Stormrider

by David Gemmell

  The enemy was charging. Two more volleys - which was all the defenders had time for - would not stop them now.

  As Gaise Macon left the cottage and walked across to where his cavalrymen were preparing their mounts his mind was calm. There would be - hopefully - time for anger later, when the danger was past. Of all the lessons he had learned during this ghastly war this was the most important. A leader needed a cool mind in battle. As he walked he pictured the route south of Shelding. Fighting an enemy who outnumbered you three to one required several key elements for success. First there was surprise. This was vital. Men needed time to gear themselves for fighting. A sudden onslaught could lead to the most seasoned troops buckling and fleeing the field. Luden Macks, in his famous book on cavalry warfare, had called it the Consideration Effect. In short this maintained that many men would willingly risk death for a cause they believed in, and would fight relentlessly given time to consider the reasons for battle. Others less principled would fight if they knew that to refuse would mean vicious punishment or death. Hence the discipline of the army. Take orders and do your duty, for if you do not we will hang you for a coward. Given time to consider most men would also convince themselves that they would not die. Take away that time and the mind would revert to a simple animal state involving self-preservation at all costs.

  The second key element was to leave an obvious line of escape open to the enemy. If in their panic they saw no means of escape then self-preservation would cause them to fight rather than to run.

  Third there was the battleground itself. For surprise there would have to be cover, and in this area it would need to be trees and undergrowth. This posed its own problems for a cavalry leader. To operate with full effectiveness a cavalry unit needed some open ground.

  Finally there was the question of motivating the men. Although the general needed to have a cool mind, the soldiers under him should have fire in their bellies, and a determination to succeed against any odds.

  Gaise thought all these problems through as he walked to the town square. Men were still arriving, moving to their horses and saddling them. Gaise walked to his own mount, a tall grey gelding. Someone had already saddled him. Gaise mounted the gelding and sat quietly as his riders prepared.

  The moon was bright in a cloudless sky, and the men continued their preparations in silence. Hew Galliott, a nephew of Galliott the Borderer, stepped into the saddle and guided his horse alongside Gaise.

  'What is happening, sir?' he asked.

  Gaise called out to the men. 'Gather round, lads.' The four hundred and fifty riders rode their horses into a circle around him and waited. 'We have been betrayed by the southerners,' said Gaise. 'All through this war we have suffered their jealousies - aye, and their envy. Northern scum, they called us. They gave us the hardest tasks, and when we performed them with distinction, still they looked down on us.' There was a murmur of agreement from the riders. 'Did we let it stop us from our duty? Did we?'

  'No,' chorused the cavalry.

  'Now they have decided to kill us all. Don't ask me why, lads. As we speak General Macy is leading the Second against us, seeking to find and slay us in our beds. I'll be honest with you, as I always have been. Our escape routes are blocked to the north and the west by hidden cannon. This leaves east and south. As we know the east has some rough country, ideal for infantry. My belief is that Macy will send his musketeers and pikemen from that area. Our own musketeers are waiting for them. To the south will be Macy himself and his Lancers. I for one will not wait to be slaughtered here. I will ride out and smite Macy and his men and scatter them to the winds. We have little time for discussion on this matter, but any man here who wishes to avoid this action has my leave to try to find his way home as best he can.'

  He sat silently, eyes scanning the group. No-one spoke. For a moment he wondered if he had over-gilded his words. Tension was heavy in him, and he wished that Mulgrave were here, or even Lanfer Gosten. It was tempting to break the silence, but he held back and waited. Finally Hew Galliott spoke.

  'When we have thrashed the Lancers,' he said, 'will we be going home?'

  'Aye, Hew, we will bid farewell to the curs and head north.'

  Hew Galliott swung in the saddle. 'We are going home,' he called out. 'We scatter the bastards and then we go home!'

  A ragged cheer went up. 'Very well then,' shouted Gaise Macon. 'Make sure your pistols are primed and your sabres ready. In formation of twos, follow me.'

  Back through the town they rode, and over the humpbacked bridge, passing the church with its crooked spire. Gaise called Galliott to him, and another man who had performed well and coolly in previous battles, Able Pearce. Able was popular among the Eldacre men, not just for his bravery, but because he was the son of the bootmaker Gillam Pearce, who had been murdered four years ago for speaking up in defence of Maev Ring when she was accused of witchcraft. This put the Pearce family at the centre of the legend of Jaim Grymauch, giving Able and his mother celebrity status back in Eldacre.

  Gaise told Galliott and Pearce his plan of attack. They would strike the enemy on the road a mile south of Shelding, where it dipped into the woods. There would be good cover on both sides. Galliott would take two hundred men and take to the western woods, Gaise would attack from the eastern side. Able Pearce would have a hundred men in reserve, and swing out to the south, coming in either against the enemy rear, or facing them as they fled.

  'Questions?' asked Gaise.

  'Macy has over a thousand Lancers,' said Pearce. 'They'll be well strung out. That section of wooded road you speak of is only around six hundred yards long at the dip. It's likely there'll still be several hundred men yet to reach it when you attack.'

  'True. However, Macy and his senior officers will be with the lead column. We hit them first and the rest will be leaderless when you come in from the rear.'

  'Won't be able to completely close the trap, sir,' observed Galliott. 'Once we're in among them they'll be able to flee back up the slopes and away to the south, past Able and his men.'

  'That's what I want. Once they are in full retreat, with no senior officers, they will pose no threat to us. Once that is achieved we ride back to relieve Mulgrave and the others.'

  'We are going to take heavy losses,' said Able. 'The Second are fine fighters. They'll not break easy. We'll have wounded, and, once we are on the run, no surgeons and no hospital tents.'

  'Aye, it is grim, lads. No denying it. But we'll hit them hard and fast. Hew, find a rider to scout ahead. Tell him to avoid being seen. It would be best if he wore a heavy coat over his tunic, just in case.'

  'Yes, sir.' Galliott did not immediately turn away, and Gaise saw he looked troubled.

  'What is it, Hew?'

  'I don't get it, sir. Why would they want to kill us all?'

  'I don't pretend to understand the workings of the evil mind,' said Gaise. 'Lord Winterbourne has twice tried to have me killed. I know not why. Now he has decided to achieve that murder by slaughtering the Eldacre Company. One day, if the Source is willing, I may have the opportunity of asking him the cause of his hatred.'

  'He's a Redeemer,' said Able Pearce. 'Vile whoresons all of them. They don't need a reason for evil. It's just what they are. It's the same with the Knights of the Sacrifice. I hate them all.'

  'Send out the scout, Hew,' said Gaise. Hew Galliott turned his horse and moved back down the column.

  'You are wrong, Able,' said Gaise, softly. 'They will have reasons. To them they will even sound like good reasons. I never yet met an evil man who thought himself evil. My father - a man as vile as any Redeemer - would laugh at being called evil. He would probably speak of dark deeds achieving a greater good.'

  'My father wouldn't,' said Able Pearce. 'He was a bootmaker, and a gentle man. He never harmed anyone in his life. I used to curse the day Alterith Shaddler came to him, and prevailed upon him to stand up in defence of Maev Ring. My mother still does.'

  'What changed your mind?'

  '
Oh, I still regret it, sir. I miss him dreadfully. I was in Varingas when it happened. I did not find out for a month. Why did I change my mind? Hard one to answer. He always taught me to stand up for what was right under my own conscience, no matter what the consequences. He did exactly that. I regret it - but it fills me with pride. I used to think he was a weak, little man. His death showed me how wrong I was. He was a great man. I pray I will do no less when my time comes.'

  'I think blood runs true in your family, Able.'

  'I hope so, sir.'

  'Ride back and pick your men. Then we'll plan more as we ride.'

  Able swung his horse and Gaise rode on alone.

  Barin Macy rode at the head of the column. His mind was troubled, and he could not shake off the depression that had left him sleepless for the past two nights. Everything about this coming action was wrong. He knew it. Had known it from the start. If Macon was truly planning to defect then Eris Velroy would not have asked for a meeting in a deserted wood at night. Orders would have come directly from Winter bourne. The Eldacre Company was an elite fighting force. Macon was a dashing general, reckless and brave.

  Macy had met him on a number of occasions. He liked him. There was about him a curious naivete, which seemed odd when set against his tactical acumen. No, this action was about politics. Winterbourne hated Macon and wanted him dead. Hundreds of good, loyal men were going to die because of this hatred.

  And you are party to it, Macy told himself as he rode.

  Yet what choice did he have? Refusal would have resulted in his own death, or banishment. Winterbourne would then have given this task to another commander. The result would be the same. Macon and his men would be dead.

  As he rode towards the woods Macy found this argument to be limp and worthless.

  A rider came galloping along the line of the column. Drawing up alongside Macy he saluted. 'A message, sir,' he said, handing Macy a sealed letter. 'I was told it was for you alone, sir.' Macy thanked him. With another salute the rider swung his mount and galloped away.

  Macy stared down at the seal. In the moonlight he could just make out that it was from Winterbourne. The writing above the seal was small and neat. So small, in fact, that Macy had trouble in the dim light even making out that it was his name upon it. Dawn was less than half an hour away now, and Macy tucked the letter into his tunic.

  Velroy had said that the Redeemers would enter the town following the raid. That would mean citizens being tortured and burned. Macy sighed. He enjoyed army life, and when he had first joined the king's army had believed in the cause. His thoughts had been of glory, bravery and comradeship. Macy had even allowed himself the fantasy that he too could achieve the kind of fame once enjoyed by Luden Macks.

  Instead he had witnessed the horrors of mutilated corpses, and listened to the agonized screams of hideously wounded men. He had learned there were no absolutes in war. No glorious heroes facing vile villains. Just men - thousands of men - all fighting and dying for what they believed in.

  Until now.

  Vile villains. Did they come more vile than Winterbourne and his Redeemers?

  Macy hoped that Konran and the foot soldiers would have taken the town by the time he arrived. He hoped that Gaise Macon would have ridden away, escaping the cannon and the slaughter.

  'Avoid evil, my son,' his father used to say. 'It carries the seeds of its own destruction.'

  The column rode on, into the shadowed woods.

  Some two hundred yards along the road Barin Macy drew rein. The light was increasing now. He held up his arm for the column to halt. Then he drew the letter from his tunic.

  The message was short: Macon knows of your plan. He intends to waylay you in the woods. Keep away from the road.

  Macy read the message twice, then slowly folded the parchment and replaced it in his tunic. His heart was beating faster now as he swung to look at the ground on either side of the road, as it sloped upwards into the tree line. His mouth was dry. The woods were silent, save for the sound of creaking leather and the snorting of the horses.

  Then the air was filled with thunder and screaming shot.

  Horses and men went down in their scores. Macy felt a blow to his back and slumped forward over his mount's neck. Struggling back to a sitting position he tried to pull a pistol from the scabbard on his pommel. Another shot struck him and he tumbled to the ground.

  Horsemen came into sight, charging down the slope. Some of the Lancers managed to draw weapons and fire, but they were swiftly cut down. Others spurred their mounts and sought to gallop back down the trail.

  Macy managed to crawl to the side of the road. He hauled himself to a sitting position, his back against a fallen tree. Then he watched as the men of the Eldacre Company tore into the shocked and terrified Lancers. There was no anger in Macy now. He felt calm. A neutral observer watching a drama. He noted the discipline of the attack, and its sheer ferocity. He saw with appreciation that a line of escape had been left open. Many of the Lancers were now spurring their mounts up the slope in a desperate bid to be away from the terror. Then he saw Gaise Macon, his golden hair shining in the new dawn light.

  Glorious heroes, thought Macy. And vile villains.

  He felt suddenly thirsty, and his mind shifted to the old well back at the manor house. He and Mirna loved that well. She always claimed that the water was magical. He smiled at the memory. When the war was over he would rejoin Mirna and the children, and never leave again.

  The fighting moved away from him, and the rising sun cleared a section of trees, the light falling upon him. It was a wonderful feeling. He tilted his head to enjoy it. A shadow fell across him. Opening his eyes he saw Gaise Macon step down from his mount and walk towards him.

  'Good morning to you,' said Macy.

  'And to you, general. Your men are scattered or dead. I have no time to deal with your wounded.'

  'No, I expect not. Beware if you head west or north, Macon. There are cannon hidden.'

  'I know. We are not traitors,' said Gaise Macon.

  'I worked that out. To my shame I came anyway.' Macy reached for the letter in his tunic, and winced. Pain was beginning to radiate from his chest and lower back. He handed the letter to Gaise Macon, who read it swiftly. Macy spoke again. 'Velroy told me the Redeemers can see events at great distance. They are probably watching us now.'

  Gaise Macon gently opened the offier's tunic, and examined the wounds. He said nothing.

  'It is going to be a nice day,' said Macy, tilting his head towards the sun. He saw Mirna at the well. He was about to ask her to draw him up some water.

  Then he was falling.

  Down and down into darkness.

  He had no idea the well was so deep.

  Gaise Macon saw him die. 'You were a good man, Macy,' he said. Returning to his grey Gaise stepped into the saddle.

  The Lancers were fleeing now in disorder and many of the Eldacre men were returning to the wood. From the distance came the sounds of a musket volley. Gaise felt a sudden sadness swamp him. Then Cordelia Lowen's face appeared in his mind. I will survive this, he thought. I will save my men and take them - and Cordelia - north. Away from this war. There was a parcel of land to the east of the Moidart's Winter House. Gaise had always loved it. I will build a house for us there, he decided.

  Then, gathering his men, the Grey Ghost rode back towards Shelding.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  AT FIRST GLANCE JAKON GALLOWGLASS DID NOT LOOK LIKE A SOLDIER. He was thin and round-shouldered, and generally moved with a gangling gait, appearing clumsy and lacking in co-ordination. His uniforms were always ill fitting, for his right arm was two inches longer than his left. This, and his concave chest and sloping shoulders, made him entirely unsuited to the needs of fashion. He was also, as his officers would say continually, disgracefully unkempt, with little understanding of discipline. He had been flogged eleven times during his five years of service. In short, all the reports on Gallowglass stated that he was a bad soldier.
He had only one redeeming feature. Jakon Gallowglass was a fighter, who didn't know when to quit.

  It was a skill he needed in all its vicious glory now as he ran back through the streets of Shelding. The enemy had broken through on the right, and the fighting had moved into the back streets. Several of the citizens had tried to run for the transient safety of the meadows. They were shot down by the advancing musketeers.

  Jakon Gallowglass ran round a corner, directly into three advancing musketeers. His own musket was empty, but he lashed it across the face of the first man, knocking him from his feet. Dragging his knife from its scabbard he rammed it into the chest of the second man. The third tried to impale him with his bayonet.

  Letting go of his knife Jakon slid to his right, dragging the stabbed man with him. The bayonet plunged into the wounded man. Jakon leapt at the musketeer, cracking a head butt against the man's nose. He fell back with a cry of pain. Jakon shoulder-charged him from his feet and ran on. Several shots came close, one spattering stone chips from the wall beside him.

  'You don't hear the shot that kills you,' he remembered someone saying.

  Oh yes, he thought, as he ducked into an alleyway. So how does anyone know that then?

  Weaponless now he moved swiftly down the alley, then paused at the far end, risking a glance out onto the wider street beyond. Two musketeers came alongside him. Jakon kicked the first in the knee then grappled with the second, seeking to wrench his musket from his hands. The man was strong. Jakon tried a head butt. The man swayed away. Jakon kneed him in the groin. He grunted with pain, but held on to his musket. The first man was climbing to his feet. He swore at Jakon and advanced with his bayonet poised to strike. Jakon dragged the man he was fighting around, so that he was between Jakon's body and the bayonet. A shot rang out. The first musketeer arched backwards, then dropped his weapon. The death of his comrade seemed to stun the man Jakon was grappling with. He tried to pull away. Jakon thrust his head forward, this time successfully butting the man on the bridge of his nose. With a strangled cry he fell towards Jakon, who twisted round, hurling him from his feet. Even before his assailant had hit the ground Jakon had run to the dead musketeer and swept up his weapon. The second man, blood leaking from his smashed nose, feebly brought up his own musket. Jakon thrust it aside and lanced the bayonet through the man's tunic. He fell without a sound.