‘He was the one who wanted to take those civilians away from us after Nollenby,’ put in Able. ‘He was going to kill them, but the Lord Gaise refused him.’
‘That’s him. Winter Kay.’
‘Is that what this is all about, do you think, sir?’
‘Perhaps. No point trying to make sense of it, Pearce. Any more than trying to find logic amid the madness and stupidity of this war. Forget the reasons for his hatred. Concentrate only on staying alive. If we survive this nightmare that will be the time to wonder how we were drawn into it in the first place.’
‘A lot of my friends were killed back in Shelding. Good men. I grew up with most of them. We attended school together. I’d like this to be over soon.’
‘You’ll get no argument from me on that.’
Gaise Macon chose a campsite on a sparsely wooded hilltop, with good views to the south and west. Scouts were sent out. Mulgrave chose the picket area for the mounts. The horses were tired, their strength also sapped by the limited amount of feed time during the past five days. A supply of grain and a solid day of rest would help, Mulgrave knew. There was little chance of that.
By nightfall the cook fires were lit and the four hundred or so men of the Eldacre Company settled down to enjoy their sparse rations. Mulgrave went in search of Gaise Macon. He found him on the hilltop, once more staring out towards the north. The black hound, Soldier, was lying on the ground, his head resting on the general’s boot.
‘There it is, Mulgrave,’ he said, pointing to a distant snow-clad peak. ‘Caer Druagh. It is good to see it again. Tomorrow we should – if the Source is willing – reach the abandoned settlement of Three Streams. Did you know Connavar the King was born there?’
‘Yes, sir, so I understand. Close to the Wishing Tree woods.’ ‘Yes, I was thinking of camping the men there tomorrow. I’d love to walk under those trees. So much history.’
‘The people who dwell in that area still refrain from entering the Wishing Tree woods,’ said Mulgrave.
‘They think the old dark gods will eat their children, do they?’ ‘No, sir. They avoid them out of respect. To the Rigante the Wishing Tree woods are special. It was there that Connavar lifted the magical fawn from the brambles, and was given his Seidh knife. It was there that Connavar and his son found the last of the gods, the Morrigu, and carried her to a secret gateway to heaven.’
‘You know the Keltoi fables well, Mulgrave. I doubt there were gods and magical blades back then. Storytellers love to embellish tales of heroism with mystical touches.’
‘I expect you are right. I shall go back and wait for the scouts to report. Shall I have food sent up to you?’
Gaise looked at him closely. ‘Have I lost your friendship?’
‘No,’ said Mulgrave, sadly. ‘Though I wish you had.’
In the moonlight Kaelin Ring and Rayster walked with the Wyrd, entering the woods above Shrine Hollow, and gazing down over Sorrow Bird Lake. The waters were still, the night sky clear and bright with shimmering stars. The Wyrd had not spoken much on the long walk from the Round House, though she had bidden Kaelin and Rayster to join her.
The two warriors followed her down to the narrow beach, where her small boat lay.
When she reached it she turned to them. ‘You are the best of the Rigante,’ she said. ‘Remember that. When all around you reeks with evil deeds, hold to the Rigante way.’ She gazed at them both fondly. Kaelin Ring, dark-eyed and sombre, a man of passion constantly seeking to control his turbulent nature, and Rayster, fair-haired and blue-eyed, modest and calm, yet possessing a quiet courage that would stand tall against a tidal wave of evil. They were night and day, the sun and the moon of the Rigante.
‘Will you be coming south with us?’ asked Rayster. She shook her head, and reached up to stroke his face. ‘My talents are not for war and death. But my thoughts will be with you, clansman.’