David Gemmell – Rigante 4 – Stormrider

A cool breeze whispered across the bridge. Gaise wandered back through the camp.

Mulgrave was sleeping by the remains of a low wall. Gaise felt a stab of remorse as he recalled the sorrow in his friend’s eyes. For all his skills Mulgrave was not a man made for battles and wars. There was only one way to deal with an enemy as evil as Winter Kay. Kill him, and all who serve him. Wipe them and their memory from the face of the earth. Anger roiled in Gaise Macon’s heart as he saw again the still, lifeless form of Cordelia Lowen. He had not even been able to stay and bury her. He had left her body alongside her father and led his men from Shelding.

What a fool I was, he thought, allowing my head to be filled with thoughts of honour and chivalry. The Moidart would never have allowed himself to be trapped as he was. He would have moved his men out at first sign of Winter Kay’s treachery, not sat like some sacrificial lamb awaiting the slaughter.

Cordelia had tried to tell him to leave, but he would not listen. Had he done so she would now be alive, as would the two hundred Eldacre men who had trusted him to lead them. Would Connavar have sat waiting to be murdered? Would Bane have talked of honour and good faith?

Gaise walked over to the picket line and saddled his gelding. Lanfer Gosten approached him. ‘Scouts report no troops anywhere, sir,’ he said.

‘Take Soldier and give him some food. I’ll be back soon,’ said Gaise.

Gosten hooked his fingers into the hound’s collar. ‘Yes, sir. Might I enquire where you’re going?’

‘The Wishing Tree woods. I’ve always had a hankering to see them.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Gaise rode off. He could hear Soldier barking and wanting to follow. He glanced back. Lanfer Gosten was struggling to hold on to the hound. Once Gaise topped the rise the barking ceased. The gelding stumbled as they moved onto the downward slope. Gaise slowed him from a canter to a walk. The horse was weary, his movements sluggish. ‘You’ll be able to rest soon, boy,’ said Gaise, patting the gelding’s sleek grey neck. There were only a few patches of snow now on the higher hills, and the rising sun shone with the warmth of spring.

‘Scouts report no troops anywhere, sir.’

They will be coming soon, thought Gaise. Winter Kay will bring his army north.

He reined in the gelding and swung back to look down on Three Streams. On one of these hills Bane had fought a battle against Varlish raiders. He had been aided, according to some accounts, by outlaws, and had saved Connavar’s mother, Meria.

Gaise had always enjoyed stories of Bane and his father Connavar. Their uneasy relationship mirrored that of Gaise and the Moidart. It had moved Gaise to tears when he had read how Bane returned and became reconciled with his father at the point of Connavar’s death. As a child he had longed to be reconciled with the Moidart. He would have given ten years of his life just to have the man smile and hug him. It was not to be. The Moidart had been constant in his contempt.

Pushing thoughts of his father from his mind Gaise rode towards the woods. It surprised him that they looked just like every other stand of trees: oak, sycamore, birch and beech. There was nothing mystical about them. What did you expect, he asked himself ? Fire breathing dragons? Unicorns? A Seidh maiden, dressed in white?

As he approached the woods a young man stepped from the shadows of the trees. He was fair-haired and dressed in a long, grey, threadbare coat. His leggings and boots were of cheap cloth and leather. He appeared to be carrying no weapon. Gaise scanned the trees behind him.

‘Good morning,’ said the young man.

‘And to you. You live near here?’

‘No. Not any more. Once I lived here.’

‘In these woods?’

‘For a time. I was born in Three Streams.’

‘There has not been a settlement here in a hundred or so years.’

‘I know,’ said the man, ‘sad, isn’t it? Such good land.’