David Gemmell – Rigante 4 – Stormrider

Huntsekker tried to quell his growing anger by examining the ancient weapons here. There were some beautiful swords and knives on display. They had been in the Moidart’s family for generations. Long swords carried by knights, and designed to be used from horseback, blade heavy so that they slashed down with greater force; glaves with massive blades, forged to smash plate armour. It was just such a blade that Jaim Grymauch carried into the cathedral that day. Huntsekker’s favourite, however, was the ornate short sword that had been discovered in the tomb of a Stone general. Wonderful piece, with a hilt of carved ivory and a blade of gleaming iron, burnished like silver. Short swords were infinitely more deadly in a pitched battle. When Huntsekker had been a soldier he had bought a hunting knife with a blade almost a foot in length. That purchase had saved his life on four occasions.

He strolled the gallery, idly glancing at the pikes and lances, breastplates and suits of armour. Then he saw the blank section where once hung the narrow silver breastplate which the Moidart’s grandfather had worn in the First Clan War. Huntsekker sighed. It was this piece that the Moidart had donned last night, before riding out to the battle site.

Huntsekker had not been remotely tempted to ride with him. Nor had the Moidart requested it. There had been no long goodbyes, no words of friendship, no valedictory statements. The Moidart had instructed Huntsekker to buckle the breastplate for him, then selected four pistols.

‘I have no more need for you at present, Huntsekker.’

‘Then I’ll go home, my lord.’

‘Take Maev Ring with you. I’ll have your payment sent on to you after the battle,’ said the Moidart, with just the trace of a smile.

‘Thank you, my lord. Most kind.’

Then he had gone.

Huntsekker stood now, in his full length bearskin coat, loaded pistols in his belt, and waited for a fierce-tongued woman to finish writing her letters.

I could just go and drag her from her office. He chuckled at the thought.

Gunshots sounded from the courtyard. Huntsekker spun. Then he swore and began to run.

As the shots boomed in the courtyard Maev Ring opened the drawer of her desk and pulled out a small pistol, tucking it into a hidden pocket in her heavy grey travelling skirt. Rising from her seat she donned her dark green shawl and stepped out into the corridor. The black hound, Soldier, padded after her.

She heard the sound of running men. A voice shouted: ‘Where is Aran Powder mill?’ Then she heard her own name. Why would anyone be looking for her? The Moidart had come to her last night, urging her to leave the castle this morning. Perhaps he had sent men to escort her. It seemed unlikely. There were no men to spare, though Galliott was still at the castle.

Moving across the corridor into an empty room she made her way to a window and looked down. There was a group of red-cloaked men there, some mounted, some on foot, pistols in their hands. Then she saw the bodies of Galliott and Sergeant Packard.

Drawing her pistol she cocked it, then stood behind the closed door. She heard again the sounds of running men. They entered her office.

‘Where is she?’ someone demanded. There was no reply. Yet they did not move off. Instinctively Maev moved back from the door. It suddenly burst open. The first man through was heavy set and trident-bearded. Maev shot him in the head. He fell heavily.

Another man followed him. Soldier growled and sprang towards him, leaping and closing his fangs on the man’s throat. Then more men ran in. One struck her in the face with his fist. Maev was thrown back against the far wall. A boot struck her in the stomach and she doubled over. She heard a shot, and a dying howl of pain from the hound. Then a hawk-faced man grabbed her long red and silver hair, wrenching back her head. ‘Justice was a long time coming, witch,’ he said, ‘but it is here now.’

From the corridor beyond came a scream, then two more pistol shots. A red-cloaked body hurtled into the room, crunching against the wall. More shots sounded. The man holding her swung his head to see what was going on. A Redeemer staggered backwards through the doorway, a knife in his chest. Maev saw Huntsekker follow him. The big man had blood on his face. Grabbing the Redeemer by the hair he wrenched the knife clear then slashed it across the man’s throat. A heavy sabre lashed into the back of Huntsekker’s head. Blood sprayed out. He half fell. Another man leapt upon him, bearing him to the floor. Huntsekker stabbed him in the groin, threw him clear, then struggled to his feet.

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