “I hope that is a compliment.”

  She moved in close to him. “Have you ever been kissed, General?”

  “No.”

  “Then I think I shall kiss you. Unless, of course, you object.”

  He shook his head, and she smiled at the panic in his eyes. Then she took his hand and stepped in. Their lips met, and the moment lingered. His arm slid around her waist, drawing her more closely against him.

  When at last she pulled away, her heart was beating fast. She took a deep breath. “Take care, General Macon,” she said, her voice husky.

  For a moment he could not speak. He felt light-headed, his emotions churning. Nothing else mattered except the sweetness of the memory of her lips upon his. “When may I see you again?” he asked her.

  Reality sent a cloud across the sunshine in her mind. “I don’t know, General. I wish I could stay. But our belongings are packed, and our wagon prepared. Father is waiting.”

  “No,” he said, stepping close. “Not yet. Grant me one more hour.”