Camped now on high ground, his remaining twelve cannon trained on a narrow open section of grassland between two stands of trees, Gaise Macon sent out scouts to report on the enemy’s movements. There was almost no need. Their plan was obvious and strikingly effective. Slowly and steadily they pushed ever nearer Eldacre, inexorably forcing Gaise back. The same was happening in the east. Within a few weeks at most only the town itself would offer shelter. Cavalry would be useless and the forces of the Moidart would be contained within the castle. Unable to get supplies they would be starved into submission.
It was galling in the extreme. Gaise had enough men to inflict terrible damage on the enemy, but not enough to ensure a victory.
News had also come in that Winter Kay and a further force of twenty thousand were marching from the south. Konin and Mantilan would not be able to stop them for long.
Lanfer Gosten approached where Gaise was standing alongside a cannon. ‘Another twelve, sir,’ he said. ‘Not so bad.’
‘It will get worse, Lanfer,’ said Gaise. Twelve deserters a night would not damage his ability to fight, but soon the army would begin to haemorrhage. The more they were forced back, the more desertions would escalate.
‘I expect the enemy are losing men too,’ offered Lanfer.
‘Aye,’ agreed Gaise.
‘If they didn’t have them damned knights we’d crack ’em,’ said Lanfer.
‘But they do have those damned knights,’ replied Gaise. ‘And great fighters they are.’
‘We’re not doing so bad against ’em, though, sir.’
Gaise placed his hand on the older man’s shoulder. ‘No, my friend, we have done ourselves proud. We will continue to do so.’
Moving to the picket line Gaise saddled a chestnut gelding. His grey had been killed under him two days ago. He rode down the slope to the left and into the camp of Bael Jace and his Rigante. They had fought coolly and well since their arrival, and were the match of anything the enemy could offer, including the knights. They had lost eight hundred of their two thousand, and each man now carried two muskets, as well as pistols, knives and sabres.
Bael Jace strode out to greet him. There were no smiles or handshakes when Gaise dismounted. Jace had a bandage around his temples, and blood had leaked down, staining the right side of his face.
‘What news?’ asked the Rigante leader.
‘None yet. I just wanted to see how you were faring.’
‘We are fine, Stormrider. Never better.’
‘We’ll draw back tomorrow. There is a good defensive site around four miles east, a high ridge and before it a killing ground.’
‘Whatever you say.’
‘I want you and your men to guard the left flank as we pull back. That’s where the attack will come from. I’ll keep the cavalry in reserve to come to your aid.’
‘I saw a few of your men running away to the east tonight. They had thrown away their muskets.’
‘A shame you didn’t stop them.’
‘Not my problem, Stormrider. If a man wants to leave he is free to do so.’
‘I note that no Rigante has left.’
‘I wouldn’t stop them if they wanted to. They are fighting a war they cannot win.’
Gaise was irritated, but he struggled not to show it. ‘There is always a chance of victory, no matter what the odds.’
‘Oh, that’s true,’ said Jace, ‘but in this case our fate is in the hands of the enemy. I may not be the strategist my father was, but I know what I know. The only way we can win is if the enemy makes a big, big mistake. As matters stand we are killing two of them for every one of us. Since they outnumber us more than three to one you don’t need to be a scholar to know that when we are all dead they’ll still have a few thousand men left.’
‘Are there any more Rigante to call upon?’
‘Aye, there are a thousand warriors back home, Stormrider – and that’s where they’ll stay. I’ll not see the clan wiped out down here. There are enough left there to man the high passes, and I doubt the enemy will want to march north after the pounding we’ve given them here.’