'I am sorry that it took the death of a kind man to bring me that gift,' said Chara.
'Time for you to rest,' said the Wyrd. 'Tomorrow we will take Feargol to safety.'
CHAPTER SEVEN
FOLLOWING THE DUEL GAISE MACON'S REPUTATION HAD GROWN among the soldiers of all units. Men talked of the Grey Ghost, and the soldiers of the Eldacre Company found themselves suddenly more popular. The name of the cowardly Lord Person was spoken with contempt. Person himself had left the camp the same day, and had not been seen since.
The body of the elderly Lord Buckman was taken to the Royalist city of Sandacum, for a state funeral, where the king spoke movingly of the general's courage and loyalty. Buckman's regiment was given over to Lord Cumberlane. Winter Kay became the Lord Marshal of all the king's armies.
A winter truce, negotiated between Lord Cumberlane and Luden Macks, was agreed and many of the twelve thousand militia serving the king were allowed to go home, with orders to reassemble in the spring. The standing army of eight thousand men remained, some wintering in Sandacum, others in the regional capital of Baracum a hundred miles north.
Gaise Macon petitioned to be allowed to take his Eldacre Company home, with other militia regiments, but the request was denied. His cavalrymen and scouts were to patrol the truce lines west of Shelding, watching for incursions from Covenant skirmishers. A supply depot was also set up within the town, and in a time of famine and desperation this needed to be guarded. Billeting the men proved of little difficulty. As with most towns in the centre of Varlain there were many empty houses. Privation, sickness, starvation and the relentless drive for recruits from both factions had seen populations shrinking year by year. The arrival of six hundred soldiers for the winter was a boon for Shelding, though not necessarily a welcome one for all. New industries blossomed to service the troops. Plays were put on in the village hall, and older women took to sewing and mending for the soldiers. Younger women offered other services, and the men paid for their pleasures in food and clothing as well as coin.
Gaise Macon met with the town elders and churchmen to establish rules of behaviour for both townsfolk and soldiers during the winter, and to set down lines of communication between civil and military authorities. He also appointed Mulgrave as Watch Captain, with orders to select thirty men to act as a policing force to patrol the town and keep order. This was not an easy role. On the second night a group of rowdy young soldiers got into a fight with some of the townsfolk, following an assault on a young woman. Mulgrave and five of his men broke up the disturbance. A hasty hearing was called for the following morning. The woman gave evidence that two men had burst into her home and attempted to rape her. Her screams had been heard by neighbours who ran to her aid. A fight had taken place, and a townsman had been knifed in the leg.
Gaise Macon ordered the two men flogged, a punishment carried out in the market square, and administered by the veteran sergeant Lanfer Gosten. Each man suffered forty lashes. Both were unconscious by the conclusion, and needed to be carried from the square. One of them was Kammel Bard.
On the fourth day in Shelding a convoy of seventy wagons arrived from Sandacum, bringing supplies for the new depot. With them came Quartermaster General Cordley Lowen, a company of dragoons, and two Redeemer Knights. Mulgrave was there to greet the new arrivals. Cordley Lowen, his daughter and three servants were assigned a pleasant house overlooking a mill stream. The dragoons rode back to Sandacum. The two Redeemer Knights approached Mulgrave. He recognized them as the loaders from Gaise Macon's duel with Person. Neither man wore battle armour, and both were dressed instead in dark tunics and leggings, and long, black coats bearing the White Tree of the priesthood upon collar and cuff. Many of the Redeemer Knights, Mulgrave knew, took holy orders in the first three years of their service.
'Good morning to you, gentlemen,' said Mulgrave, coolly.
'And to you,' replied the first, a tall, broad-shouldered young man, with black hair and deep set eyes. 'I am Petar Olomayne, and this is my cousin, Sholar Astin.'
'Welcome to Shelding,' said Mulgrave.
'We are on our way south, to the shrine at Meadowlight,' said Petar Olomayne.
'A long journey. Will you be staying overnight in Shelding?'
'Possibly, captain.' The two knights offered a bow, then led their horses away towards the village square. Mulgrave watched them go. He had heard of Petar Olomayne. The man was a noted swordsman, having fought five duels. He had also been decorated for courage following the Battle of Nollenby. The other one -Sholar Astin - he did not know, though he knew his type. Cold-eyed and heartless.
Mulgrave thought of Ermal Standfast, the little priest who had saved his life. The two Redeemers wore the same priestly garb as Ermal, and had studied the same texts, passing the same examinations. Yet where one lived to love, the others loved to kill. It was baffling to Mulgrave.
Later that day, in the rectory behind the crooked church, he spoke to Ermal regarding his confusion. The priest sipped his sweet tisane. 'No need for confusion, my dear Mulgrave,' he said. 'Beautiful wine and sour vinegar come from exactly the same source. Curiously if one leaves a bottle of wine open for long enough it will become vinegar. Happily in this house wine never survives long enough to go bad.'
'I was raised in Shelsans,' said Mulgrave. 'The priests there used to preach the words of the Veiled Lady. They talked of human life being sacred, and told of how the early cultists refused to fight. They believed in love and forgiveness.'
'As do I,' said Ermal.
'Does it not strike you as strange that the people of Shelsans were massacred not by pagans who believed in gods of death and violence, but by people who professed to follow the same religion?'
'Not strange, Mulgrave. Infinitely sad. Are you still having the nightmares?'
'No. She does not appear to me any more.'
'Is this why you are still a soldier?'
Mulgrave shook his head. 'Gaise Macon is my friend. I cannot desert him now.'
'Friendship does carry responsibility,' agreed Ermal.
'I sense a but in that comment,' said Mulgrave.
'But a man needs to look after his own soul, Mulgrave. Your upbringing in Shelsans taught you that killing is to be abhorred. And something is calling to you.'
'Aye, I know.' Mulgrave finished his tisane and rose to leave. 'Is there anything you need?' he asked.
'I am content, my friend,' answered Ermal. Then he grinned. 'Though if another bottle of apple brandy should find its way into your possession I would be delighted to share it with you.'
In all his twenty-two years of life Gaise Macon had known few moments of true happiness. His childhood had been spent in the gloomy environs of Eldacre Castle, under the baleful eye of the Moidart. No playmates to run with, no toys to brighten his days. His youth had been no less strained. He had known one day of enormous pleasure when he had joined the local Varlish school, but then, seeing the boy's pleasure, the Moidart had taken him from it, hiring a series of tutors to teach the boy.
Reading proved his salvation. In books Gaise could travel far from the cold misery of Eldacre. He could journey back in time, to the great days of Stone, and read the campaigns of the legendary Jasaray. He could ride with the Iron Wolves of Connavar, and fight again the wars of the Battle King Bane. He did not outwardly glory in these pursuits, for had he done so the Moidart would certainly have removed these pleasures also.
His greatest happiness had been supplied by two very different men, one a soldier, the other a teacher. Mulgrave had been the first shining light to enter the boy's life, brought to Eldacre to teach him the arts of personal warfare: to ride a war horse, and to use the sword, the pistol, and even the bow. Mulgrave had soon learned of the Moidart's cruelty towards Gaise, and the teacher and his student had entered into a secret friendship. They did not laugh together in public, nor were they seen to be outwardly affectionate. But on long rides together Gaise would open his heart to his friend. The second man to impact on the lif
e of Gaise Macon was a skinny schoolteacher named Alterith Shaddler. He taught Gaise history and arithmetic - but also smuggled into Eldacre books of verse, and works of imaginative history, in which the characters spoke, one to another, leaving the reader convinced he was in the same room with them. These fictions, as Alterith called them, were the water of life to a parched soul. Gaise devoured them. Here he found what was lacking in his own life: stories of honour and chivalry, friendship and love. Gaise dreaded to think what kind of man he would have become without these yardsticks to measure himself against. Even now he found himself having to rein in the more ruthless side of his nature. One of his deepest regrets was hanging the soldier who lost the Emburley rifle. One moment of anger. One careless command and a man's life had been snuffed out. Such was the legacy carried by the Moidart's son.
No-one would ever know just how much he had longed to put a ball through Person's face, to smash his skull to shards, to watch his body crumple to the ground. Gaise sighed and felt shame even now at the crude pleasure the thought gave him.
'I am not so different from you, Father,' he whispered.
He had longed for the day when, reaching Varlish majority at twenty-one, he would be free of the Moidart's malign influence. Free to know happiness. Free to live his life as he chose. Yet here he was, a year later, in a rented house, heavy of heart and filled with an indescribable loneliness.
Gaise knew that Mulgrave longed to be free of this war. He knew also that only the man's love for him held him here. If I were truly his friend, Gaise thought, I would let him go. I would wish him well, and be happy that he was free of this madness.
For madness it was. Gaise knew that now. Scores of thousands had died, their blood soaking into the earth, their cries unheard or unheeded. And for what? The vanity of a king, and the ambitions of a few nobles. Gaise tried to shake himself clear of such treasonous thoughts. Rising from his desk he walked to the leaded window, pushing it open to allow the cold night air to seep into the firelit room. From here he could see the silhouetted line of the western hills. Beyond them was the army of Luden Macks. There, as here, the soldiers would be sheltering against the winter night, keeping their weapons clean, giving prayers of thanks for the truce that would see them alive for a few more weeks. They would be drinking and whoring. Living for the day.
Some distance away Gaise could see two men talking. They were dressed in dark clothes. They glanced up, saw him, and moved away into the shadows. Three soldiers of the Watch came into view. Gaise recognized Taybard Jaekel. His mood lifted. He had been tempted to reject Jaekel when first he had tried to enlist. Gaise remembered him as one of three young men who attacked a highland lad back in Old Hills. It was a cowardly assault, and only the arrival of Gaise and Mulgrave had prevented the highlander being knifed while held.
Gaise had been sitting at the recruitment desk when Jaekel stepped forward. 'I know you,' he said, coldly.
'Yes, sir,' said Jaekel. 'I am in your debt.'
'How so?'
'You prevented me from committing an act I would have regretted all my life.'
'What happened to that highland lad? Ring, wasn't it?'
'Kaelin Ring, sir. He went north.'
'Is he still your enemy?'
'No, sir. He is my friend.'
'Good enough. Make your mark.'
Gaise smiled at the memory. Taybard Jaekel had proved an exemplary soldier, cool under fire, and utterly reliable. He was also the finest shot with a musket Gaise had ever seen. In standing competition he was merely excellent, but in the field his talents were beyond extraordinary. Mulgrave - who was himself a marksman of quality - called it deflection targeting. This involved shooting at a point ahead of a moving target so that ball and victim arrived at the same place at the same time. The judgement involved had to be instant and instinctive.
Gaise wondered if Jaekel still had the golden musket ball he had won. Probably not, he thought. Soldiers tended to spend what they had as soon as they received their pay. A golden musket ball, in a sphere of silver wire, would be worth more than two months' wages.
The three soldiers moved out of sight. Once more Gaise Macon felt alone. Mulgrave was probably with Ermal Standfast, enjoying a pleasant tisane by a roaring fire. Alterith Shaddler would be asleep in his bed, at the school house in Old Hills. And the Moidart? The man's hawklike features flashed into Gaise's mind. Probably torturing some poor soul deep in the dungeons of Eldacre.
Gaise chided himself for an unworthy thought. The Moidart was probably also asleep. To Gaise's recollection the Moidart had only personally tortured one man to death, many years ago after a failed assassination attempt. Gaise could still remember the man's screams.
Thoughts of assassination made him think of Person and the duel. Mulgrave had been right to think that Winter Kay hated him. There was no doubt in Gaise's mind that the loaders had been ordered to mislead the pistol. Gaise had known it from the moment he had taken the gun from the loader's hand and inserted the ball himself. Person's face had betrayed the plan. From cocky confidence to abject terror in the space of a heartbeat. The loaders were Redeemers. They would not have taken it upon themselves to sentence Gaise to death. No, Winterbourne was behind it.
No matter how hard he tried Gaise could not come up with a reason for the man's hatred. Yes, he had prevented Winter Kay killing a few villagers, but the truth was that from the first moment the two had met face to face, after the Battle of Nollenby four months ago, Gaise had sensed the man's dislike. Most odd, he thought. He had received a written invitation to dine with the earl and his friends - an invitation graciously constructed, congratulating Gaise on the courage of the Eldacre Company. Gaise had ridden with Mulgrave to Winter bourne's castle outside Baracum, and had entered the dining hall. Winterbourne had been talking with some other guests, but, on seeing Gaise, had walked towards him, smiling, his hand extended. Yet, at the point of the meeting, something changed. Winterbourne's smile had faded. The conversation was stilted and abrupt. For the rest of the evening they exchanged barely a word. Even the normally astute Mulgrave had been unable to come up with a reason.
Now it was no longer a small matter of one man's dislike for another. Winterbourne had connived in a plot to murder him. Would there be another? Mulgrave thought it likely, and Gaise trusted his instincts. One thing was sure - should there be another challenge Gaise would insist on swords.
The room was growing cold now, and Gaise pushed shut the window, dropping the latch. It was late, and he thought of taking to his bed. Dismissing the idea - his mind was too full - he gathered his heavy, fur-lined topcoat and swung it round his shoulders. A walk in the crisp night air would relax him. There were many wild dogs roaming the town now, and Gaise took up the silver-topped cane Mulgrave had given him on his birthday. With this in hand he walked downstairs and out through the front door. The night was bitter cold, though the wind had dropped. Gaise took a deep breath and strolled through the garden to the small, cast iron gate. Stepping out into the street he walked towards the old bridge, snow crunching beneath his boot heels.
Up ahead there were lights in the tavern. Gaise had released four barrels of brandy from the supply depot, and many townsfolk had gathered for an evening of merriment, a temporary release from the fear of war. They were all living on the edge of the abyss now. Next year's seed corn was being eaten, most of the cattle had been slaughtered to feed either the townsfolk or the army. It would not be long before the wild dogs were also hunted for meat.
Four years ago it had seemed to Gaise to be an almost holy war. The king's authority had been challenged, and the army mustered to defeat the traitors. Along the way the objectives had subtly shifted. Both sides claimed to have the king's best interests at heart. Both claimed the moral high ground. The Covenanters maintained that the king had granted them certain rights of self rule, which he had. Then, on bad advice, he revoked those rights. The Royalists claimed the Covenanters sought the abolition of the monarchy, and the destruction of the nobl
e classes. They cited the growing influence of Luden Macks, a farmer from the south, with barely a trace of noble blood in his veins. Macks now largely controlled the Covenant cause. Yet Macks had begged the king to restore the Covenant, and had pledged allegiance to his cause should he do so.
Gaise paused on the old bridge, staring out over the frozen water. The armies were tearing the land apart, with no side close to victory. Meanwhile the citizens faced starvation, disease, and terror.
Movement to his right caught his eye. A large black dog had padded out onto the bridge. It was gaunt, its ribs clearly showing in the moonlight. Gaise gripped his cane, ready to strike the beast if it approached. The hound bared its fangs. Gaise suddenly smiled, and dropped to one knee, holding out his hand. The black dog backed away at first, then stood its ground. 'Come on, boy,' whispered Gaise. 'Let us be friends.' The dog stood for a moment, then ambled forward a few steps, sniffing at the outstretched hand. 'Life is tough for you too, eh?' said Gaise, stroking its long nose, then patting its emaciated flank. ‘I’ll tell you what. You can come home with me and I'll find you a few morsels. You can sleep before my fire. How does that sound?' The dog moved in closer, arching its neck and licking at Gaise's face. Gaise grinned. Mulgrave would have been furious to have witnessed the scene.
'Must you always take risks, sir?' he would say. 'The dog could have ripped out your throat.'
Moving slowly, Gaise came to his feet and turned. Two priests were walking towards him. He was about to offer a greeting, but something stopped him - something about the way they were moving. Their hands were thrust deep into the pockets of their long black overcoats, and their eyes were fixed upon him. Suddenly one of them threw open his coat, drawing a sabre. The other pulled a long knife from his pocket. Gaise twisted the silver handle of his cane, pulling clear the narrow sword blade it contained. The knifeman leapt forward. In that instant Gaise recognized him as one of the loaders from the duel with Person. Beside him the hound gave a deep growl and leapt at the knifeman, huge jaws clamping down on the man's arm. The second man's sabre slashed through the air. Gaise swayed back, parrying the blow with his sword stick. The knifeman had fallen to his knees and was hammering his fist into the dog's head, trying to dislodge the beast's grip. The Redeemer with the sabre moved round his fallen comrade and advanced on Gaise.
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