Stormrider

by David Gemmell

  The man holding Maev Ring pulled a pistol from his belt and fired. Huntsekker grunted and went down. Maev slammed a fist into the man's jaw. Off balance he fell awkwardly. Scrambling to her feet Maev ran for the doorway. A Redeemer grabbed her. Spinning, she head butted him. Two others ran at her. A punch took her high in the temple. Then she was slammed against the wall of the corridor. She fell to her knees.

  The hawk-faced man came out of the room in which Huntsekker lay. He was carrying a black velvet sack. Maev looked up. Aran Powdermill was standing by the opposite wall, his face ashen. On the floor were three Redeemer bodies. Through the door she could see another four alongside Huntsekker and the hound.

  'You deserve to die slowly, witch,' said the hawk-faced man. 'And you shall. Bring her!'

  Maev's vision was blurring and she could taste blood in her mouth. A man grabbed her by the hair, another by the arm and she was hauled upright.

  More gunshots sounded from the courtyard. The two Redeemers paused, then looked at one another. Maev could see the fear in their eyes. The man holding her on the left suddenly jerked back, spinning her round.

  She saw the huge, blood-drenched figure of Huntsekker. He had grabbed the Redeemer holding her and dragged him backwards. The knife in his hand plunged into the man's belly. In that instant Maev leaned forward, then threw back her head into the face of the second Redeemer. He grunted with pain and fell against the wall. Maev tore herself free of his grip. In doing so she lost her balance and stumbled to the floor. Huntsekker leapt over her, his bloody knife raised. The Redeemer, his nose smashed, his eyes streaming, failed to see the blade as it plunged into his chest. Huntsekker twisted the knife. A terrible scream echoed in the corridor.

  Beyond them the man with the velvet sack turned and ran. Powdermill just stood there. Huntsekker was breathing heavily now. He sagged against the wall. Powdermill moved to him, taking his weight. The knife dropped from the Harvester's hand. Powdermill, unable to support his huge frame, was dragged down as he fell.

  Maev came alongside. There was a huge cut on Huntsekker's head. She wrenched open his coat. Blood had soaked his shirt. Ripping it open she saw that he had been shot at least twice in the chest and belly. There were also stab wounds. The worst of the wounds - in his chest - was pumping blood. Maev put both her hands on it and applied pressure.

  'Get a surgeon,' she told Powdermill.

  The shots had ceased now in the courtyard. Powdermill nodded and sped away. Maev continued the pressure on the chest wound. She saw Huntsekker's eyes were open.

  'Don't die, foolish man,' she said.

  Winter Kay ran down the stairs, taking them three at a time. He almost fell but righted himself as he reached the bottom. Running to the door he wrenched it open. What he saw beyond made him blink in disbelief.

  His Redeemers were dead, bodies littering the courtyard. Their killers stood around them. They were all bandaged and bloody. One man had an amputated arm. His supposedly elite Redeemers had been slain by a blood-soaked group of barbarian wounded.

  Gripping the velvet sack tightly, Winter Kay walked towards one of the horses. A one-armed man moved across to block his way. He was holding a sabre. Sunlight gleamed upon the cloak brooch he wore. It was bronze and oval. A circle had been engraved at the centre. Now, in the sunlight, it shone like gold.

  The words of the old priest came back to him. 7 will go gladly, Winter Kay. Which is more than can be said for you, when the one with the golden eye comes for you.''

  It was a horrifying moment. Time froze. Winter Kay knew then that Gaise Macon was never the enemy. In fact it was even worse than that. Had he not attempted to kill Macon, then the Moidart would never have been drawn into the battle. Without him there would have been no Rigante to fight. I would never even have been here, he thought.

  The one-armed man came closer. Winter Kay dragged his own sabre from its scabbard. This man could not possibly defeat him. His face was grey with exhaustion and pain, and fresh blood was dripping from the amputated limb.

  'Step aside, man, and live,' said Winter Kay. 'In your condition you are no match for me.'

  The man did not move. Winter Kay suddenly leapt forward, his sabre lancing for the man's chest. The Rigante's blade swept up, blocking the lunge, then rolling over and round it, before plunging through Winter Kay's throat.

  'No match for you, fool? I am Rigante.'

  They were the last words Winter Kay heard.

  The battle raged on for most of the day. By afternoon the losses on both sides were prodigious. Mantilan had held his eastern ridge until almost dusk, but then the enemy had forced their way through. Gaise Macon led his cavalry in a counter charge, but to no avail. Mantilan was killed, along with Bael Jace and more than eight hundred Rigante.

  The western ridge, under Beck and the Moidart, did hold, though at the cost of three thousand men. Konin's cavalry had come to their aid, but had taken massive casualties. Konin himself was killed in the last charge.

  As two divisions of enemy infantry had stormed the ridge Kaelin Ring had led his surviving five hundred fighters up its northern slope to reinforce the Moidart and Beck.

  The fighting was ferocious. As the Rigante arrived the enemy had reached the crest of the ridge and were battling hand to hand with the defenders. Kaelin saw the Moidart holding his ground, two pistols in his hands. He brought up the first and discharged it. Then the second. Two men fell. Dropping the pistols the Moidart drew a sabre. A musketeer ran at him, bayonet lunging for the Moidart's belly. The nobleman swayed to his right. The bayonet lanced through his arm. His sabre cut down across the musketeer's neck, opening the jugular. Kaelin and the Rigante tore into the enemy.

  On the slope below Gaise Macon charged his cavalry into enemy infantry reinforcements, scattering them.

  With the dread Rigante cutting and killing on the crest of the ridge, and the cavalry below seeking to cut them off, the Varlish attack faltered. Men began to stream back down the slope, seeking to escape the slaughter. The Rigante pursued them, and the retreat became a rout.

  Kaelin blew his horn three times, summoning his men back to the ridge. Then he saw the Moidart trying to pull the bayonet from his left arm. Kaelin sheathed his sabre and knife and moved to him. Taking hold of the musket he drew the blade clear. The Moidart said nothing. Gripping his bicep to staunch the blood flow he moved past Kaelin and stared out at the fleeing troops.

  Gaise Macon's cavalry were harassing the enemy, but there were not enough of them to continue an assault on the enemy lines. They came under fire from reserves on the southern slopes and were forced to withdraw.

  'It's a damned stalemate,' said the Moidart. 'Tomorrow it will begin again.'

  As night fell Gaise Macon rode among the remnants of his army, knowing that tomorrow the enemy would overwhelm them.

  He located Kaelin Ring. The surviving Rigante had positioned themselves on the slopes of the western ridge and, though exhausted, were busy digging trenches and throwing up earthworks.

  Gaise dismounted. Kaelin saw him and nodded. 'It's over,' said Kaelin, softly. 'We'll not hold them tomorrow.'

  'I know.'

  'We could pull back, then hit them with raids as they move.'

  'I have another plan.'

  'Share it with me. I love listening to good plans.'

  Gaise looked away. 'I am sorry, Kaelin Ring. I am sorry for all that you and your men have been through in this cause. Bael Jace told me he despised me. I understand that. At this moment I despise myself. I came to the point where I put aside all that I had once believed in. What did you do with those boys you captured?'

  'I let them go.'

  'Good.' Gaise looked around at the Rigante as they continued to toil. 'I remember, back when the world was not so vile, that day when your uncle took on the Varlish champion. I recall thinking that he was the most amazing man. Gorain had greater strength and more acquired skill and yet your uncle fought him to a standstill, and beat him.'

  'Grymauch was a great man
,' said Kaelin.

  'Aye, I know that. I thought he was unique. He wasn't. All you Rigante have the same qualities. Men to ride the river with, as the old books say.' Gaise drew his sword, reversed it and offered it to Kaelin Ring.

  'I don't need a sword,' he said.

  'This is the sword of Connavar, the Sword in the Storm. It must remain with the Rigante, Kaelin.'

  'Connavar carried no sabre.'

  Take it and see.'

  Kaelin hesitated, then reached out and wrapped his hand round the hilt. The blade shimmered, and once more the golden fist guard reshaped itself. Kaelin gazed at it in amazement. The rearing horse in the clouds had been replaced by a hound standing alongside a stag. 'This is how I got my soul-name,' whispered Kaelin. 'The hound was my father's. It was called Raven. It rescued a stag surrounded by wolves.'

  'I was proud to carry it,' said Gaise Macon.

  With that he returned to his mount and rode up the slope. The Moidart was waiting for him. His breastplate was dented, his arm crudely bandaged, but he bore no other wounds, despite the carnage inflicted on this ridge all day. 'Where is Beck?' asked Gaise.

  '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 eight 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,' said Gallowglass 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 towards 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 these apartments, and despite the cold, gloomy decor they remained special in his memories. It was here that he had read many of the books supplied by Alterith Shaddler, the wonderful tales of Connavar and Bane, the legends of Stromengle, the axe-wielding All-Father of the early Vars. Here he had devoured the great romances of the Bard King and the Star Princess. In these 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 these 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.'

  'Yow 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 humanity has 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 upon. This planet is dear to me. I want to see it as it should be, a wealth of trees and 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 swan's 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? Uzam
atte? 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.'

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  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 many dead 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 Garan Beck. Kaelin joined them as the soldier trudged away. 'Now that the enemy have the eastern ridge 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.'