On the day of the execution a Redeemer stood in front of the crowd and asked if any would speak up for the accused, or offer reason why they should not die. No-one did. Ermal burned with shame and guilt.
For, as his spirit floated above the bound men at the stakes, Tam had looked up and seen him. The old man mouthed the words: ‘I forgive you.’ That forgiveness seared worse than any punishment Ermal could imagine.
Four years later the shame remained. ‘I should have been there to speak for you, Tam,’ he said.
And now it was strengthened by a new guilt. Today he had listened as Mulgrave spoke of spirits with scaled faces and Ermal had known what they were. Yet once more he had not spoken the full truth. The Redeemers were the new Dezhem Bek, and Ermal Standfast knew the extent of their powers.
Yes, he had given Mulgrave a charm that might keep him from spiritual harm, but he had not warned him of the true nature of the enemy.
Tears spilled to the priest’s cheeks. ‘You are a worthless craven,’ he told himself.
CHAPTER THREE
TAYBARD JAEKEL LAY FLAT ON HIS BELLY, HIS LONG RIFLE CRADLED across his arms. With great care he crawled through the undergrowth. He no longer cared about the mud smearing across his leaf green uniform jacket, or staining the silver embroidered Fawn in Brambles insignia. His jacket was now filthy, old tears clumsily stitched. Two years ago he had been so proud of this uniform, and eager to prove himself worthy of it. He had stood with Kammel Bard, Banny Achbain, and scores of other young men to take the oath of allegiance to the king, and had marched out of Eldacre to fight the evil Covenanters. There had been a band playing, and the sky had been blue and clear, the sun bright. Crowds had lined the roads, cheering the gallant young men.
Taybard pushed such thoughts from his mind as he reached the beginning of the downward slope into the valley. He crawled on, his rifle cradled across his forearms. A shot sounded. Taybard ducked instinctively, then swore as the hammer of his rifle dug into his left cheek, piercing the skin. Easing himself between two bushes he gazed out at the opposite slope. It was wooded, and several boulders jutted from the hillside. Taybard glanced down into the valley, where a squad of scouts from the King’s Second Lancers were pinned down. Two men lay dead – evidence of the skill of the enemy musketeer – the other eight hunkering down behind what meagre shelter they could find. Another shot broke the silence. No-one was hit. The squad had no muskets, and could not return fire at this range with their pistols.
Taybard’s blue eyes focused on the hillside opposite, locating the puff of smoke drifting from a large boulder just outside the tree line. Settling himself down he brought his own rifle to bear. It was a beautiful piece, the stock and butt of hand-polished walnut, delicately engraved and inlaid with silver. Gaise Macon had ordered twenty rifles from the legendary Emburley. Each one had cost more than a poor Varlish like Taybard Jaekel would earn in ten years. Taybard carried his rifle everywhere, and even slept with it alongside him. The guns were highly prized. One of Gaise’s twenty riflemen had got drunk in Baracum, and had woken in the morning to find his rifle stolen. Gaise had hanged him.
Nestling the butt into his shoulder, Taybard waited. He gauged the distance between himself and the Covenanter musketeer at just over two hundred paces. An impossible shot for a regular musket, and a difficult one even for an Emburley with a rifled barrel.
The Covenanter sniper raised himself up, levelled his musket and fired at the soldiers below. Taybard did not shoot. He counted. The sniper had reared up swiftly, then taken three seconds to aim. Once he had fired he dropped back behind the boulder to reload.
Taybard eased back the engraved hammer and took aim.
On the opposite hillside the Covenanter came up into position. Taybard let out his breath, steadied his aim, and fired. The sniper jerked, dropped his weapon and fell against the boulder, sliding from sight. Taybard came to his feet, added a fresh charge of powder, ball and paper wadding to the barrel and rammed it home. Then he primed the flash pan, cocked the weapon and strode out from his hiding place. The soldiers below saw him and sent up a cheer.