Stormrider Stormrider

by David Gemmell

  “Sleeping. He’s not as young as he pretends.”

  “He’s a good man.”

  “He’s solid,” agreed the Moidart. “Did Mantilan get off the ridge?”

  “No. He’s dead, along with Bael Jace and seven hundred Rigante.”

  “Konin is also dead,” said the Moidart. “He had grit, that man.”

  “There has been a wealth of courage on both sides today,” said Gaise, staring out over the field of corpses.

  “What now, Stormrider?” asked the Moidart.

  “Now we win, Father.”

  “That would be pleasant, not to say miraculous.”

  “We will talk of it in the morning. Is Taybard Jaekel still alive?”

  “If I knew who he was, I’d answer you.”

  Gaise moved away among the men. He found Taybard apparently sleeping alongside the wakeful Jakon Gallowglass.

  “How are you faring?” asked Gaise, crouching down.

  “Can’t complain,” Gallowglass said wearily. Gaise reached out to wake Taybard. “He’s dead, General. Didn’t fire a shot all day. Said he wasn’t going to kill anyone else. I tried to stop him, but he just stood up during the last salvo. A lump of shot tore his chest open.”

  Gaise looked into the dead man’s face. In the moonlight he looked serene, and he seemed to be smiling. Gaise opened Taybard’s shirt and tugged clear the golden musket ball in its cage of silver wire.

  “He was a good lad,” said Gallowglass. “But he’d had enough.”

  “We’ve all had enough,” said Gaise. “Tell me, Gallowglass, are you a good shot?”

  “No, sir. Average, I’d say. I’m good with knife or sword, though.”

  Gaise gathered up Taybard Jaekel’s Emburley rifle and rose. As he turned, he saw Mulgrave walking toward him.

  And beside him was the Wyrd of the Wishing Tree wood.

  Two hours later, back at Eldacre Castle, Gaise Macon retrieved the skull from the clansman Rayster and took it to his old rooms high in the north tower. He had spent much of his childhood in those apartments, and despite the cold, gloomy decor, they remained special in his memories. It was there that he had read many of the books supplied by Alterith Shaddler, the wonderful tales of Connavar and Bane, the legends of Stromengle, the ax-wielding All-Father of the early Vars. There he had devoured the great romances of the bard king and the star princess. In those rooms Gaise Macon had dreamed of becoming a great and noble man.

  He felt neither great nor noble as he wearily ascended the stairs. The rooms, unused now for years, were cold and smelled of damp. Heavy curtains had been left across the windows, and they were mildewed.

  Gaise sat in an old armchair, removed the skull from the velvet sack, and held it in his hands. Instantly fresh energy surged through him. A golden figure shimmered into being.

  “You fought well, kinsman. There is nothing to reproach yourself for. No one could have done more.”

  “It was a charnel house. I have never seen so much slaughter in one day,” said Gaise.

  “It is what you humans are so good at. If you spent half as much time trying to find ways to heal as you spend discovering new ways to kill, you would have a great future. You had so much potential.”

  “We still have potential, Cernunnos. There are still good and holy people. We will learn one day.”

  “It would be pleasant to think you were right, Gaise. Unfortunately, for every man or woman on this planet who makes a little magic, there are a thousand who would drain it. However, that is not the issue today. What would you ask of me?”

  Gaise sighed. “What will happen when I accept the skull?”

  “The power will begin to swell and grow. You will be able to heal all your wounded. You will even be able to bring back the most recent dead, at least those who were not mutilated beyond repair. I was never able to heal a man whose head was crushed, though I have restructured hearts. The brain, you see, is uniquely important. It actually takes three full days to die completely. As long as the head is still connected to the body you will be able to heal.”

  “How will I do that? There are thousands of dead and wounded. I know nothing of restructuring hearts.”

  “You think there is time to teach you what it took me a thousand years to understand?”

  “Then speak simply,” said Gaise.

  “The true nature of magic concerns harmony and balance. The body, wondrously designed, is self-healing. Bathe it in magic and it will heal more swiftly. The more powerful the magic, the faster the healing. You will merely supply the fuel for each body to accomplish what it can. Equally, you can move among the enemy and draw away from them every vibrant spark of life. If you will it, you can deprive the entire army of air and watch them suffocate.”

  “And all this power will come from this one decaying skull?”

  “No, not from the skull, Gaise. It will come to you when you absorb the skull. The greatest talent the Seidh possessed was the ability to draw magic from living things. The skull—my skull—when it is once more surrounded by life, will pull magic from the air, from the earth, from the trees and the rivers. You will swell with it and feel you cannot hold any more. Then you will release it to flow over your troops and heal them. Think of it. The dead Rigante restored to life, the crippled living brought back to full health. You will have won, Gaise.”

  “You will have won, Cernunnos. You will return, and there will be even greater bloodshed.”

  “There is always a price to be paid for glory, kinsman. Your father was right, though. If you lose tomorrow, as you will without me, then someone else will discover this bone you hold. Someone else will restore me to life. Why see all your comrades die before that happens? When I return, I will need followers. Many of them will become near immortal.”

  “Until you have found a way to manipulate mankind into destroying itself.”

  “Yes, until then. On most worlds where men have existed they have managed to destroy themselves without help from me. The problem is that they also brought about the destruction of the planets they lived on. This planet is dear to me. I want to see it as it should be, a wealth of trees, clean rivers, good air, and an abundance of life. I have always been partial to wolves and bears. I’d like to see wolves back among the mountains of Caer Druagh. Is that not a noble aim, Gaise Macon?”

  “I am no longer a man with any right to discuss nobility of purpose. How long will I have as a god?”

  “At least five hours, perhaps six.”

  “Are there limits to what I can achieve?”

  “There are always limits. You will not be the Source. You will not be able to change hearts and minds, as they say. You will not be able to die, either, Gaise Macon. Weapons will not harm you. Shot and shell and sword will not touch your skin. Ah, I see you are looking downcast. Did you think to take me with you on the swans’ path?”

  “Yes,” said Gaise.

  “I do so like honesty, kinsman. It may be less subtle than lies, but we all know where we stand. I saw you sitting with Mulgrave and the Wyrd. Where did your spirits fly? Uzamatte? Caer Druagh?”

  “I do not know. It was a river, and there was a mill. It was most peaceful. Tell me, when I take the skull, will I be alone?”

  “Alone? I do not understand you.”

  “Will you and I share our thoughts?”

  “Not if you do not wish it. I understand privacy. To be honest, the thoughts of humans are rather banal. If you were forced to inhabit the body of a monkey, would you desire to share its last thoughts?”

  Gaise sat quietly. “Very well. What do I need to do?”

  “Merely relax, kinsman. Hold to the skull. You will feel it begin to seep into your fingers. It will become smaller and more insubstantial. And then it will be a part of you.”

  20

  * * *

  Kaelin Ring helped a wounded man to his feet and with the help of another soldier carried the man down the slope to where some six hundred other wounded soldiers were being treated. There were m
any dead men among them.

  “Maybe the enemy will have had enough,” said the soldier helping him. “Maybe they’ll decide to call it a day and withdraw. Then we can all go back to Eldacre, get drunk, and find some whores.”

  Kaelin began to walk back up the slope. The young soldier followed. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t think they’ll leave,” he said.

  “No, you’re probably right. Guess we’ll have to kill them all, then.”

  At the top of the slope the Moidart was talking to Garon Beck. Kaelin joined them as the soldier trudged away. “Now that the enemy forces have the western slope, they can ride cavalry around us and cut us off,” said Beck. “It would be better to withdraw to the castle.”

  “It would only prolong the inevitable,” said the Moidart. “The enemy has suffered grievously. He will not know how we fare. With luck he may send a message requesting a break in hostilities to tend his wounded.”

  “It will be dawn soon,” said Beck. “Perhaps we should send a rider to them.”

  “No,” objected the Moidart. “If I were Winter Kay, that is what I would expect from a weaker foe. The fact that we do not request such a cessation will indicate we are ready to fight on.”

  “And we are,” said Kaelin, “but I have fewer than five hundred fighting men. We’ll not hold the position for long.”

  A soldier called out and pointed to the north.

  A rider was coming, and behind him marched several hundred men.

  The Moidart moved back and narrowed his eyes.

  “It is your son,” said Kaelin. “Where in heaven’s name did he find so many fresh troops?”

  Kaelin ran down the slope toward the marching men, recognizing Rayster. The clansman looked fit and strong, and there was no sign of a bandage on his recently shattered arm. Many of the newcomers were Rigante, and all were in good health.

  “What happened?” Kaelin asked Rayster.

  “I’m not sure I know how to tell you, my friend.” He held out his left arm and flexed the fingers. “The elbow was destroyed, and they cut off my arm yesterday.” Kaelin looked at him closely. “No, I am not dreaming it all, Kaelin. Gaise Macon came into the hospital wing. Men began to cry out. I couldn’t understand it at first. Then the stump of my arm began to throb and swell against the bandages. The pain was indescribable. I took my knife and cut the bandages clear. Within moments this . . . this new arm grew. All of us, Kaelin. He healed all of us. I have never felt better in my life.”

  “Oh, no,” whispered Kaelin, spinning on his heel and staring at the rider moving slowly up the slope. “He made a pact with Cernunnos.”

  “I have to tell you I do not care,” said Rayster. “Look!”

  The wounded men at the foot of the slope began to cry out. One by one they rose from the ground. Then there was shouting and laughter. It was the oddest sound ever to grace a battlefield.

  Kaelin felt a growing warmth in his injured shoulder, and what had been constant pain for more than a day began to recede.

  “Even some of the dead came back to life,” said Rayster. “The giant Huntsekker. He was shot three times and stabbed. He had died as they were trying to staunch the bleeding. And Colonel Galliott. I saw him, Kaelin. He was shot through the heart!”

  Leaving Rayster, Kaelin ran back up the slope in time to see Gaise Macon dismount and walk toward his father.

  The Moidart backed away from him. “Do not heal me!” he shouted. “Do not! You do not know what I have done!”

  Gaise Macon approached his father and placed both hands on the older man’s shoulders. “I know everything, Father. Everything. I know all your past evils. I even know much of what you may accomplish in the future. But now you will have to find another road to redemption, for I am taking away your pain.” The Moidart’s head sagged forward. “There is something else,” said Gaise. “All my life you have been tormented by the fear—”

  “I do not want to know!”

  “I think you do. I am your son, Father. Blood of your blood.”

  All across the ridge the healing continued. Men began cheering and shouting. Wounds disappeared, and strength was restored.

  “What happens now?” whispered the Moidart.

  “I will be a god for a little while. Then I will be gone.”

  “Oh Gaise . . .” The Moidart shook his head.

  Gaise Macon drew the man into an embrace. “Farewell, Father,” he said.

  Gaise turned and walked down the southern slope. As he did so, the corpses lying there began to stir. And not just the men. Within moments horses began to whinny and struggle to their feet.

  Gaise walked on.

  Kaelin Ring ran to where the Moidart was standing. “We have to stop him. The dark god will return. Everything we have fought for will be worth nothing.”

  The Moidart ignored him. The Wyrd of the Wishing Tree wood moved through the throng and took Kaelin by the arm. “All will be well,” she said. Kaelin saw there were tears in her eyes.

  Gaise was still walking across the field of the fallen. All around him men were rising from the earth, both Eldacre and enemy. The southerners stood for a while and then began walking back toward their lines. The Eldacre men scrambled up the slope.

  General Konin approached the Moidart. There were three holes in the front of his blood-drenched tunic. “There are no wounds,” he said, opening his tunic and baring his chest. “No wounds.”

  Beck took hold of his arm. “You are back with us, my friend.”

  “I was at a river. We all were. Was I dreaming?”

  Distant shots sounded. The Moidart ran to the edge of the slope. Some of the southern soldiers on the other ridge were shooting at Gaise. He walked on unconcerned. Not a shot struck him. Then the shooting ceased, and the sound of shouts of joy echoed across the valley floor.

  For a while Gaise disappeared among the enemy.

  “Why is he bringing them back, too?” asked Beck. “Sweet heaven, will we have to go through this carnage again tomorrow?”

  “The war is over,” said the Moidart. “No one will fight now. Not even Winter Kay.”

  “He is dead, my lord,” said Rayster, moving forward from the shadows. “I cut his head from his shoulders back in Eldacre.” Rayster told them of the raid and then of how Gaise had come in the night and healed the sick, the dying, and even the recently dead.

  As the dawn rose over the mountains, they saw Gaise Macon walk from the eastern ridge and begin to move toward the enemy positions on the southern slopes. Hundreds of southern soldiers followed him. Other Eldacre men and Rigante crossed the valley floor, heading toward where the Moidart and the others were standing. Bael Jace and Mantilan climbed to where they stood. Mantilan embraced Beck and Konin, and the three old friends moved away.

  The sun climbed higher in the sky, and a fresh breeze blew over the battlefield. The air was curiously scented. To the Moidart it smelled of rose petals; to Kaelin Ring it was like dew-covered heather; to Rayster the scent was of lavender. For every man it was something different.

  All around the ridge men were smiling and laughing. Others wept for joy and hugged their comrades.

  Taybard Jaekel opened his eyes and saw Jakon Gallowglass sitting beside him, tears in his eyes. “I had a wonderful dream,” he said. “I saw Banny and Kammel. I was going to cross a river, but they wouldn’t let me.”

  Gallowglass patted his shoulder. “You’re back now, Jaekel. Back among the living.”

  The Moidart moved away from them all and stood staring at the south as his son climbed to the enemy position. No one fired a weapon, and once more, within minutes, the cheering began.

  Time flowed by.

  At last Gaise reappeared. He strolled down the slope, his golden hair gleaming in the sunlight. He did not walk toward his own waiting men but moved off toward a stand of trees to the west.

  Just before he reached them he stopped, lifted his hands in the air, and tilted his head to the heavens.

  A single shot bro
ke the silence.

  Gaise Macon could feel the growing strength of Cernunnos within him as he walked from the enemy camp. His right arm spasmed, and he almost lost control of it. “Let yourself go, kinsman,” came a voice in his mind. “You cannot hold me back. You know that.”

  “I know,” Gaise told him. He walked on. His legs were feeling heavier, and it was an effort of will to propel himself forward. He looked up. The trees were closer now, but not close enough.

  “Why did you not kill your enemies?” asked Cernunnos. “Now I will have to do it for you.”

  “I wanted to show you that we can learn.”

  “I always knew that a few of you humans were worthwhile, kinsman. It is just that there are not enough of you.”

  Gaise tottered on. Then his legs ceased to move. He stared at the trees. “I do have a gift for you,” he said.

  “I already have your gift. Let your spirit go!”

  “You have shown me how to live like a god. Now you can learn what it is to die as a man.”

  Gaise raised his arms and tilted back his head.

  The silence was shattered by a single shot. Gaise grunted as the ball tore into his chest, ripping through his lungs. His body slumped to the ground. As his life faded, he felt Cernunnos desperately and unsuccessfully trying to heal the wound.

  Hidden in the trees, Mulgrave stood up, took the Emburley rifle by the barrel, and smashed it against the trunk of an oak. Then he slumped to the ground and began to weep.

  High on the western ridge the Moidart cried out and began to run to where his son lay, arms spread out upon the grass. Thousands of men swarmed out behind him.

  The body began to glow brighter and brighter. The Moidart could not gaze upon it and shielded his eyes with his hands. A cold wind blew. The light flared out over the gathering multitude. The Moidart felt its power wash over him. When he lowered his hands and opened his eyes, the body of Gaise Macon had disappeared.