And earlier this night Kaelin had pointed a pistol at a man who might well be his brother. He would have used it too. He would have shot Gaise Macon from the saddle.
For three unknown Varlish soldiers.
Kaelin sighed. It was all madness. He found himself longing to be back at Ironlatch, holding Chara in his arms, watching little Jaim play in the meadow. Thinking of his son made him remember yet again the man whose name he carried. He wondered what Jaim Grymauch would have made of this war. Then he smiled. If Jaim had been here he would even now be stretched out and fast asleep, just like Korrin Talis. Jaim was not a man who worried overmuch about matters outside his realm of control. He lived for the day, and gloried in every breath he took.
Turning and easing himself up Kaelin glanced over the top of the makeshift wall. On the southern hills he could see the enemy cannon being brought into place. There were already some forty in view. There would be more coming.
The whole of the valley was strangely peaceful, the moonlight pure silver. Within a few hours the air would be filled with screeching shells and the screams of dying men.
‘Sleep, you fool,’ Kaelin told himself. ‘You’ll need all your strength soon.’
On the western slope Taybard Jaekel was sitting in a narrow trench, Jakon Gallowglass beside him. The trenches had been the idea of General Beck. Once the cannon fire began the vast majority of the men on the hill tops would retire back into the relative safety of the low ground. A few would remain, keeping a watch for enemy advances. The trenches were for them. Taybard failed to see how a narrow hole scraped in the mud would keep him safe, but there was little point in questioning the orders of a general.
Taybard was feeling ill at ease. His Emburley rifle was clean and ready, a new flint locked into the hammer. The forty lead balls in the pouch at his side had been fashioned by Taybard himself, and rubbed down with sanded paper to remove any hint of imperfection. He could feel the weight of the pouch. Tomorrow, if he survived the full day, it was likely that at least thirty more souls would be added to his ever lengthening death list. In large part Taybard would have loved to be able to toss the rifle aside and say to Gallowglass: ‘That’s it, my killing days are over.’ He would walk from the battlefield and not look back.
His heart yearned for him to do just that. But that would mean leaving Lanfer and Jakon, and the Grey Ghost, to do his fighting for him. Caught between the desire for escape and the demands of loyalty Taybard Jaekel felt lost.
‘Are you all right, Jaekel?’ asked Gallowglass.
‘Will you stop asking me that?’ Ever since the night at the Rigante camp Gallowglass had hovered around him like a mother hen. ‘I’m fine. Steady as a rock.’
‘Good to have the Rigante so close,’ said Gallowglass. ‘Can’t see anyone cutting a swath through them bastards.’
‘I wish I knew how they did it,’ said Taybard.
‘Did what? Fight? Born to it, I guess.’
‘No, I didn’t mean that. I meant how do they kill so savagely and yet retain so much . . . nobility. I was so proud of them when they refused to let us kill those prisoners.’
‘Crazy if you ask me. I mean, where’s the sense in it? Kill them in battle or kill them in camp. We’re still killers. Would it have been sensible for Kaelin Ring to shoot the Grey Ghost over three men he didn’t know? The war could have been lost as a result. No. He should have just let the prisoners be taken.’
‘I disagree – though I can’t offer any proper reason as to why,’ said Taybard. ‘I just know in my heart it was right.’
‘You are an odd one for a soldier,’ said Gallowglass. ‘I don’t see where right comes into it. The duty of a soldier is to kill the enemy. Those men were the enemy. End of story. It’s not about right. It’s about rules. The rules of war say prisoners should be treated with respect.’