‘Should mean the war is over, sir, shouldn’t it?’
‘Not for us, I fear. Lord Winterbourne wants us dead.’
‘I’m sick of this war,’ said Pearce. ‘Today made me sicker, though. I don’t like seeing men shot down who are surrendering. It’s not right.’
‘Get some rest,’ repeated Mulgrave.
Pearce led his horse towards the picket line and Mulgrave strolled back past the camp fires and on into the woods. He found Gaise Macon sitting on the crest of a hill, his eyes focused on the north.
Gaise glanced up as he saw Mulgrave approach. ‘What news?’ he asked.
‘The king is dead, with all his family. So is Luden Macks.’
‘It does not surprise me. Winterbourne had this planned from the start. It all makes sense now. The nation is rent by civil war, torn and bankrupted by the vanity of a king and the rebellion of a lord. The king’s popularity plummets, as does the reputation of Luden Macks as the champion of the common man. People grow sick of the endless carnage. They cry out for anyone who can bring an end to it. Winterbourne prolonged this war, Mulgrave. It could have been won years ago. He prolonged it because it served his purpose. Had he killed the king two years ago there would have been uproar. Had he defeated Macks the king would have been restored to the crown and Winterbourne become again merely another rich lord. Now he has the country – and the crown, should he desire it. He has it all. And no-one is powerful enough to stand against him.’
‘The word is that Macks broke the truce and killed the king,’ said Mulgrave.
‘A splendid touch. Winter Kay the noble avenger. That is a move that would please the Moidart himself.’
‘I expect it would,’ agreed Mulgrave. ‘As I expect he would have applauded had he seen you shoot an unarmed prisoner in the face.’
Gaise Macon took a deep breath before answering. When he spoke his voice betrayed his anger. ‘You push the bounds of friendship too far, Mulgrave.’
‘No, sir, I do not. You push them too far when you make me an accessory to murder.’
Gaise Macon gave a harsh laugh. ‘One man dies and it is murder. A thousand die and it is war. What next, Mulgrave? Do we argue about how many angels can dance on the head of a pin?’ Gaise rose smoothly to his feet. ‘I behaved as a noble should. I stayed in Shelding when every instinct bade me take my men and desert. I risked death because I felt it was honourable so to do. Yet there is no honour here, Mulgrave. Winter Kay and his Redeemers are murderous vermin. Honour is just a word to them, a noisy sound with no meaning. And because I held to notions of honour Cordelia is dead. She kissed me, Mulgrave. She opened my heart. She reached in and comforted my soul.’ His words tailed away, and Mulgrave saw he was struggling with his emotions. Gaise swung away and stared out to the north.
‘So what is it that you desire now, my lord?’ asked Mulgrave, softly.
‘Oh, the answer to that is simple enough, my friend.’ He glanced up. ‘I expect that we are being observed still, so my words will reach the right ears. I will not rest until Winter Kay and all his Redeemers are dead. I will find each of them, no matter how long it takes. They will all die.’
‘The officer today was not a Redeemer. He was a young man obeying his orders.’
Gaise sighed, and Mulgrave saw his shoulders relax and the tension flow out of him. His curiously coloured eyes, though, glittered with hatred.
‘When we get to Eldacre you should leave my service. Where I travel from this moment on there will be blood and death. Those who stand against me will be destroyed, or I will be destroyed. No quarter will be asked for, and none will be given. Every Redeemer will perish, as will every man who rides or marches under their banner. Those who supply feed for their horses, or water. Those who obey their orders. I will hunt them down and kill them like vermin.’