David Gemmell – Rigante 4 – Stormrider

‘Why? What would you do?’

‘Picture the mountains,’ said the Moidart.

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means a lot to me,’ replied his father, walking back to the white mare and stepping into the saddle. ‘Do your best tomorrow, boy. I shall be watching you with a critical eye.’

‘No change there,’ said Gaise, and realized there was no bitterness in the words.

Aran Powdermill did not see himself as a traitor. He did not serve the Moidart out of loyalty. He had been hired to perform a service, and then pressganged into continuing that service. Indeed, had he chosen to exercise his rights as a free man and leave the Moidart had made it clear that Huntsekker would come after him and take his head. No, there was no question of treachery here. Quite the opposite, Powdermill decided. He was the victim of treachery, in that the Moidart had tricked him, and not allowed him to leave.

Added to which Powdermill would not be taking this action had the Moidart and his son not made such a stupid decision. Gaise had the skull, probably the greatest magical relic in known history. How could they not seek to use it? They would be killed now, the enemy triumphant, and the skull once more in the hands of Winter Kay. It was inevitable.

Why then should Aran himself not find a way to profit from the disaster?

It all made perfect sense.

He recalled his last conversation with the Moidart, late the previous afternoon.

‘The skull is hidden somewhere in the castle. Can you locate it?’

‘No, my lord,’ lied Powdermill. ‘The Lord Gaise has the Sword in the Storm. It blinds my talents. But has he not said it is too dangerous to use?’

‘Nothing is too dangerous to use,’ said the Moidart. ‘But if you cannot find it then that is an end to it.’

In truth Aran had not set out to lie to the Moidart. It had been a sudden impulse. Part of it was the truth. When Gaise hid the skull he had been protected by the Sword in the Storm. But as soon as he moved away Aran had felt the power of the skull, radiating from deep within the castle. It pulled at him, tugging at his conscious mind. Aran was a man who loved magic, and had never, until he felt the Sword in the Storm, handled any object of great power.

With the Moidart and Gaise away from the castle he took a lantern and climbed to the upper levels, locating the now unused apartments where Gaise had spent much of his youth. Powdermill hauled aside the threadbare rug beside the bed and knelt to examine the timbered flooring beneath. Drawing a slender knife he inserted the blade between two sections of board and applied pressure. The hidden section creaked open. With trembling hands he lifted the velvet sack from its hiding place. Even through the cloth he could feel the power radiating.

Now back in his own room he sat with the skull in his lap. He had expected to commune with the spirit of Cernunnos, but nothing happened. Even so, he felt his own talents swelling and growing. And with them came the realization that he had in his hands an object far more powerful than he could safely use.

His first plan had been to flee the castle and take the skull with him. This was no longer an option. The raw energy it radiated could never be hidden completely by ward spells. Other magickers would sense it. Warriors would find him and seize it. He tried once more to commune with Cernunnos. Nothing. No, he realized, not quite nothing. He sensed that he was being heard, but ignored.

Closing his eyes he soared above the night dark battlefield, pausing to gaze down on the waiting men of both sides. From here he could see the formations, the two main ridges occupied by Beck and Mantilan, the infantry spread out thinly behind earth bags, or within trenches. Cavalry mounts were picketed on both flanks.

The enemy force was drawn up into three great divisions. From this great height the sheer numerical superiority of Winter Kay’s forces was manifestly apparent.