Stormrider

by David Gemmell

  No-one ever discovered who killed Campion and his uncle, the vile Jek Bindoe. Many thought it to be Jaim Grymauch, the one-eyed highland warrior. Taybard knew this was not so. Jaim might well have killed them - but he would not have mutilated them afterwards.

  At times like this Taybard would imagine what life might have been like had he and Chara married. They would have had children by now. Perhaps a girl and a boy. The boy would be like me, thought Taybard. Only I would not let him become loud and arrogant. Taybard sighed. Even had they married, where would they have lived? He had no skill and would have sought work as a labourer. They would have ended up in rat-infested rented rooms in Eldacre.

  Taybard pushed himself to his feet and strolled out to the gate.

  There was no movement on the roads, and even the wild dogs were silent tonight. Taybard recalled that several of them had been killed yesterday as meat grew scarce. At some point during this war I guess I'll find out what dog tastes like, he thought. He glanced across to the low wall. Kammel Bard was lying on the snow fast asleep, his blankets drawn up tightly under his chin.

  If Lanfer Gosten or Captain Mulgrave were to come by Kammel would face a flogging for sleeping on duty. This did not seem to worry Kammel. He was a man of little imagination, who believed the whole world was more stupid than he. The world would be in a harsh and dreadful state were that to prove the case, thought Taybard, with a wry smile. Kammel's Emburley rifle was beside him. He had at least thought to place it under the blankets with him, but had then turned over in his sleep, exposing the weapon to the elements. Taybard walked over and retrieved it. There was snow on the flash pan cover, but the barrel was clear. With nothing else to do Taybard returned to the doorway, cleaned out the flash pan and recharged it with fresh powder. Then he laid the rifle against the inner wall of the small porch.

  He had spent the last two days on scouting trips and had seen a large number of troop movements. It seemed odd to him that so many men were on the move during a truce, but then the army rarely seemed to operate on lines of logic that Taybard could understand.

  He was just starting to wonder about what role he would have in life when the war was over when he saw Lanfer Gosten running down the street, another man behind him. Taybard left the porch and ran across to the sleeping Kammel, nudging him with his boot. Kammel grunted and opened his bleary eyes. 'What the hell?'

  'Lanfer is coming.'

  Kammel rolled to his knees as the burly sergeant arrived at the wall. He was breathing heavily. 'This man says he has urgent news for you and the general,' said Lanfer, casting a hard glance at the soldier beside him. 'Wouldn't tell me a damned thing.'

  'I need to talk to the Grey Ghost,' said Jakon Gallowglass. 'And it better be pretty quick or we'll all be dead.'

  Gaise Macon listened in silence as Jakon Gallowglass reported the surprise attack that was planned. The soldier had sneaked away into the trees as the column advanced through woods not three miles from Shelding. He had then run all the way here. Gaise thanked him, then ordered Lanfer Gosten to rouse the men from their billets. He also sent Taybard Jaekel to summon Mulgrave.

  Alone now once more with Cordelia Lowen he stepped in close and raised her hand to his lips. 'I am sorry,' he said. 'The hour you granted me has put you in peril.'

  'It was worth it, Gaise Macon.'

  'You must go now.'

  ‘I’ll not leave Shelding without you.'

  He drew her into a swift embrace, then kissed her brow. 'Go,' he said. 'Wherever you are I will find you.' Opening the door, he called out to a young soldier to accompany Cordelia to her home, and watched her walk away. She looked back, and waved. Gaise responded, then moved back inside the house.

  The situation was grave. Macy, with two thousand men, cavalry and infantry, would be at the outskirts of Shelding within the hour. Gaise scanned the scouting reports received over the last two days. With the news of Winterbourne's treachery the reports now made complete sense. Two columns of artillery had been reported moving north of Shelding. One had veered to the west. The other remained beyond the northern woods. This meant that should any of the Eldacre men break clear of Macy's surprise attack from south and east they would run directly into cannon fire and be ripped to pieces.

  Mulgrave arrived and Gaise swiftly explained about the coming attack.

  'Why would Winterbourne sacrifice six hundred loyal men merely to kill you, sir? What sane man would do such a thing?'

  'His sanity does not concern me now,' said Gaise. 'The question is: how do we survive this night? Macy will send his musketeers in from the east. He knows the men are billeted throughout the town and will expect no organized resistance.' Gaise opened a rough-drawn map of the area, spreading it out on his desk. 'The cavalry will likely come in from the south, over the bridge, seeking to find me here. They will leave two routes of apparent escape open, north and west. Both these areas will have musketeers in hiding, and cannon loaded with grapeshot.'

  'A neat trap, sir.'

  'Aye. Neat is the word. Macy has three hundred musketeers, fifteen hundred cavalry and two hundred heavy infantry, mostly pikemen, though some also have pistol and sword.'

  'What do you plan, sir?'

  'I plan to see how swiftly Macy can think and re-organize his neat attack. I want you to take the riflemen and musketeers to the eastern edge of Shelding. As the enemy approaches hit them with volley fire. Since this will be unexpected it is likely they will fall back towards the woods to regroup. Then they will charge. Hit them again. If they keep coming fall back to the old depot buildings.'

  'Where will you be?'

  'South. I'll find Macy and his cavalry. Scatter them. Then I'll charge the musketeers confronting you.'

  Mulgrave smiled grimly. 'If the cavalry is to the south you will be outnumbered three to one, and the King's Second Lancers are veterans.'

  'I know. If Macy is skilled we may not get out of this alive.'

  'He is not as skilled as you, my lord.'

  'We will see.' Gaise moved towards the door. 'I'll either see you at the eastern end of town, or in the Void.'

  'The eastern end of town would get my vote,' said Mulgrave. 'Take care, sir.'

  'Care? Oh no. This is a time for recklessness.'

  'For the Stormrider,' said Mulgrave.

  This time Gaise did smile. Then he left the cottage. Mulgrave heard him call out orders to Lanfer Gosten.

  Jakon Gallowglass crouched behind a low, dry stone wall, two muskets close by, and a smell reminiscent of old pea soup radiating from the armpits of the borrowed Eldacre tunic he now wore. He was not a happy man. Beside him Taybard Jaekel was priming a musket, which he then leaned against the wall beside his Emburley rifle.

  'I thought maybe we'd be leaving this place,' muttered Gallowglass.

  'Don't look like it,' observed Taybard, his eyes scanning the tree line some three hundred paces away. This section of wall was no more than forty feet long, bordering the garden of the mayor's house. Fifty of the Eldacre musketeers were hidden here. Across the roadway were three houses. There was little cover there and Mulgrave had ordered carts and wagons to be drawn up. Beyond these was a long ditch, originally built to prevent cattle from wandering through the vegetable gardens behind the three houses. More musketeers were hunkered down in the ditch, under the command of Lanfer Gosten. All the Eldacre men had been ordered to stay low.

  'I thought maybe I'd go north with you,' said Gallowglass. 'Maybe take a break from the war. Maybe even settle down up there.'

  That's a lot of maybes.'

  Gallowglass raised his head and peered over the wall, gauging the distance from here to the trees. A running man could cover it in just over a minute. Laden with musket or pike it would be perhaps two minutes. Certainly no more than that. Any time now, with the dawn breaking, some five hundred soldiers would be charging across that area, with maybe fifteen hundred cavalry. Cavalry would cover the ground in a third of the time. He tried to figure the odds. The Eldacre Company had around a
hundred musketeers, half of them issued with two weapons. Most good musketeers could load and fire around three times in a minute. The mental arithmetic made his brain hurt. Whichever way he looked at it there was no chance of a hundred musketeers and less than half that number of riflemen holding back a determined charge -even if the cavalry were occupied elsewhere. The Eldacre men could perhaps take out around half of the attackers - and then only if they were all as skilled as Taybard Jaekel. How likely was that? Gallowglass swore softly.

  'You ain't thanked me yet,' he said.

  'Grey Ghost thanked you,' said Taybard. 'Heard him say it. That why you did it? For thanks?'

  'Reckoned I owed you my life. Didn't expect to die for it, though. Can you smell this tunic from there?'

  'I can. Pretty ripe.'

  'Didn't expect to die in no stinking tunic. And it's too big.'

  'It belongs to Kammel Bard. He's the big fellow over there,' said Taybard, pointing to where Kammel was sleeping again.

  'He's welcome to it. Reckon if I took it off it's ripe enough to walk back to him by itself. If I don't die here he can have it back.'

  'You usually talk a lot about whores. I never liked it, but I'd prefer it right about now to talk of dying.'

  'I ain't scared of dying, Jaekel,' muttered Gallowglass. 'It's just that the odds favour it, I reckon.'

  'Look on the bright side. You could have been about to walk out over that open ground with my rifle aimed at you.'

  'Not likely. If I hadn't warned you there would have been no-one here to stop us.'

  'True,' agreed Taybard. 'Having regrets?'

  'Damn right I'm having regrets. I don't even know why this is happening. Were you all thinking of joining Luden Macks?'

  'Not as I know of.'

  'Makes no sense to me. And where the hell has the Grey Ghost gone?'

  Taybard shrugged. 'No idea.'

  'Well, that's comforting. I'm going to feel damned foolish if he's riding off north and leaving us behind.'

  'He wouldn't do that, Jakon.'

  'Well, you know him better than me,' said Gallowglass, doubtfully.

  'Hardly know him at all. What I do know is he's always the first to lead a charge and he don't put us through nothing he won't tackle himself. Expect he's gone out to fight on ground of his choosing. What's Macy like as a commander?'

  'How would I know?' replied Gallowglass. 'Hardly ever see him. Wish I hadn't seen him in that damned wood. His brother's a real turd. That I do know. Now him I'd like to get in my sights.' Gallowglass suddenly chuckled. 'Actually I'm not so good with a musket, so I'd prefer him to be in your sights. Do you ever miss, Jaekel?'

  'Once or twice. Not since I've had the Emburley.'

  'Well, I'll point him out to you if the cavalry come. What are the whores like in Shelding?'

  Taybard Jaekel smiled. 'That's more like it, Gallowglass.'

  The sound of distant gunfire came to them. Taybard glanced to the south. 'Expect their cavalry have just found out why he's called the Grey Ghost,' he said, licking his thumb and touching it to the sight of his Emburley.

  Crouching low, the officer Mulgrave came alongside them. 'They're in sight,' he said. 'Wait for the command. Pass it along.'

  Gallowglass resisted the urge to peer over the wall. His heart was beating faster now, though he could feel the beginnings of calm in his mind.

  It was just another fight, he told himself, taking up his musket.

  The first thin rays of the new dawn were shining above the eastern mountains, and the air was cold and clean, as Mulgrave watched the advancing enemy leave the sanctuary of the trees. Hidden behind a wagon the white-haired swordsman took a deep breath and scanned the line of red-coated musketeers. They were moving forward slowly, in open formation, their muskets fitted with the newly designed bayonets. Mulgrave kept his face calm. He knew the men would be watching him. More and more of the enemy moved into sight. The formation - each man more than ten feet from his nearest companion - would lessen the effects of the volley fire.

  Did they know then that the Eldacre men were ready?

  With practised eye Mulgrave swiftly counted the advancing line. Nearly five hundred men were now in sight, and moving out over the open land. To the extreme right came a group of Lancers. When Mulgrave first saw them his heart skipped a beat. If Gaise was wrong and the full force of the enemy were to strike here the Eldacre men would be overrun in moments. His tension was eased when he realized there were only thirty riders.

  Everything depended now on the discipline of the men of both sides.

  The first volley would need to be timed to perfection. Too soon and the distance would leach power from the shots and cause the enemy to charge, too late and the distance between the advancing line and the defenders would be less than the distance back to the trees. This would inspire the musketeers to continue their attack.

  Mulgrave stared hard at the enemy. Did they know what they were walking into?

  He focused on a group at the centre of the wide line. They were advancing warily, but he saw several of them swing their heads to talk to comrades. This calmed him. An advance against a position that was known to be defended tended to make men feel isolated. There was little conversation.

  As the first of the units reached a hundred paces from the woods - a third of the distance to the defensive wall - Mulgrave shouted an order. 'Make ready!' he called. All along the wall men reared up. Muskets and rifles bristled over the stone. Mulgrave held his breath. If one idiot were to fire early it would cause a reaction. Others would follow suit and the full effect of the volley would be heavily diluted.

  No-one fired.

  The advancing line faltered. The men immediately behind the front carried on walking, compressing the open formation.

  'Fire!' bellowed Mulgrave. Lead shot tore into the infantry, hurling men from their feet. Grey smoke billowed over the defensive wall like sudden mist, and the stink of black powder filled the air.

  'Second units prepare!' shouted Mulgrave.

  The fifty men issued with second muskets brought them to bear, while the other men swiftly and smoothly reloaded their weapons.

  'Fire!'

  Another volley ripped into the centre of the approaching infantry.

  Some of the enemy began pulling back, but others stood their ground. One of their officers tried to assemble the men to return fire. He was barking out orders, and they were obeying. 'Jaekel!' yelled Mulgrave. Taybard Jaekel glanced over. Mulgrave pointed towards the officer. The young, sandy-haired rifleman nodded, licked his thumb and applied it to the sight of his Emburley.

  Mulgrave swung to his right. Lanfer Gosten and the men in the long ditch were waiting for his command. 'Gosten, hold fire until we see what the Lancers plan.'

  'Yes sir.'

  A single shot came from Taybard JaekePs rifle. Mulgrave saw the officer crumple and fall, his sabre spinning from his hand.

  'Prepare to volley!' shouted Mulgrave.

  Once more the muskets came into sight. A ragged volley came from the attackers. Most of the shots struck the wall, or screamed by the defenders. But several men were hit.

  'Fire!'

  Instinctively the Eldacre men concentrated their weapons on the group struggling to reload their muskets. They were scythed down. Beyond them the musketeers began to withdraw in good order towards the woods. On the right, however, the thirty Lancers heeled their mounts and charged.

  It was a gallant and reckless move - the kind Gaise Macon may well have made. If the Lancers broke through the infantry would gain fresh heart and charge again. They had timed the move well -between volleys. But their officer should have noted that on the third volley no fire had come from the ditch.

  They galloped forward, lances levelled, the new dawn sun glinting on their brocaded blue tunics. 'Ready Gosten!' shouted Mulgrave.

  The fifty Eldacre men reared up. Muskets thundered. Twenty of the advancing riders were hammered from their saddles. Four other horses went down, pitching t
heir riders to the ground. The remaining six Lancers ducked low and continued forward.

  Several shots screamed into them. Another four went down. Mulgrave climbed to the wagon and drew his pistol. One of the two surviving Lancers swung his horse and tried to flee. Three shots struck him in the back. Slumping over his saddle he rode back towards the trees for a little way, then tumbled from his mount.

  The last of the Lancers rode at the defences, his huge chestnut gelding clearing the wall with a graceful leap. The rider headed directly for Mulgrave. It was Konran Macy, the officer who had tried to remove the Eldacre horses.

  'Give it up, sir,' said Mulgrave, his pistol levelled. There is no need to die today, and you can achieve nothing.'

  ‘I can kill you, you treacherous cur.'

  'You have been misled, sir. No-one here is a traitor. No-one here planned to quit the army, nor join Luden Macks. You have been lied to.'

  Macy dismounted, thrust his lance into the ground, and drew his cavalry sabre. 'Do you have the nerve to fight me, sir?' he asked. 'Or are you a coward as well as a traitor?'

  Mulgrave uncocked his pistol and thrust it into his belt. Then he leapt down from the wagon and drew his own blade. Macy slapped the rump of his horse. The beast moved away from the two men. The Lancer advanced.

  'You are making a second mistake, captain,' said Mulgrave. 'You are being used in a private feud between Winterbourne and Gaise Macon. There are no traitors here.'

  Macy attacked. Mulgrave parried and swayed away. Their sabres clashed. Macy launched a furious assault, hacking and slashing, seeking to overcome Mulgrave by brute force. Mulgrave swayed and moved, blocking and parrying, always in balance.

  'Damn it, sir, can you not see you are outclassed?' said Mulgrave. ‘Put up your sword.'

  'They are coming again, sir!' called out Lancer Gosten.

  Macy took this moment to attack. His sabre lanced out towards Mulgrave's heart. Mulgrave blocked the lunge with ease, rolling his blade over and round Macy's weapon. The point of Mulgrave's sabre entered Macy's throat, ripping through the jugular. The officer stumbled to his knees, then pitched to the earth. Mulgrave stepped across his body and ran back to the defensive wall.