Gaise considered his words. There was wisdom in them. ‘We would never have held out this long without you and the Rigante. I want you to know that I am grateful.’
‘Don’t be. We didn’t come for you. We came because the Wyrd said we should. I don’t care if Eldacre falls. I don’t care if your head and the Moidart’s end up on stakes. You are the enemy of my people. It grieves me to see men die in your cause.’
Gaise said nothing for a moment. Then: ‘I have Rigante blood, Bael, and I value the clan highly. You know this. That is why you call me by my Rigante soul-name.’
‘Aye – and that is why I despise you. You are a brilliant fighter, Gaise Macon. I’ve seen few better. You are fearless and you lead men well. That is your Rigante heritage. That is what would make me proud. Yet you slay without compunction or compassion, and you cut off the heads of fighting men and plant them like a forest of death. You murder men who put up their hands and you soak yourself in blood. That is your Varlish heritage. To see a Varlish do these things is bad enough. But we expect it from them. To see a man with Rigante blood do it is sickening beyond belief.’
Something deep, dark and cold touched Gaise Macon in that moment. There was no anger. He looked at the red-headed clansman and felt his body relax. ‘Eight hundred years ago Bane led the Rigante to the city of Stone. They defeated the armies. The world was theirs, to do with as they pleased. Rigante codes and laws, notions of honour and courage, could have been imposed on all the peoples. Instead Bane brought the clans back across the sea to the Druagh mountains. The Rigante did not want to rule. The honest truth, Jace, is that they did not have the stomach for it. History shows us one harsh and iron fact: those who do not rule are themselves ruled. Once the Keltoi roamed the lands, strong and free. Now you are a tiny, conquered people, holding to a few rocks in the far north. If I want lessons in how to be defeated I will come to you, Jace.’
Stepping into the saddle, Gaise steered the chestnut from the Rigante camp and rode back up to the ridge. He saw one of his scouts galloping across the open ground below. Remaining on his horse Gaise waited for the man. He was young and fair-haired, and his horse was lathered and weary by the time it reached the crest.
‘They have pulled back, my lord. They are heading south-east.’
‘What?’
‘It is true. In full formation, with all supply wagons.’
Gaise sat very still. Was this a trick? Were they seeking to outflank him? It made no sense. The three-pronged attack assured them of victory. Why would they change plans so suddenly? ‘Get a fresh horse and follow them,’ he told the man. ‘Keep well back. I will send other riders to join you. Every hour one of you will come back to report. You understand?’
‘Yes, my lord. You think they are retreating? Have we won?’
Time will tell.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
KAELIN RING DUCKED AS HE RAN THOUGH THE CANNON-BLASTED RUINS of the village. Enemy snipers were hidden in the woods to the north-east, and some of them were highly skilled. Dropping to his knees Kaelin crawled along the shelter of a low wall, then sprinted across a short section of open ground.
No shots were fired.
Garan Beck and his senior officers were within the ruins of a church. The stained glass windows had been blasted away, and fragments of coloured glass littered the nave. Musketeers had set up firing platforms by the windows, and at the far end of the church a surgeon and his orderlies were tending close to a hundred wounded men.
Kaelin approached Beck. The general had lost weight, and the skin of his face was sagging now, adding years to his features. His dark hair was also showing a white line from the temples and up over his brow. Kaelin realized he had previously dyed his hair in a bid to appear younger. Idly he wondered how old Beck really was. The general glanced up as Kaelin entered.