In the bell tent Gaise had listened as a number of officers poured praise on their generals, obviously seeking to win favour. It was mildly stomach-churning. ‘Surely, my lords,’ he had said, ‘the mere fact that we need to debate the issue at all shows that a full victory cannot be claimed? I would agree, however, that victory should have been ours. The enemy was retreating in disorder. One more charge would have routed them.’
‘A matter of opinion,’ snapped Lord Person, resplendent in a beautifully tailored battle coat of red wool, embroidered with gold thread. There was not a mark upon it, not a speck of dust, or a smear of mud. He was a small man, his reddish blond hair close curled and thinning at the crown. His thick moustache was waxed and raised into two points. It was said to be a new fashion in the capital, and Gaise thought it comical.
Gaise Macon had looked into the man’s ruddy face, seeing the hostility in his small, closely set blue eyes. ‘I disagree, my lord. I would be fascinated to know why the Lancers did not move. Did my request for assistance not reach you?’
Person’s round face had flushed crimson. ‘I’ll not be criticized by a glory-seeking popinjay!’ he thundered.
‘Had that popinjay followed your example, general, we would not be discussing the merits of a dubious victory. The enemy would have overrun us.’
Before Person could respond General Buckman raised a hand. ‘Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Let us not descend into rancour.’ Past seventy, and a shrewd soldier, Owen Buckman was renowned for cool courage and total loyalty to the king. When he spoke his words were treated with respect. ‘Our young friend is, in one particular, quite correct. It would be unwise to regard this battle as decisively in our favour. Luden’s forces were intact at the close, and – eventually – withdrew in good order. By now he will have been reinforced by Daily’s infantry. This was, it must be said, an opportunity missed.’
No-one spoke for a moment. Person sat staring malevolently at Gaise Macon. Then the cadaverous figure of Winter Kay, Lord Winterbourne, rose. In the lantern light his unusually pale skin seemed almost translucent, stretched tight across the bones of his face. His deep set, dark eyes were heavily shadowed, and showed no hint of emotion. He was wearing the heavy crimson cloak of the Redeemer Knights, and by his side hung a ceremonial short sword. The soldiers in the tent fell silent, waiting for Winterbourne to speak. Next to Buckman he was the most senior officer present. ‘On current count the enemy lost more than a thousand men,’ he said, his voice cold. ‘He attacked, and was repulsed. In short he failed in his objective. My scouts report he has now pulled back into the hills. It is my belief there will be no major battles until the spring. We now have several months to gather reinforcements, enlist fresh soldiers, and root out traitors from the surrounding towns.’
For the next hour the discussion focused on logistical issues: where the various units would spend winter, how they would be supplied, the gathering of fuel, and the sending out of recruiting teams.
As the meeting closed Lord Buckman drew Gaise aside. ‘I thank you, young man, for your assistance in the field. That was a gallant charge, and a most welcome sight.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Taking Gaise by the arm Buckman led him further from the other officers. ‘You are quite right about Person. His timidity was disgraceful. But be wary of drawing attention to it. The man – like all cowards – has a vengeful soul.’
‘He should be dismissed, sir.’
‘The king likes him, my boy, and we serve the king.’
Now, by the fire, Gaise was restless. His body was weary, but his mind would not relax. He sat up. The snow had stopped. Looking up through the shattered roof he saw that stars were once again bright in the night sky.
Suddenly a scent came to him. Summer pine. With it flowed a breath of warm breeze. Gaise turned towards the far side of the room. Gone were the smoke-blackened wall, the ruined paintings, the charred furniture. Instead tall pine trees were growing there, and beyond them Gaise could see sloping hills of verdant green. A small, white-haired figure moved into sight, sitting down upon a flat stone. Gaise smiled. He had not seen her in years – not since she had given him the Rigante soul-name of Stormrider.