He would find the skull, then avenge his brother’s death.
Cutting to the right the troop of riders headed for the castle. There was a mass of tents outside the walls, and Winter Kay saw a number of wounded men, some of them heavily bandaged, others with splints upon broken legs and arms. Ignoring them he steered his gelding through the gates.
An elderly sentry looked up as they rode through. He did not challenge them. Then an officer appeared from a side doorway. He was followed out by a burly soldier. The officer walked out towards the riders, his expression puzzled. ‘Are you seeking the Moidart?’ he asked.
‘I am looking for Aran Powdermill,’ Winter Kay told him.
‘I am Colonel Galliott. Perhaps I can assist you. Are you with Konin’s detachment?’
‘No, colonel,’ said Winter Kay. ‘I am Lord Winterbourne.’
The officer grabbed for the pistol in his belt. Winter Kay already had his hand upon the butt of his own pistol. He drew it swiftly, cocked it and fired. The ball took Galliott in the chest. He fell back with a cry, dragging his own pistol clear, and shot back. A rider to Winter Kay’s right took the ball in the face and was hurled from his mount. The burly soldier who had emerged with Galliott drew his sabre and rushed at Winter Kay. A Redeemer spurred his horse between them and shot the man in the throat at point blank range.
Another shot rang out. A Redeemer cried out in pain and slumped over his saddle. The elderly sentry had discharged his musket behind them. Several of the Redeemers shot him. Winter Kay stepped down from his mount. Leaving nineteen men to secure the courtyard he took nine men with him and ran into the main castle building. Two servants came into sight. Seeing armed men they turned to flee. Winter Kay chased the first and caught him by the arm. ‘Where is Aran Powdermill?’ he shouted.
The servant pointed up the main stairway. ‘On the first floor. Fourth room on your left, sir.’
‘And Maev Ring?’
‘Also on the first floor, but to the right, at the end of the corridor.’
Winter Kay pushed the man aside and moved up the stairs. As he climbed he shouted: ‘Powdermill, where are you?’
At the top he saw a door open, and a small man with two gold teeth step, out. The man blinked in surprise, then waved Winter Kay forward. Followed by his Redeemers Winter Kay ran down the corridor.
‘I didn’t expect you to come yourself, my lord,’ said Powdermill.
Winter Kay ignored him and entered the small room. He almost groaned with pleasure when he saw the velvet sack upon a walnut table. Pushing Powdermill aside he stepped forward and opened the sack, laying his hands reverently upon the ancient bone. Fresh energy poured into him, and a great sense of calm descended. Kneeling before the skull he kissed it. His head cleared. Then he rose and faced Powdermill. ‘You have been true to your word, Master Powdermill. You may serve me, and you will receive Gaise Macon’s sword. Now take me to Maev Ring.’
Huntsekker was annoyed as he paced the weapons gallery. He had planned to leave Eldacre this morning, to take Maev Ring back to the north. She had agreed to go, but had claimed to need time to settle her new affairs here. She had letters she needed to write. Letters, for heaven’s sake! The world was coming apart and she needed to write letters.
After they were written they would need to be delivered. It was nonsense. They would hitch up the wagon and go riding around the town, and all the while the enemy would be drawing nearer.
I should just leave, Huntsekker told himself. Head off to my farm. Forget the woman.
It was this comforting thought that caused his annoyance. Because despite the eminent good sense of such a plan he couldn’t do it. In all the great tales of heroism Huntsekker had learned as a young boy the hero never left the maiden in distress. The fact that here was a harridan in distress did not, he feared, alter the basic concept.