‘I’m fine, Big Man. Truly. If the geasa is broken, so be it. I am guilty of great evil, and I’ll accept it as a punishment. But, by Taranis, I’ll not lose the battle too. If I am to die it will be done while destroying the threat to our lands.’
Leaning forward, Ruathain clapped his son on the shoulder. ‘Now that is a man talking. I’m proud of you, boy.’
‘I have thought about what you proposed. It makes good sense. You stay here and send as many men after us as you can. Not in small groups, mind. Gather them until you have maybe two thousand.’
Ruathain shook his head. ‘No, Conn. This time we must rely on Wing, for I’ll be beside you.’
Conn gave a broad smile. ‘Mother has ordered you to protect me, hasn’t she?’
‘You’d expect no less, boy. I told her we’d win the battle, then I’d wash you, change your nappy, wrap you in blankets and bring you home to her loving arms.’
Conn’s laughter pealed out. ‘Was your mother the same?’
‘The very same. It is said a man doesn’t get old while his mother lives. I think it’s true. You are always a child in her eyes. It is irritating in the extreme. But you know, when they have gone you’d give the earth just to hear them treat you like a child once more.’
‘You never treated me like a child, Big Man. You always made me feel I was special: bright, intelligent, fearless.’
‘You were all those things, lad.’
Their eyes met. ‘You are the best father a man could have,’ said Conn.
‘Och, boy, now you’re getting maudlin. Fill up the cups. I’ll have one more drink with you, then I’m off to my bed. We’ve a long day tomorrow.’
Shard stood on the hilltop, the Highland Laird beside him, and surveyed the enemy force. He calculated there were around ten thousand men manning the two hilltops and the low-lying ground between them.
‘We can take them,’ said the Highland Laird. A small man, with a small voice and a small mind, thought Shard. He could taste the man’s fear. But then of course he was afraid. Had he not been, this alliance would never have taken place. The Laird needed his Sea Wolves to smash through the Rigante ranks. There had only been one source of argument – who got to kill the Demon Laird. Shard had always seen himself as a generous man, but it had been hard to give way on the matter. If Connavar could be taken alive the Highland Laird would kill him, but Shard would have the head to take back to his brother’s house. Minor irritation touched the Vars king. Even now, all these months after the bargain had been struck, he found the thought of it gnawing at him. He narrowed his eyes, straining to see Connavar.
‘Which one is he?’ he asked the Laird. The little man hawked and spat.
‘You see the giant in the mailshirt at the centre. Well just to his left. The man pointing up at the hillside.’
‘I see him. How do you wish to proceed, Laird?’
The Pannone scratched his black beard and sat down on a rock. ‘I think you should lead your men against the centre. My men will attack the hillsides. Then we will come at Connavar from three sides.’
Shard said nothing, and surveyed the enemy lines once more. Armoured men lined the western hilltop. As far as he could make out there were some five hundred of them. However, there were trees behind them that could hide a thousand more. The men immediately surrounding Connavar were also protected by mailshirts, shields and helms, but the massed ranks of his army were tribesmen in cloth shirts, and cloaks of blue and green. Shard strolled back to the other side of the hilltop and looked down upon his own force. Ten thousand battle-hardened warriors, well armed with swords and axes. Most of them sported mailshirts, though none carried shields. Shields were clumsy objects at the best of times, and slowed the charge. The Pannone force of eight thousand were some two hundred paces west of his own men. Lightly armed, mostly with wooden spears, they stood nervously waiting for the action to begin.