Stormrider Stormrider

by David Gemmell

“You are a surprising man, my lord. Why did you not have me hanged?”

  “Ah, well,” the Moidart said with a smile, “perhaps it was because—unlike you—I am a forgiving man.” The smile faded. “Which reminds me. Go and find the apothecary. He is in one of the dungeons. Get him out and tell him I need some more balms.”

  The body of the great outlaw leader Call Jace was buried on a hillside overlooking the roundhouse. There were oaks growing there, and in the summer their leaves would shade the resting place.

  More than two thousand Rigante gathered for the ceremony, which was led by the old warrior Arik Ironlatch. He spoke movingly of Call Jace’s achievements, holding the Rigante together through the darkest days of Varlish dominance. The southern clans around Eldacre had been forced to endure endless humiliations: No highlander could own a horse above fourteen hands, and only if it was a gelding. No highlander could lodge coin with a bank or borrow monies above five chaillings. Any highlander found in possession of a sword, longbow, or gun would be judged a rebel and hanged. Through Call Jace’s courage and cunning those laws were never fully enforced in the north.

  Ironlatch spoke for some time, recalling anecdotes of Call Jace’s life, many of them amusing, and there was laughter in the crowd.

  At the graveside stood Jace’s son, Bael, a tall, redheaded warrior, his handsome face set in an expression of grim sorrow. He did not weep, for that would have been unmanly, but he could not stop the tears that fell to his cheeks. Beside him was his sister Chara and her husband, Kaelin Ring. Chara took Bael’s hand as the Dweller stepped forward to speak the words of farewell.

  “Seek the circle, find the light,

  say farewell to flesh and bone.

  Walk the gray path,

  watch the swans’ flight,

  let your heart light

  bring you home.”

  Then the body of Call Jace, shrouded in a Rigante banner, was lowered into the grave. Rayster stood just back from the main group, his heart heavy. The slender young clansman Fada Talis leaned in to him. “Will you attend the Gathering?” he whispered. Rayster shrugged and said nothing.

  After the Battle of the Pass four years before, Call Jace and Kaelin Ring had changed the nature of the Rigante fighting machine. Before that the highlanders merely gathered at the place of battle and charged the enemy. This system had worked well through the centuries, when the enemy’s tactics had been largely similar. Modern warfare with cannon and shell, musket and rifle, pike and lance required greater tactical awareness. Jace and Kaelin had reorganized the militia army, creating captains and officers and specialist units working together with discipline. Rayster was one such officer, in command of three hundred men. As such, he had attended all the meetings held to discuss martial business. The Gathering, however, was a different matter. Clan chieftains and underchieftains would select the new leader. Was he now to be regarded as a clan chieftain? Rayster doubted it. He had no name.

  Truth be told, he did not greatly care. The choice would be between Bael and Kaelin Ring. Both were good, strong men. As a peacetime leader Bael, with his fine mind and keen eye for detail, would ensure that the Rigante prospered. If war was coming, as the Dweller believed, Bael would be less effective than Kaelin Ring, though not by much. Bael was his father’s son. He had courage and intelligence, and he had fought well at the Battle of the Pass. Rayster would not be unduly troubled should either man be elected leader.

  As the immediate family members began to fill the grave, Rayster found himself watching the Dweller. She seemed more frail than before, her face pale, her eyes dark-rimmed. He saw her walk over to Chara Jace, who was crying openly. They spoke for a moment, and Chara nodded, then leaned in and kissed the Dweller on the cheek. Rayster stepped forward. Chara looked up at him.

  “I can’t believe it,” she said.

  Rayster hugged her close and kissed her brow. “A good man gone,” he said.

  Later, as the crowd streamed back toward the roundhouse and the settlement, the Dweller came alongside Rayster and Fada Talis. Fada moved away from them, allowing them privacy.

  “You will be at the Gathering, Rayster,” said the Dweller.

  “I’ve not been invited,” he said.

  “I need you there. No one will stop you.”

  He looked into her eyes. “You seem . . . different,” he said softly. “Are you ill?”

  “Aye, I am sick—sick with terror. And I am angry and hurt and confused. I feel lost, Rayster. As never before.”

  Rayster took her hand. “You are not lost, Dweller. You are among your own people. You are loved here.”

  She tugged on his hand and led him away from the departing crowd, back up the hill. On the brow there were two standing stones and other fallen, broken columns. Some of the stones were carved with symbols no clansman could now decipher. The Wyrd sat down on a fallen stone. Rayster joined her. “Can one evil ever cancel out another?” she asked him.

  “I don’t know, Dweller. I do not think of these things.”

  “Do you believe the Rigante should ally with the Moidart?”

  “There has been much talk of this,” said Rayster. “Kaelin Ring believes the enemy to come are evil men. He says they have sought your death. We should resist evil men.”

  “The Moidart is an evil man.”

  “Yes.”

  “So the Rigante should partner with evil to defeat evil?”

  “I am not the man to debate this with. I keep to myself, Dweller, and I live my life by my own lights. I am Rigante. I am proud to be Rigante. Yet not all that we have done has been good. When Call Jace began to exert his authority over the Black Mountains, people were killed. Some of them were good people. Call said that he regretted their deaths but that the future of the clan was paramount. I suppose he would have said that the small evil of his deeds led to a greater good for the Rigante.”

  “He did say that,” admitted the Dweller. “He was wrong.”

  “I cannot judge that, Dweller. If the clan decides to fight alongside the Moidart, I will fight, for I am a clansman. It seems to me, though, that evil in men is never a constant. If it was, then there would be no hope of redemption, no opportunity to change. Draig Cochland’s deeds would see him branded as evil, yet he defended Chara and the children.”

  “Draig’s sins are as nothing compared to the Moidart’s,” said the Dweller. “The man murdered his own wife. He has tortured and killed without mercy for thirty years. He is fighting now only because the enemy tried to have him killed. Given the opportunity, he would ally with them in a heartbeat and betray us all.”

  “Then you believe Kaelin is wrong? That we should not be drawn into this war?”

  The Dweller closed her eyes. “No. That is why I am lost, Rayster. The enemy must be overcome. He is a destroyer the like of which the world has not seen in almost two thousand years. If he succeeds . . .” Her words tailed away.

  “A destroyer?” queried Rayster. “This Winter Kay?”

  “No, he is merely a servant. You will hear of the true evil at the Gathering.”

  They sat in silence for a while. Then the Dweller took a deep breath. Turning toward him, she reached up and touched the oval brass cloak brooch he wore. It was unadorned except for an empty circle at the center. All other clansmen had their family name engraved within the circle. “Why did you not accept Ironlatch’s offer of adoption, Rayster? You would have had a name. You could have stood for the leadership.”

  “I am content with who I am, Dweller. Rayster No-Name.” He grinned at her. “When I was a child, I wanted a name. I wanted the name to be mine, though. My true name. Not something gifted to me. Ironlatch has sons and daughters. They carry his name and his blood. That is as it should be. I have long since ceased to stare into the faces of the older men of the clan, wondering which of them fathered me. It is enough that I am Rigante.”

  “You are the best of the Rigante,” she told him. “You make me proud.”

  He smiled. “When I was young, I use
d to think that you were my mother. You always seemed to care for me so. You always visited and spoke to me when you were in the north. I wish that it were so.”

  Her eyes misted, and she took hold of his hand. “I wish that, too. If ever I had a son, I would want him to be just like you.” She brushed away the tears and stood. “Now we must attend the Gathering.”

  The thirty chieftains and subchieftains of the Black Rigante filed into the long room, moving to their places at the massive oval table. Arik Ironlatch stood behind the empty chieftain’s chair at the head of the table. Bael took his traditional seat to the right. Potter Highstone sat beside him. Arik called out to Kaelin Ring to take the seat to the left.

  When all were seated, Arik Ironlatch tilted the chieftain’s chair forward against the table and remained standing. Just as he was about to speak, the door opened and the tall figure of Rayster entered, followed by the Dweller by the Lake. For a moment only Arik looked embarrassed. But he said nothing.

  Rayster strolled over to the far wall and stood quietly, seemingly at ease.

  “You wish to address the gathering, Dweller?” asked Ironlatch.

  “Aye, clansman, I do,” said the white-haired Wycca woman. “You need to know the enemy you face.”

  “I think we do,” said Ironlatch. “Kaelin Ring tells us that Varlish from the south will soon invade our lands.”

  “Would that were the only truth,” she told him. “Sit yourself, man. Your arthritic knee will not tolerate standing for so long. I saw you favoring it at the funeral.”

  “It would not be seemly to sit in Call’s chair. Not today,” he said. “I’ll stand.”

  “Very well. I have invited Rayster to attend this Gathering. The clan denies a vote to a man with no name, but he needs to hear what is said and offer his advice to the chieftains. Are there any here who wish to dispute my invitation?”

  “Rayster is welcome anywhere,” said Korrin Talis. “He is my friend and a true clansman.” Others murmured agreement.

  “That is good,” said the Dweller. “They are, I fear, the only good words you will hear tonight. It is true that a southern Varlish army will be marching on the highlands. This in itself is grim news, for there are more attackers by far than defenders to face them. Even so, if this was merely an extension of the Varlish war, I would advise the Rigante to stand back from it. Wars among the Varlish are not our concern.”

  “I agree with that,” muttered Potter Highstone, leaning back in his chair.

  “I’m with you on that, Badger,” agreed Korrin Talis.

  “Yet this is no longer a war among the Varlish,” said the Dweller. “Something infinitely more powerful—more evil—is at work. Before I explain it further, we need to look back on our own history. Our legends tell us that we are the children of the Seidh, that the Rigante were blessed by the Old Ones and named as guardians of the land. Older legends talk of wars among the Seidh. Some among the gods believed that mankind would prove the salvation of the universe in that they alone of all the animals could create earth magic, which is at the heart of all life. Others believed that men were a plague, that they devoured the magic faster than it could be created and would ultimately destroy life itself. These opposing views led to conflict. The oldest and strongest of the Seidh, the great lord Cernunnos, was chosen to test mankind. He took human form and became a king. A mighty king. A dread lord. The world was plunged into terrible wars, and vast numbers of people perished. The excesses of Cernunnos were colossal. Human sacrifice, mass murder, the creation of were creatures, part man, part wolf or bear. You know the legends.”

  “We are not talking of legends, Dweller,” said Arik Ironlatch. “We are talking of Varlish armies.”

  “Have patience, clansman,” she said. “Cernunnos ruled for hundreds of years. In that time he took human wives and raised many sons. One of those sons, Rigantis, rose against him. A colossal war took place. In the end Rigantis stormed the castle of his father and beheaded him. The reign of Cernunnos ended. He was the only Seidh ever to suffer death as far as we know. Rigantis tossed away the crown, returning conquered lands to conquered peoples. He stayed in the north and raised his own sons, at last forming the Rigante clan. These are our legends. These legends are known to every Rigante child.

  “And here is the hard fact: They are not legends at all. Cernunnos lived. Cernunnos reigned. Cernunnos was beheaded. But he did not die. The body was burned in holy fire, the bones reduced to ash. But not the skull. Cernunnos was a Seidh, and the Seidh took the skull. They placed it in a box of black iron and covered it with ward spells. It was hidden then from the eyes of men. For centuries. I have not tried to follow the events all the way from that day to this, but what I do know now is the skull was found five hundred years ago. The men who found it called themselves the Dezhem Bek, the Ravenous Ravens. They brought the world to the brink of ruin before they were overthrown. They called the skull the Orb of Kranos and claimed it healed wounds and offered visions. The skull disappears from history at that time, but some two hundred years later it was brought to the town of Shelsans, across the narrow sea. Priests there understood its potential for evil. They tried to destroy it, but no one now knows how to make the holy fire. The skull was impervious to blows. They could not smash it or grind it, so they hid it below ground.

  “It was in Shelsans that Winter Kay found the skull. Unlike the first of the Dezhem Bek he did not merely use its latent power. He fed it. He fed it with blood. A few days ago he killed the king and allowed his blood to flow over the ancient bone. This was an error of tragic proportions. As every man here knows, the king’s grandfather was from the north. He had Rigante ancestors. Traces of that Rigante heritage were in the king’s blood. The first Rigante were born of Cernunnos and a human wife. In effect a living part of Cernunnos—the blood of one of his descendants—was applied to the dead bone of his skull. What was before merely a relic with some latent earth magic clinging to it is now fully sentient. It hungers for life, for power. It seeks a return to the flesh. It desires to walk upon the earth and rule as it once did. Should that happen, then the war in the south will seem little more than a child’s game in a meadow.” She fell silent and approached the table. Jugs of water and goblets had been laid there. The Dweller filled a goblet and sipped the contents.

  Korrin Talis was the first to speak. “You are saying that the Seidh have returned, Dweller. Is that not what we have been praying for these last eight centuries? Have you yourself not spoken of such a miracle?”

  “Aye, I have,” she admitted. “I dreamed, as the old often do, of a return to a golden age. I thought the wisdom of the Seidh would help us restore the land. What I now understand is that their wisdom was what led them to leave us in the first place.”

  “You believe, then,” said Potter Highstone, “that Cernunnos is evil?”

  She shook her head. “He transcends evil, Badger. If an ant were able to think as we do, would he not see as evil the child who stamped on him? Would the bull about to be slain for the Beltine Feast see as good and kindly the Rigante who cut his throat? Cernunnos is evil in our terms. He will bring destruction and terror on a scale not seen for millennia. He will do this because he can and because it brings him closer to his goal: the destruction of all human life.”

  “How can a skull be returned to life?” asked Arik Ironlatch.

  “He is Seidh,” the Dweller replied. “I do not understand all their powers. What I do know is that he will need to be brought into the north, to the lands he once ruled. Perhaps he needs the blood of the Rigante to regenerate himself. I do not know. What I do know is that we must oppose him. We must stop him, as Rigantis once stopped him.”

  “That is all very well, Dweller,” said Bael, “but can it be done?” In his late twenties Bael had put on weight and looked much like his father, Call Jace. He had a strong jaw and deep-set eyes, and his manner radiated authority.

  “It is not a question of whether it can be done,” answered the Dweller. “Merely that it mu
st be attempted.”

  “I don’t understand,” he told her. “If we can’t win, then what is the point of sacrificing ourselves?”

  “We are the Rigante, Bael. We have always stood against evil. It is our fate and our destiny. We are the children of the Seidh, the guardians of the land. You think Connavar would not have fought Cernunnos? You think Bane would have turned his back on the fight because we could not win? Jaim Grymauch could not win when he marched into the cathedral square to rescue Maev Ring. Fifty soldiers against one clansman. He did not know that the crowd would grab and hold the guards. He went to that square because he had to, because he was Rigante.”

  Bael shook his head. “I do not dispute that we are a brave and noble people. I believe that in my soul. Cernunnos, however, is a Seidh, and we have always worshiped the Seidh. He is also, Dweller, by your own account, the father of the Rigante. He made us. What if you are wrong? What if he wishes to come north to lead us again? Perhaps the golden age you spoke of will be found in his service.”

  “Aye, he would promise that,” said the Dweller. “Perhaps for some around this table it would even prove to be true. You could become the new Dezhem Bek. Long-lived, free of disease, your every wish made reality. Gold trickling through your fingers, beautiful women obeying your every whim. Does it sound good, Bael?”

  “Of course.”

  “You think evil corrupts men by saying: ‘Come with me. I will turn you into a merciless killer and damn your soul for eternity.’? Who would agree to such a bargain? Evil corrupts, Bael, by promising us what we want and telling us that it is good. Evil talks of the end justifying the means. It speaks of distant goals, aye, and of golden ages. It seduces, Bael. It does not threaten. Not at first. So how do we judge the merits of Cernunnos? We look at the realities. His first reign was one of blood and terror and mass destruction. And what since? The first Dezhem Bek were killers, plunging the world into war. The next? Winter Kay and his Redeemers, torturing, burning, wiping out whole villages, slaying men, women, and children. These are the followers of Cernunnos.”