Stormrider Stormrider

by David Gemmell

  “Ah, so you are now the Moidart?”

  “Something I would never wish to be. No, sir, I am the soldier. I understand war, and I know how to fight it. You have a problem with any of this?”

  The Moidart moved to a cabinet by the western wall and filled two goblets with wine. He passed one to Gaise. Once more the dog growled.

  “Fine beast,” said the Moidart.

  “I would be obliged if you did not shoot it.”

  “Ah, that accident still rankles with you. I did not intend to kill your dog, Gaise. I value a good dog, and Soldier was one of the best. However, that is the past. Do I have a problem with you running the army? No, of course not. As you say, you are the warrior—the Gray Ghost, I understand. Very colorful. You will inspire the men and give them confidence. Is Mulgrave still with you?”

  “For the time being. He has a desire to leave my service.”

  “Why?”

  “He is softhearted.”

  “Yes, I noticed that when he was in my service. Not a natural killer. Sit down.”

  The Moidart returned to his chair. Gaise sat opposite him. “How did you see this war developing?”

  Gaise sipped his wine, then placed the goblet on the desktop. “Winter Kay is an able general. He will know through his Redeemers how many men we have. It will be important to him to split our forces. Therefore, he will probably send three columns into our lands. One will move along the east coast, closing off our supply routes from the sea. The other will come in from the west, across the lands of the Pinance. The main thrust will come directly from the south and be directed at Eldacre. This will be more slow moving, since it will have the artillery. The other forces will, I suspect, consist of cavalry detachments and musketeer support. We will need to oppose them, and this will involve weakening our defenses here. He is also likely to send a raiding force ahead of the three columns, trying to draw us out. The object of the raiding force will be to terrify the noncombatants and drain the morale of the citizenry.”

  “Winter Kay does seem an able fellow,” said the Moidart. “I am surprised it took him so long to defeat the covenanters.”

  “He had no wish to defeat them. It suited his purposes for the war to be prolonged. The king’s popularity plummeted, which meant that by the time Winterbourne killed him, the people were ready for a change and will not mourn him.”

  “A very able fellow. One could almost admire him.”

  “I am sure the two of you would have become the best of friends,” said Gaise. “I was almost touched when I learned you had become his enemy after he tried to have me killed.”

  The Moidart smiled. “Much as I would like to bask in the sunshine of your appreciation, I should point out that I became his enemy after he tried to have me killed. However, that is by the by. You will need to meet the staff officers. I will have them gather in the main hall this evening. In the meantime I shall order a force to march into the lands of the Pinance. How many should we send?”

  “Two thousand is all we can spare at present,” said Gaise, “but it should be sufficient in the short term. How capable are the generals under your command?”

  “I have no idea at all,” answered the Moidart. “They chose themselves. The only man I know well is Galliott. He is a fine organizer, but I fear he is no war leader. The others are Pinancers.”

  Gaise considered the problem. “Galliott’s nephew, Hew, has served with me. He is a brave and skillful cavalryman. I shall promote him and put him in command of the force. He can choose his own junior officers. The majority of the men should be from Eldacre. There will be too many desertions if we allow the Pinancers to head back to their own lands.”

  “Agreed,” said the Moidart. Gaise rose to leave.

  “An unusual sword,” said the Moidart as sunlight glinted upon the golden fist guard. “Where did you get it?”

  “From a dead man.”

  “May I see it?”

  Gaise drew the gleaming saber and passed it hilt first to the Moidart. “This dead man appears to have had our family crest engraved upon the pommel. It is a handsome piece. What is the meaning of the rearing horse in the clouds?”

  “It stands for Stormrider.”

  The Moidart looked nonplussed.

  “It is my Rigante soul-name.”

  “Quaint and yet poetic. Perhaps I should acquire one.”

  “I think, by definition, a soul-name requires a soul, Father.”

  The Moidart laughed aloud. “You are the second man in a matter of days to point out my lack in this regard.” He returned the saber. “And now you had better seek out Hew Galliott. I will arrange for a meeting of staff officers.”

  Gaise Macon sheathed the saber and walked from the room. The hound padded after him.

  The Moidart stood for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “I do have a soul-name,” he whispered.

  Jakon Gallowglass was content. He had survived the attack on Shelding and the subsequent flight north. He had eaten a meal in the shadow of Eldacre Castle and had discovered the whereabouts of a lively whore on whom he had spent his last chailling. She had apologized for keeping him waiting while she serviced her previous customer. Jakon had not minded. The theatrical moans and cries he had heard had only heightened his anticipation.

  Sated and happy, Jakon Gallowglass wandered through the night-dark streets of Eldacre town, heading back toward the hundreds of tents pitched to the west of the castle. He was idly wondering when the next wage would be paid when he saw a column of dark-garbed men loping down from the hills.

  As they came closer, he studied them. All of them wore black leather jerkins beneath pale blue and green cloaks. They carried short, heavy sabers. Many had muskets, and all wore pistols in their belts. Long knives were thrust into scabbards at their sides. Gallowglass was a fighting man, and he knew fighting men. These men were special. They were lean and hard-eyed, their movements smooth, sure, and confident. Old Tamor had called it “the look of eagles.” Gallowglass fully understood the phrase when he saw the warriors move toward the castle.

  Colonel Galliott came out to meet them. He seemed uneasy as he approached them. Gallowglass sat on a low wall and cast his eyes back along the column. There was no banter among the men. He saw several of them glance toward him and felt the coldness in their stares.

  One of the warriors emerged from the column to meet Galliott. They did not shake hands, but they spoke quietly. Gallowglass stared at the man. He was powerfully built and dark-haired. He carried no musket, but two silver pistols were thrust into his belt. The two men talked for some time, then Galliott pointed to an area some distance from the tents, alongside a stream. The dark-haired warrior spoke to another man, who led the column away. Gallowglass saw them spread out and begin to make camp. Then Galliott and the leader walked into the castle.

  Gallowglass considered wandering over to where the newcomers were gathering. He decided against it. They did not look very welcoming.

  Instead he walked back to the line of tents, trying to recall which one he was sharing with Taybard Jaekel and Lanfer Gosten. Most of the flaps were drawn shut. Gallowglass opened several and peered inside before moving on. Just when he had decided to crawl into the next damn tent that had a space, he saw Taybard emerge some twenty yards farther along. Gallowglass waved and strolled over to him.

  “Found the whore,” he said. “Mighty fine she was.”

  “I need to piss,” said Taybard.

  “Me, too.”

  Together they walked back to the castle wall and emptied their bladders. “How do you feel about being home?” asked Jakon.

  “I’m not home,” said Taybard.

  “What are you talking about?” responded Gallowglass, tying the front of his leggings. “This is where you come from, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. This is where I come from.”

  Taybard moved away. Gallowglass watched him go. The man had not been the same since Shelding. The deaths of Kammel Bard and Banny had changed him in a way Gallowgla
ss did not understand. People died in war. That was a fact of life. Indeed, most of the men Gallowglass had known at the start of the war were now in the ground. Old Tamor had been the first to go, his face blown off. They had identified him by a red birthmark on the back of his neck. His death had saddened Gallowglass, but it had not turned him weird.

  He saw that Taybard had not gone back to the tent and caught sight of him wandering along the line of the wall. Gallowglass ran after him.

  “Wait up,” he said. “Where are you headed?”

  “Just walking.”

  “You want to walk alone?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Not like you to leave your rifle behind.”

  “No. Hanging offense to lose your rifle.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you, Jaekel? Are you drunk?”

  Taybard suddenly sat on the ground. “I’m not drunk,” he said. “I just want to go home.”

  “You are home.”

  “We marched past my house yesterday. Only it didn’t seem like my house. Nothing is the same, Gallowglass. Old Hills, Eldacre, the Five Fields . . . it’s all changed.”

  “New buildings, you mean?”

  “No, they’re all the same. But they’re not home anymore. They’re just buildings. I want to go home. I want things to be as they were. I want to see Banny and hear him making jokes. I want to hear Kammel Bard complaining about everything.”

  “They are dead, Jaekel. You are not.”

  “I know they are dead. I know things will never be the same. I just thought that when I came home, I would be free of . . . I don’t know what I thought.”

  “You should get some sleep. Sleep is good. You haven’t slept much since Shelding.”

  “I think I’ll walk a bit.”

  Taybard rose to his feet and wandered off. Gallowglass followed him.

  They approached the area where the newcomers were camped. Fires had been lit, and groups of men were sitting around.

  Taybard Jaekel ignored them and kept walking.

  “This is a Rigante camp,” said someone. “You Varlish can stay clear of it.”

  “I’m Rigante,” said Taybard Jaekel. “She told me that. She said—”

  “I don’t care what she said,” the man snapped, surging to his feet. “Get your stinking carcass away from us.”

  Gallowglass moved in. “Rigante, is it?” he said. “Well, watch yourself, Rigante, or I’ll rip off your head and piss in the hole.”

  “The Wyrd said I was of the line of Fiallach,” Taybard Jaekel said tonelessly. “He was a general, you know. He served Connavar the King. Don’t know much about him. The books don’t say. Don’t know who I am really. Don’t know anything anymore.” Silence fell on the scene. Jaekel just stood there, lost in dark and gloomy thoughts.

  A tall, fair-haired man stepped forward and approached Gallowglass. “What is wrong with your friend?” he asked.

  “Too much death, I reckon.”

  The man who had first insulted them moved alongside Taybard. He was tall and sharp-featured, his dark hair closely cropped and receding, leaving a pointed widow’s peak at the center of his brow “Drink this,” he said, offering Taybard a small leather-covered flask. Taybard drank deeply.

  “Sit you down,” he said, no anger in his voice now. “I’ll tell you of Fiallach and his Iron Wolves. Then you’ll know who you are and where you came from.”

  Taybard sat obediently, and the men seated themselves in a circle around him. Gallowglass stood by forgotten, but he listened as the tale of Fiallach unfolded. It was a story well told of a rough and arrogant man who had at first sought to kill Connavar but then had served him faithfully unto death. All the while the story was unfolding the Rigante plied Taybard Jaekel with their flasks. When it came to the death in battle of Fiallach, Taybard began to weep. The man closest to him told him to lie down. Taybard did so. Within moments he was asleep. Someone covered him with a blanket. Gallowglass remained where he was, unsure of what to do. The storyteller rose silently. The others followed his lead, then moved away from the sleeping man.

  Then the storyteller moved past Gallowglass, gesturing for him to follow. Once they were a little way from Taybard, the Rigante looked into Gallowglass’ eyes. “So you’ll rip my head from my shoulders, will you?”

  “And piss in the hole,” said Gallowglass.

  The man laughed. “Is there Rigante in you, too, by any chance?”

  “If there is, no one ever told me. What were you getting him to drink?”

  “Uisge. He’ll sleep well and wake with a head that feels like it’s been fired from a cannon.”

  “Why did you do that for him?”

  “The man was hurting, and the Wyrd said he was Rigante. The Wyrd is known to us as the Dweller by the Lake. If she says he is Rigante, he is Rigante. We look after our own. I am Korrin Talis. You?”

  “Jakon Gallowglass.”

  “Leave your friend with us. We’ll give him breakfast and send him back to you.”

  “I’d like to stay with him.”

  “But you can’t,” Talis said with a wolfish grin, “for you are a stinking Varlish, and if you disobey me, I’ll be forced to rip off your balls and make you wear them as a necklace.”

  Gallowglass laughed aloud. “Good night to you, Korrin Talis.”

  “And to you, Jakon Gallowglass.”

  16

  * * *

  Kaelin Ring followed Galliott into the castle and up the wide stairwell. He paused at the top and stared at the picture of a beautiful young woman standing alongside a tall gray horse. The horse was stylized, its head far too small, but the woman was extraordinarily lifelike. “The Moidart’s grandmother,” said Galliott. “Beautiful, wasn’t she?”

  “Aye. She looks familiar to me.”

  “Gaise Macon has the same odd-colored eyes. You have met him, have you not?”

  “Once.”

  “Well, I’m glad to say he is back. Heaven knows we’ll need his skills. Come on, now. Best not to keep the Moidart waiting.”

  Kaelin’s lips tightened, but he said nothing and followed Galliott to the Moidart’s apartments.

  Inside there were two men: the Moidart, dressed in a shirt of white satin with the breast embroidered with the fawn in brambles crest of his house, dark leggings, and boots, and Gaise Macon. Gaise wore a gray cavalryman’s jacket with split sleeves. It was well cut, though it showed signs of wear. There was an old bloodstain on the right sleeve.

  Galliott bowed to the Moidart and left. Kaelin walked into the room. The Moidart remained seated, but Gaise Macon rose and moved toward Kaelin, his hand outstretched. He was leaner than when Kaelin had first seen him back in Old Hills. Gaise Macon had stopped Taybard Jaekel from plunging a knife into Kaelin’s unprotected body. It seemed so long ago now.

  Kaelin Ring shook the proffered hand.

  “Good to see you again, Ring,” said Gaise Macon.

  “I see you have brought less than two hundred men,” said the Moidart.

  “Eighteen hundred more are following. They will be here in three days.”

  “Ah, that is better news,” said the Moidart. “I was not aware that you two had met.”

  “A long time ago, Father. As I recall, Master Ring has a fine left hook. He was taught, so he told me at the time, by the champion, Jaim Grymauch. You might recall he was the highlander who defeated the Varlish champion.”

  “I do recall,” said the Moidart, rising from his chair. “And now I will leave you to become better acquainted. There will be a meeting of staff officers tomorrow at first light. You will be most welcome to attend, Master Ring.”

  Kaelin noticed that Gaise Macon looked surprised by his father’s announcement. “With respect, Father, I thought you would wish to speak to Master Ring about his troops.”

  “Not at this time. You and he should converse. You will find you have much in common. Good night to you, Master Ring.”

  Kaelin nodded to the man.

  “Oh, by th
e way, your aunt Maev is now a general in my army. Novel, don’t you think?”

  Kaelin made no attempt to disguise his shock. “A general?”

  “She is in charge of supplies,” said Gaise Macon. “My father has developed an odd sense of humor.”

  “Indeed I have,” said the Moidart. “Life, I have discovered, is almost always so tragic that it becomes amusing. However, in this case the appointment was not made lightly. As one of my generals she will have powers that a quartermaster could not call upon. I will see you at the briefing, Master Ring. When you have finished here, Gaise, join me and Powdermill in the upper apartment.”

  After he had left, Kaelin looked hard at the blond-haired cavalryman, seeking any sign of resemblance. Having never known his own father or seen a painted likeness, Kaelin had no point of reference to make comparisons. They were around the same height, but there any similarity ended. Kaelin was square-jawed, his dark eyes deep-set. Gaise Macon looked like the nobleman he was, with fine ascetic bone structure and an aquiline nose.

  “Is there something about me that troubles you?” asked Gaise.

  “No.”

  “You seem to be staring.”

  “You don’t look much like your father,” said Kaelin.

  “Something to be thankful for. You say there will be two thousand Rigante?”

  “Within three days.”

  “I am not sure how best to use them. Modern army warfare requires discipline and an understanding of the structures of command. You follow?”

  “Oh, I am sure I can keep up if you speak slowly and clearly.”

  “I am not trying to insult your men, Ring.”

  “Best not, Macon.”

  Gaise rubbed his hand across his face, then moved to where a flagon of wine stood on a cabinet. “We seem to be heading in different directions, my friend. Would you like a glass of wine?”