‘Grymauch was a great man,’ said Kaelin.
‘Aye, I know that. I thought he was unique. He wasn’t. All you Rigante have the same qualities. Men to ride the river with, as the old books say.’ Gaise drew his sword, reversed it and offered it to Kaelin Ring.
‘I don’t need a sword,’ he said.
‘This is the sword of Connavar, the Sword in the Storm. It must remain with the Rigante, Kaelin.’
‘Connavar carried no sabre.’
Take it and see.’
Kaelin hesitated, then reached out and wrapped his hand round the hilt. The blade shimmered, and once more the golden fist guard reshaped itself. Kaelin gazed at it in amazement. The rearing horse in the clouds had been replaced by a hound standing alongside a stag. ‘This is how I got my soul-name,’ whispered Kaelin. ‘The hound was my father’s. It was called Raven. It rescued a stag surrounded by wolves.’
‘I was proud to carry it,’ said Gaise Macon.
With that he returned to his mount and rode up the slope. The Moidart was waiting for him. His breastplate was dented, his arm crudely bandaged, but he bore no other wounds, despite the carnage inflicted on this ridge all day. ‘Where is Beck?’ asked Gaise.
‘Sleeping. He’s not as young as he pretends.’
‘He’s a good man.’
‘He’s solid,’ agreed the Moidart. ‘Did Mantilan get off the ridge?’
‘No. He’s dead, along with Bael Jace and eight hundred Rigante.’
‘Konin is also dead,’ said the Moidart. ‘He had grit, that man.’
‘There has been a wealth of courage on both sides today,’ said Gaise, staring out over the field of corpses.
‘What now, Stormrider?’ asked the Moidart.
‘Now we win, Father.’
‘That would be pleasant – not to say miraculous.’
‘We will talk of it in the morning. Is Taybard Jaekel still alive?’
‘If I knew who he was I’d answer you.’
Gaise moved away among the men. He found Taybard apparently sleeping alongside the wakeful Jakon Gallowglass.
‘How are you faring?’ asked Gaise, crouching down.
‘Can’t complain,’ said Gallowglass wearily. Gaise reached out to wake Taybard. ‘He’s dead, general. Didn’t fire a shot all day. Said he wasn’t going to kill anyone else. I tried to stop him but he just stood up during the last salvo. A lump of shot tore his chest open.’
Gaise looked into the dead man’s face. In the moonlight he looked serene, and he seemed to be smiling. Gaise opened Taybard’s shirt and tugged clear the golden musket ball in its cage of silver wire. ‘He was a good lad,’ said Gallowglass. ‘But he’d had enough.’
‘We’ve all had enough,’ said Gaise. ‘Tell me, Gallowglass, are you a good shot?’
‘No, sir. Average, I’d say. I’m good with knife or sword, though.’
Gaise gathered up Taybard Jaekel’s Emburley rifle and rose. As he turned he saw Mulgrave walking towards him.
And beside him was the Wyrd of the Wishing Tree wood.
Two hours later, back at Eldacre Castle, Gaise Macon retrieved the skull from the clansman, Rayster, and took it to his old rooms, high in the north tower. He had spent much of his childhood in these apartments, and despite the cold, gloomy decor they remained special in his memories. It was here that he had read many of the books supplied by Alterith Shaddler, the wonderful tales of Connavar and Bane, the legends of Stromengle, the axe-wielding All-Father of the early Vars. Here he had devoured the great romances of the Bard King and the Star Princess. In these rooms Gaise Macon had dreamed of becoming a great and noble man.
He felt neither great nor noble as he wearily ascended the stairs. The rooms – unused now for years – were cold and smelled of damp. Heavy curtains had been left across the windows, and these were mildewed.
Gaise sat in an old armchair, removed the skull from the velvet sack and held it in his hands. Instantly fresh energy surged through him. A golden figure shimmered into being.
‘You fought well, kinsman. There is nothing to reproach yourself for. No-one could have done more.’
‘It was a charnel house. I have never seen so much slaughter in one day,’ said Gaise.