David Gemmell – Rigante 3 – Ravenheart

Banarin Ranaud had spent a great deal of time considering just what action of Jace’s might alert the Moidart – and the king – to his infamy.

That was when the plan occurred to him. If Call Jace were to murder Colonel Linax, while under a flag of truce, it would send a clear message south that he was an enemy of the state. The king would be forced to act. Linax had many friends in Varingas.

Ranaud planned the murder with meticulous care. He told Linax that Wullis Swainham had come to him with a request from Call Jace for a meeting. Jace, it seemed, was under pressure from his fiery clan chiefs to start a war. He was seeking ways to avert such a calamity and needed to discuss them with Colonel Linax. It was vital, however, that he and Linax should meet in secret. Linax had agreed, and ordered Ranaud to conduct negotiations as to where and when the meeting should take place.

They had ridden from the barracks at dusk five days later, heading west before cutting into the forest. Linax had been exhausted as they dismounted in a small clearing. He had coughed blood into his handkerchief, then slumped down beside a stream. Ranaud had drawn his pistol and cocked it, walking swiftly to where the colonel sat. As Linax had looked up Ranaud had levelled the pistol and fired, the ball slamming through Linax’s eye and exploding out through the back of his skull.

Leaving Linax’s horse behind, Ranaud had ridden at speed back to the barracks, where he relayed news of Call Jace’s treachery. Then he sent a despatch to the Moidart.

Now, with four thousand men under his command, and a full regiment of the king’s musketeers on their way, he was abouffo achieve the fame and glory that would once and for all put to rest his mother’s prediction. ‘You are a useless creature, Banarin, stupid and weak. You will amount to nothing in this life. You understand? Nothing! You are a worm. And worms live in the dark.’

Ranaud pulled on his boots and buckled on his black breastplate. Today he would ride the twelve miles to the other encampment, to ensure that discipline was being maintained. He was sure that Call Jace would attack. The escape of his daughter was a setback, but when Jace learned of her ordeal he would be filled with rage. He would need revenge. Passion was the one great virtue of the highland race, but also their greatest weakness. Jace would have to seek battle. The only question that remained was which pass he would choose to sally forth from.

Ranaud had two thousand men at each pass. Both groups were equipped with twenty cannon, loaded with cannister shot. When Jace did attack at least half his men would be wiped out in the first volley.

The colonel emerged from his tent and stared up at the entrance to Jace’s stronghold. Six hundred yards of open ground stretched from his cannons to the mouth of the pass. In the time it would take charging men to cover the distance his cannoneers could load and fire twice. It would be a massacre, and Ranaud’s fame would be established.

Banarin Ranaud, the Hammer of the North. He liked the sound of it.

A trumpet sounded, the notes shrill in the cold morning air. The dawn was breaking, and he saw men streaming out from their tents. Ranaud moved swiftly across the camp towards the cannons. He did not run, for such haste would look unseemly from the commanding officer.

The artillery men were dragging the oiled canvas covers from the huge, flaring barrels of their cannons, while other men stoked up the fires behind each weapon. Ranaud reached them and saw the reason for the trumpet call. Hundreds of armed men were gathering in the pass. They were out of range at the moment.

‘Ready the formation!’ ordered Ranaud. Officers relayed his orders. Cavalrymen ran for their mounts, saddling them swiftly. Musketeers gathered in line behind the cannons. Ranaud returned to his tent, loading his two pistols.

Strapping on his sabre, he pushed his pistols into his belt. Today he would see glory.

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