Conn walked with Bran to where Fiallach, stripped to the waist, was having his broken shoulder reset and strapped. ‘And here’s another man,’ said Conn, with a smile, ‘who knows when to disobey a perfectly good order.’ Fiallach’s face was grey with pain, his eyes dark ringed.
‘Too damned close for my liking,’ he said. ‘I’ve sent Govannan and those of our men who still had warhorses to harry the enemy, driving them further north.’
‘You told him not to allow himself to be drawn into a pitched battle?’
‘I did. He knows better than that.’
Conn crouched down before the injured man. ‘You did fine. Very fine. You are my General of Wolves now.’
Fiallach’s face relaxed, and he smiled. ‘You trusted me, Conn. I’ll not forget that.’
Conn and Bran wandered away. Three druids had appeared, two of them Pannone, the third being Brother Solstice. They were tending the wounded, along with several women who had arrived from a nearby Rigante settlement.
Warriors were moving around the battlefield, seeking out injured men among the dead. Pannone wounded were carried back to receive attention. The Vars were not so fortunate. They were despatched wherever they were found.
Conn drew Bran aside. ‘Where is Wing?’ he asked.
Bran shrugged. ‘Back at Old Oaks. He felt a strong force was needed there, in case the enemy broke through.’
‘And he sent you instead.’
‘Not exactly, Conn. In fact I broke his orders as well as yours. Quite a day for defiance, eh?’ Bran picked up a stone and hurled it high into the air, aiming at a pigeon and missing narrowly.
‘So what were his orders?’
The youngster ran his hand through his long, golden hair. ‘Ah, Conn, it’s not worth getting angry with him. You know Wing. He told all the warriors to move inside the fortress. I argued with him, but he would have none of it.’ Bran looked away. ‘He was very frightened, Conn. Anyway, I saw one-eyed Arna, the Laird from Snake Loch, riding in with his men, so I took a pony, galloped down to them and said we had orders to join you here. He had over eight hundred men with him and they were mounted on good ponies. We made it in just under two hours. Not bad, eh?’
‘You helped to turn the tide,’ admitted Conn. He swore, softly. ‘How many men does Wing have barricaded in with him?’
‘Over three thousand.’
‘We could have used them here,’ said Conn, his voice cold.
‘Aye, but we didn’t need them, did we?’
‘That’s not the point, Bran. I have to be able to rely on my orders being carried out.’
‘But not by me, or Fiallach?’ Bran laughed aloud, the sound so infectious that Conn couldn’t help but smile.
‘You are an insolent rogue. Now gather some men and help Brother Solstice.’
‘I’ll do that. But promise me you won’t take it out on Wing. He can’t help what he is, Conn.’
‘I promise. Now go!’
As the afternoon wore on, and the injured were tended, the dead buried, three pipers arrived and began to play the Warriors’ Lament, the sound causing a ghostly echo in the hills.
Govannan and his riders came back towards dusk. Govannan dismounted wearily. ‘We chased them back towards the sea,’ he told Conn. ‘The Sea Wolves’ king escaped. We thought we had him, but he led a counter-charge. He’s a fighting man, by Heaven. We had to pull back. Still, we did bring a prisoner.’ Govannan signalled two riders who heeled their mounts forward. Behind them, his hands tied, rode the Highland Laird. One of the riders pushed him from the saddle. The little man fell heavily, then struggled to his feet. Fear was strong upon him, but he held himself straight, and when he was brought to Conn, spat in his face. Govannan made to strike him, but Conn raised his hand and shook his head.
‘Free his hands,’ said Conn. Govannan produced a knife and sliced through the Laird’s bonds. ‘Come, walk with me,’ Conn told the Laird, and strolled away to a group of boulders, where he sat, staring out over the battlefield.
‘You expect me to beg for my life?’ said the Laird. ‘You’ll have a long wait.’