The one-armed man came closer. Winter Kay dragged his own sabre from its scabbard. This man could not possibly defeat him. His face was grey with exhaustion and pain, and fresh blood was dripping from the amputated limb.
‘Step aside, man, and live,’ said Winter Kay. ‘In your condition you are no match for me.’
The man did not move. Winter Kay suddenly leapt forward, his sabre lancing for the man’s chest. The Rigante’s blade swept up, blocking the lunge, then rolling over and round it, before plunging through Winter Kay’s throat.
‘No match for you, fool? I am Rigante.’
They were the last words Winter Kay heard.
The battle raged on for most of the day. By afternoon the losses on both sides were prodigious. Mantilan had held his eastern ridge until almost dusk, but then the enemy had forced their way through. Gaise Macon led his cavalry in a counter charge, but to no avail. Mantilan was killed, along with Bael Jace and more than eight hundred Rigante.
The western ridge, under Beck and the Moidart, did hold, though at the cost of three thousand men. Konin’s cavalry had come to their aid, but had taken massive casualties. Konin himself was killed in the last charge.
As two divisions of enemy infantry had stormed the ridge Kaelin Ring had led his surviving five hundred fighters up its northern slope to reinforce the Moidart and Beck.
The fighting was ferocious. As the Rigante arrived the enemy had reached the crest of the ridge and were battling hand to hand with the defenders. Kaelin saw the Moidart holding his ground, two pistols in his hands. He brought up the first and discharged it. Then the second. Two men fell. Dropping the pistols the Moidart drew a sabre. A musketeer ran at him, bayonet lunging for the Moidart’s belly. The nobleman swayed to his right. The bayonet lanced through his arm. His sabre cut down across the musketeer’s neck, opening the jugular. Kaelin and the Rigante tore into the enemy.
On the slope below Gaise Macon charged his cavalry into enemy infantry reinforcements, scattering them.
With the dread Rigante cutting and killing on the crest of the ridge, and the cavalry below seeking to cut them off, the Varlish attack faltered. Men began to stream back down the slope, seeking to escape the slaughter. The Rigante pursued them, and the retreat became a rout.
Kaelin blew his horn three times, summoning his men back to the ridge. Then he saw the Moidart trying to pull the bayonet from his left arm. Kaelin sheathed his sabre and knife and moved to him. Taking hold of the musket he drew the blade clear. The Moidart said nothing. Gripping his bicep to staunch the blood flow he moved past Kaelin and stared out at the fleeing troops.
Gaise Macon’s cavalry were harassing the enemy, but there were not enough of them to continue an assault on the enemy lines. They came under fire from reserves on the southern slopes and were forced to withdraw.
‘It’s a damned stalemate,’ said the Moidart. ‘Tomorrow it will begin again.’
As night fell Gaise Macon rode among the remnants of his army, knowing that tomorrow the enemy would overwhelm them.
He located Kaelin Ring. The surviving Rigante had positioned themselves on the slopes of the western ridge and, though exhausted, were busy digging trenches and throwing up earthworks.
Gaise dismounted. Kaelin saw him and nodded. ‘It’s over,’ said Kaelin, softly. ‘We’ll not hold them tomorrow.’
‘I know.’
‘We could pull back, then hit them with raids as they move.’
‘I have another plan.’
‘Share it with me. I love listening to good plans.’
Gaise looked away. ‘I am sorry, Kaelin Ring. I am sorry for all that you and your men have been through in this cause. Bael Jace told me he despised me. I understand that. At this moment I despise myself. I came to the point where I put aside all that I had once believed in. What did you do with those boys you captured?’
‘I let them go.’
‘Good.’ Gaise looked around at the Rigante as they continued to toil. ‘I remember, back when the world was not so vile, that day when your uncle took on the Varlish champion. I recall thinking that he was the most amazing man. Gorain had greater strength and more acquired skill and yet your uncle fought him to a standstill, and beat him.’