Then leave!’ snapped Maggrig.
‘And where would I go, Maggrig? No, I don’t mind dying alongside you. In fact I don’t mind dying. My hope is that we cull their ranks enough for the other clans to have a chance of defeating them.’
‘You think I’ve been foolish?’ asked Maggrig, slumping beside him.
‘No. We ran out of choices, that’s all.’
For a time they sat in silence, then Maggrig turned to his companion. ‘Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?’
‘I don’t mind if you ask,’ said Leofas. ‘I may not answer.’
‘Why did you never re-marry? You were only a young man when Maerie died.’
Leofas switched his gaze to the stars and the years slipped away like falling dreams. He shook his head. Finally he spoke, his voice soft, his eyes distant.
‘I miss her most at sunset, when we’d go to the ridge behind the house. There was an old elm there. I built a seat around the base and we’d sit there and watch the sun die. I’d wrap us both in my cloak and she’d rest her head on my shoulder. It was so peaceful, you could believe there was not another living being in the world. I felt alive then. I never have since.’
‘So why not re-marry?’
‘I didn’t want anyone else. And you?’
‘No one else would have me,’ said Maggrig.
‘That’s not true.”
‘No, it’s not,’ admitted Maggrig. ‘But then Rhianna and I didn’t watch many sunsets. In truth we spent most of our life together squabbling and rowing. But she was a good lass for all that. Maeg was four when Rhianna died, she wouldn’t have taken to another mother.’
‘We’re a pair of fools,’ said Leofas again. ‘Do you regret not having sons?’
‘No,’ lied Maggrig. ‘And we’re getting maudlin.’
‘Old men are allowed to get maudlin. It’s a rule of life.’
‘We’re not that old. I’m as strong as ever.’
‘I’m ten years older than you, Maggrig, and, according to tradition, that makes me wise. Between us we muster a century or more. That’s old.’
‘I never used to be old,’ said Maggrig, grinning. ‘Strange how it creeps up on a man.’
They let the silence grow, each drifting on a river of memories. It was, they believed, their last night alive under the stars and neither wanted to talk about tomorrow.
Drada was angry, more angry than he could ever recall. The clans had mounted a series of raids, retreating always to the east. He sensed a plan behind the attacks and now it had become clear.
That morning Aenir scouts had reported a movement of the clans towards a pass six miles east. Drada, who had scouted the land personally some days before, knew that the pass was blocked and impassable to the north. Surely the clans would not consider a battle there? But they had, and now the Aenir force was waiting in the mouth of Icairn’s Folly – and Drada was crimson with rage.
‘But why attack, Father? It is unnecessary. There is no way out for them; if we wait they must attack us.’
‘I command here!’ thundered Asbidag. ‘Why do you plead caution when we have them where we want them?’
‘Listen to me, Father. The slopes within could hold a thousand archers. They will take a huge toll. The main army will be near the centre of the pass, where the mountain walls narrow, which means our weight of numbers will be lessened. We will be fighting one to one. Of course we’ll win – but we could lose thousands in there.’
‘They brought me Barsa’s rotting corpse this morning,’ said Asbidag. ‘Now I have two sons calling for vengeance. And you want me to sit and wait.’
The clans have made a terrible mistake,’ said Drada. ‘They are hoping we will do exactly what you are planning. It is their only hope.’
‘What are you, a prophet now? How do you know what they are planning? I believe we have surprised them in their lair. Get the men ready to charge.’
Drada swallowed his anger, and it tasted of bile. He turned away from his father then, so that he would not see the burning hatred in his eyes.