‘What would you do in Carac’s place?’
Valanus grinned. ‘I’d surrender and pledge allegiance to Stone. He cannot win. We are invincible. After last night’s attack his men will know that is the truth. They will go back and talk amongst themselves about how tough we are, how deadly. Their fear will grow. By the end of summer we will be building towns of stone on Perdii land, and bringing in thousands of Stone immigrants. I myself have been promised ten parcels of prime land, which I can keep or sell.’
‘I expect you’d swap it all for a good tent,’ said Conn.
‘Damn right,’ agreed Valanus.
Ostaran was about to die. No doubt about it. Which, for two reasons, was irritating in the extreme. Firstly, this was yet another skirmish and not a glorious fully fledged battle. And secondly, Demonblade had warned him against reckless attacks. Slashing his sabre across the face of a charging tribesman Ostaran leapt across the body of his dead horse, trying to create space for himself to fight. A hurled spear tore through his riding shirt, grazing his shoulder. A swordsman ran at him. Ostaran blocked the savage cut, stepped in close and head-butted the warrior, who stumbled back half blinded.
The sun was shining brightly in a clear blue sky, and a fresh breeze was blowing, carrying the scent of grass and pine. Ostaran drew in a deep breath. Ah but life is good, he thought! The Perdii at least understood the concepts of martial honour, and were attacking him one at a time, testing his courage and their own. Another man ran at him. Ostaran leapt high, kicking the warrior in the chest, driving him back. A second swordsman charged from the left. Ostaran took the blow on his round, wooden buckler and aimed a slashing riposte. The Perdii threw himself backwards, catching his foot on the leg of Ostaran’s dead mount and falling heavily.
Ostaran undipped the oak leaf brooch and let his black cloak fall to the ground. He was wearing a round helm of bronze and a thigh-length sleeveless mailshirt, and had taken to sporting bronze greaves, in the style of Stone officers. The shirt was heavy, but it protected him from what he feared most: a disembowelling thrust
to the belly. His older brother had died from just such a wound and Ostaran was determined never to go through such agony himself.
He took a deep breath. The air tasted very fine. A Perdii with a spear rushed at him. Ostaran waited until the last moment, then side-stepped. He rammed the bronze fist guard of his sword hilt into the warrior’s chin as he passed. The Perdii fell unconscious to the grass.
Ostaran’s irritation was lifting. The charge had not felt reckless. He had led his thirty Gath riders in an attack on a small group of Perdii foot soldiers – only to find that they were part of a far larger band who had been hiding in the nearby woods. At least a hundred Perdii had rushed out, screaming their battle cries and unnerving the horses. Ostaran had blown his horn, signalling a retreat. His men had swung their mounts to break away, but then bad luck had intervened, and an arrow had pierced the chest of Ostaran’s horse. The Gath leader had leapt clear of the dying beast and drawn his sabre as a dozen Perdii warriors rushed out towards him.
‘Come in and die, you miserable whoresons!’ he yelled. The Perdii, their faces smeared with red ochre, surrounded him. Now they were wearing him down.
Ostaran heard the sound of hoof beats. Parrying a thrust he slammed his fist into a knifeman’s chin, sending him spinning from his feet, then risked a glance to his left.
Twenty horsemen were thundering towards him, scattering the enemy. On the lead mount Demonblade threw out his left arm. Ostaran sprinted towards him, gripped the young man’s wrist and vaulted onto the horse’s back. The Rigante swung the beast and, his flanks protected by the other riders, galloped the horse away from the chasing Perdii.
One of Ostaran’s men came riding up, leading a spare mount. Ostaran transferred to it then let out a wild whoop, raising his sabre in the air and swinging it around his head. Demonblade laughed at him. Some forty other riders joined them. With almost seventy men now, Ostaran led them in a second charge.