‘Shut up!’ screamed Gaele, spurring his horse forward. His sword lashed down, striking the old man on the crown of his head and smashing him from his feet. Blood gushed from the wound but Gwalchmai struggled to his knees.
‘You will all die!’ he shouted. ‘The whole army. And the crows will feast on your eyes!’ The sword slashed down again and Gwalchmai fell to his face in the dirt. All tension eased from his frame, and he did not feel the blades lance into his body.
All these years, he thought, and at the last I lied. I do not know whether Sigarni will win or lose, but these cowards will carry the tale of my prophecy back to the army, and it will rage like a forest fire through their ranks.
As if from a great distance, Gwalchmai heard his name being called.
‘I am coming,’ he said.
Gaele dragged his sword clear of the old man’s back, wiping the blade clean on the dead man’s tunic. Stooping, he plucked the parchment from the dead fingers and opened it.
‘What does it say?’ asked Bello, as the others gathered round the corpse.
‘You know I can’t read,’ snapped Gaele.
Jeraime stepped forward. ‘Give it to me,’ he said. Gaele passed it over and Jeraime scanned the spidery text.
‘Well?’ demanded Gaele.
Jeraime was silent for a moment, and when he spoke his voice was trembling. ‘It says, “There will be six. One of them a wife-killer. Gaele will strike me down. Jeraime will read my message. ”
Jeraime let the parchment fall and backed away to his horse.
‘He was a sorcerer,’ whispered Bello. ‘He said we were all going to die. The whole army! Dear God, why did we come here?’
The army made camp near the ruins of Cilfallen: seven thousand men, incorporating four thousand heavily armoured footsoldiers, fifteen hundred archers and slingers, five hundred assorted engineers, cooks, foragers and scouts, and a thousand cavalry. The Baron’s long black tent was erected near the Cilfallen stream, while the cavalry camped to the north, the footsoldiers to the east and west and other personnel to the south. Leofric set sentry rotas and despatched scouts to the north; then he returned, weary, to his own tent.
Jakuta Khan was sitting on a canvas-backed chair, sipping fine wine. He smiled as Leofric entered the tent. ‘Such a long face,’ said the sorcerer, ‘and here you are on the verge of a glorious expedition.’
‘I dislike lying to the Baron,’ said Leofric, opening a travel chair and seating himself opposite the red-clad man.
‘I told you, it was not a lie. I aw a merchant – of sorts. Where do you think the first battle will be fought?’
‘The Baron believes they will fortify the Duane Pass. We have several contingency plans for such an eventuality. Can you not tell me what they are planning? The fall of the forts has left me out of favour with the Baron. He blames me!’
Jakuta Khan shook his head and adopted a suitably apologetic expression. ‘My dear Leofric, I would dearly love to help you. But to use my powers while Taliesen is nearby would be costly to me -perhaps fatal. The old man is not without talent. When he departs I will reach out and, shall we say, observe them. Relax, my boy. Enjoy the wine. It really is very good.’
Leofric sighed. He knew the wine was good; it had cost a small fortune. Accepting a goblet, he sipped the liquid appreciatively. ‘You said you had tried to capture the woman before, and had failed. Is she charmed? Is this Taliesen as powerful as you?’
‘Interesting questions,’ said Jakuta Khan, his jovial round face now looking serious and thoughtful. ‘I have pondered them often. The first attempt was thwarted by Taliesen and a Highlander named Caswallon. They took her as a babe, and hid her… here. At that time I did not know of Taliesen’s existence, and therefore had no plan to cope with him. By the time I found her hiding place she was a small child; her foster-mother threw her from the cabin window, and she ran to a nearby waterfall. There Caswallon and Taliesen once more intervened, though how they came to be there at that precise time, I do not know. They could not have stopped me, for I was well prepared. Sadly, a third force intervened; I believe it was a spirit. He aided her again – and that cost the life of the dearest of my acolytes. But there it is. That is life and we cannot grumble. But last week I used one of the four great spells. Infallible. Either the victim dies, or the sender. I risked everything. And nothing happened. Curiously, the demon I summoned disappeared as soon as my spell was complete. I can tell you, Leofric, I have spent many a long night since thinking over that problem. I know it is hard for you to imagine, but think of aiming a bow at an enemy and loosing the shaft. As it flies through the air, it disappears. It was like that. The question is, where did the demon go?’