Barin Macy rode at the head of the column. His mind was troubled, and he could not shake off the depression that had left him sleepless for the past two nights. Everything about this coming action was wrong. He knew it. Had known it from the start. If Macon was truly planning to defect then Eris Velroy would not have asked for a meeting in a deserted wood at night. Orders would have come directly from Winter bourne. The Eldacre Company was an elite fighting force. Macon was a dashing general, reckless and brave.
Macy had met him on a number of occasions. He liked him. There was about him a curious naivete, which seemed odd when set against his tactical acumen. No, this action was about politics. Winterbourne hated Macon and wanted him dead. Hundreds of good, loyal men were going to die because of this hatred.
And you are party to it, Macy told himself as he rode.
Yet what choice did he have? Refusal would have resulted in his own death, or banishment. Winterbourne would then have given this task to another commander. The result would be the same. Macon and his men would be dead.
As he rode towards the woods Macy found this argument to be limp and worthless.
A rider came galloping along the line of the column. Drawing up alongside Macy he saluted. ‘A message, sir,’ he said, handing Macy a sealed letter. ‘I was told it was for you alone, sir.’ Macy thanked him. With another salute the rider swung his mount and galloped away.
Macy stared down at the seal. In the moonlight he could just make out that it was from Winterbourne. The writing above the seal was small and neat. So small, in fact, that Macy had trouble in the dim light even making out that it was his name upon it. Dawn was less than half an hour away now, and Macy tucked the letter into his tunic.
Velroy had said that the Redeemers would enter the town following the raid. That would mean citizens being tortured and burned. Macy sighed. He enjoyed army life, and when he had first joined the king’s army had believed in the cause. His thoughts had been of glory, bravery and comradeship. Macy had even allowed himself the fantasy that he too could achieve the kind of fame once enjoyed by Luden Macks.
Instead he had witnessed the horrors of mutilated corpses, and listened to the agonized screams of hideously wounded men. He had learned there were no absolutes in war. No glorious heroes facing vile villains. Just men – thousands of men – all fighting and dying for what they believed in.
Until now.
Vile villains. Did they come more vile than Winterbourne and his Redeemers?
Macy hoped that Konran and the foot soldiers would have taken the town by the time he arrived. He hoped that Gaise Macon would have ridden away, escaping the cannon and the slaughter.
‘Avoid evil, my son,’ his father used to say. ‘It carries the seeds of its own destruction.’
The column rode on, into the shadowed woods.
Some two hundred yards along the road Barin Macy drew rein. The light was increasing now. He held up his arm for the column to halt. Then he drew the letter from his tunic.
The message was short: Macon knows of your plan. He intends to waylay you in the woods. Keep away from the road.
Macy read the message twice, then slowly folded the parchment and replaced it in his tunic. His heart was beating faster now as he swung to look at the ground on either side of the road, as it sloped upwards into the tree line. His mouth was dry. The woods were silent, save for the sound of creaking leather and the snorting of the horses.
Then the air was filled with thunder and screaming shot.
Horses and men went down in their scores. Macy felt a blow to his back and slumped forward over his mount’s neck. Struggling back to a sitting position he tried to pull a pistol from the scabbard on his pommel. Another shot struck him and he tumbled to the ground.