Gaise took a deep breath. He wanted to argue, to rail at his father. His emotions were in turmoil. Instead he rose to his feet and began to pace the room. ‘They are solid but unimaginative.’
‘Do you need dashing and reckless in the east?’
‘No,’ said Gaise. ‘The east cannot be held for long.’
‘Then what do you need?’
‘I need a man who can maintain an organized and spirited withdrawal, keeping the men in good order while holding up the enemy advance.’
‘Someone who will not panic.’
‘Of course.’ Gaise suddenly relaxed. ‘I need Beck for the east,’ he said.
‘Good choice.’
‘Why then did you agree when I said I would keep Beck in Eldacre?’
‘You are the leader, Gaise. Men always tend to agree with the leader. It is the nature of things.’
‘This is not a game, Father.’
‘Of course it is – the oldest game in the world. You have proved yourself in battle, leading men in cavalry charges. This game is different. This game is unlikely to be won by a single, heroic charge. This will be like the wolf pack hunting the stag. This will be about planning, movement, wearing down the enemy, bringing him to bay at exactly the point he is at his weakest. This will be about subtlety and deception. Winter Kay is an excellent strategist. He thinks he is the wolf. He is right. We are the stag. To win you must make him the stag.’
Gaise walked to the window, and stared out at the moonlit mountains. ‘You realize this is the longest conversation we have ever had?’
‘I am not much of a talker. This is no time to be maudlin.’
Gaise laughed. ‘Maudlin? Oh, Father. You have no idea. You talk brilliantly of strategies and leadership. You understand men and what motivates them. Do you have the remotest idea of what motivates me?’
‘No – and nor do I care to,’ snapped the Moidart, rising.
‘Why did you risk yourself for me that night?’ asked Gaise.
The Moidart stiffened. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘The manor was ablaze. Those who could had escaped into the night. You were one of them. When you heard no-one had brought me out you ran back into that blazing building. You found me in my crib. You covered me with a blanket and you ran through the flames and smoke. When you leapt from that upper window your clothes were on fire. The only wound I received was this small burn on my face. You almost died. Why did you do that for me, when you so obviously despised me?’
The Moidart walked to the door, and opened it. He glanced back. ‘I am The Hawk in the Willow,’ he said.
Then he was gone.
Three days south of Eldacre, Kaelin Ring and seven hundred Rigante made camp on a high ridge overlooking a long, wooded valley. No fires were lit, and Kaelin gathered his senior men together. Among them were Rayster, Korrin Talis and Potter Highstone.
Earlier that day they had seen the advance columns of Varlish cavalry, and their outriding scouts. The Rigante, as ordered by Gaise Macon, kept out of sight, fading back into the woods and allowing the enemy to pass unhindered.
A force of several thousand men were heading north, complete with supply wagons and twenty cannon – almost exactly as Aran Powdermill had predicted. They were not, Kaelin was encouraged to know, reinforced by Knights of the Sacrifice, but were made up from elements of the King’s Fourth and Fifth Armies. Many of the foot soldiers of the Fourth had been recruited from prisons. They were known as hardy, brutal fighters. Some of the atrocities committed upon Covenant towns had been laid at their door. The cavalry were a mixture, some battle-hardened veterans, others recruits from the south. The force was led by a Redeemer Knight named Sperring Dale. Gaise Macon’s generals all knew the man. He had ridden into Eldacre with the Finance, but had fled swiftly after the Finance was slain. None liked him, and none knew whether he was a talented officer. All they knew was that his conversation generally revolved around punishment and death for the enemies of the cause. It was said he had supervised the massacre at Barstead, when women and children had been burned alive. However, no-one asked him, and it was just as likely to be mere rumour.