Mulgrave was tired as he strolled across the bridge towards the little church. He had slept poorly these last few nights, his mind roiling with unresolved questions. Outlying scouts had been reporting troop movements, which made little sense during a ceasefire, and yesterday sixty wagons had arrived, removing all powder and supplies from the new depot constructed on the orders of Cordley Lowen. It seemed to Mulgrave a waste of time, money and effort to construct a depot and then almost immediately abandon it. Added to which it meant that the soldiers of the Eldacre Company now had only the ammunition and powder they were carrying. Should Luden Macks break the ceasefire the Eldacre men would be unable to fight for more than a day. Mulgrave had put these worries to Gaise Macon. 'We will probably be ordered elsewhere within the next few days,' the young general had said. 'Obviously the high command have decided to move the lines.'
'The high command, sir, is Lord Winterbourne. Do you feel comfortable knowing that our men now have no source of ammunition? Tomorrow they are removing the food supplies.'
'No, I don't feel comfortable, my friend. It is most galling to be left in a reactive situation. We can do nothing. We must await orders. However, we can ensure the scouts move further afield. I want to know of any further troop movements in the area.'
'Why so, sir?'
'The line is being drawn back. Save for us. We are now sitting out in the open, with no reinforcements to call upon. The nearest Royalist forces are now six miles east of us. I can make no sense of it. If Macks was to attack we could be surrounded and wiped out before any help arrived.'
'If any help was ordered to arrive,' said Mulgrave.
Tell the scouts they are to avoid being seen.'
Mulgrave had smiled. 'That is the point of being a scout, sir, surely?'
'I mean by our own allies as well as the troops of Luden Macks.'
The words had chilled Mulgrave.
Now, as he made his way to Ermal Standfast's cottage, he found himself relaxing. The little priest's company was always a joy. Yet when he arrived he saw a small wagon outside the door. As he approached it he found it was packed with items of Ermal's furniture, and a great many boxes. There were bundles of books tied with string. Two men emerged from the house carrying an old leather chair. They nodded to Mulgrave as they passed.
The swordsman entered the cottage. The main room was almost empty now, and Ermal came into sight from the lower bedroom, carrying yet another bundle of books. He saw Mulgrave and gave a nervous smile. The two men returned. Ermal handed them the books, asking them to place them in the wagon. After they had done so he gave them each a silver chailling. The men touched their caps and walked out.
'What is happening here?' asked Mulgrave.
'I am ... er ... leaving for the south, Mulgrave.'
'This is a swift decision. Only yesterday you said you were looking forward to the spring.'
'Yes, it is a little swift. But the decision is made.'
'What is wrong, Ermal?'
'Nothing. Nothing at all. I have a sister in Varingas. I... feel the need to put the fears of war far behind me.'
'It seems to me that you are frightened, Ermal.'
The little man's shoulders sagged. Mulgrave saw him glance nervously towards the ceiling. 'Yes, I am frightened. Wars do that to me. I would like to live quietly in the capital. You remember telling me of your dreams of the white-haired old woman . . . who lived in the south by the sea? Yes, of course you do,' he added swiftly. 'She felt that death was hunting her. I have been having those same dreams, Mulgrave. The very same ones that you told me about. I am not a young man any more. I just want to live out my life, and study my books, and help people where I can with a few medicines and powders. I am not a warrior. I want no part in the violence that is all around me. I don't want hungry carrion birds pecking at my eyes. You understand? They are here. You only have to look in the trees around us to see them waiting to feed. I wish you well, Mulgrave. Now I must go.'
He moved towards Mulgrave and shook his hand. The swordsman saw the sheen of sweat upon the old priest's features.
'May the Source be with you always,' said Mulgrave.
Ermal Standfast's eyes shone with repressed tears. 'I do not think He cares overmuch about weak men like me,' he said.
Then he took his old coat from its hook and struggled into it. Mulgrave walked with him to the wagon. They spoke no more and Mulgrave stood silently as the vehicle trundled over the snow. Ermal did not call out a farewell. Nor did he wave.
Mulgrave returned to the silent house. The fire was still burning, though there were no chairs to sit upon. Even the old hearth rug was gone. The swordsman sat down upon the floor. Ermal's words had been strange. Mulgrave knew he was trying to tell him something, but had spoken as if they were being overheard. The white-haired woman was in the north, not the south. She had not been hunted by death, but by the Dezhem Bek.
'I have been having those same dreams, Mulgrave. The very same ones that you told me about.'
Ermal had also dreamt of them.
'I don't want hungry carrion birds pecking at my eyes. You understand? They are here. You only have to look in the trees around us to see them waiting to feed.''
Hungry carrion birds. The Ravenous Ravens. The Dezhem Bek.
They are here.
Winter Kay had long believed himself to be above rage. He saw the outpourings of violent anger as indications of a lesser intellect. Which was why he was struggling to control the volcanic state of his own temper. How could Marl Coper have been so stupid? Could he not detect the simple ward spells around the manor? And to shoot the Harvester without bothering to find the body? Such complacency deserved torture and death. Winter Kay poured himself a cup of cold water and sipped it. Calm yourself, he thought. Think!
All of his plans over the years had been meticulously orchestrated, with almost complete success in every quarter. Orders had been given and carried out. Good men had been recruited, while the weak and the difficult had been brushed aside or killed. The king was now an irrelevance, the Covenanters about to be destroyed, and the wonderful wholeness of the strategy on the verge of a triumphant completion.
He wandered to the window and stared down at the castle grounds. Some of his guests were wandering the gardens. Several riders were cantering across the open land beyond the western wall on a hawking venture. The lead rider, wearing a purple sash, was the king. The sun was shining now with the promise of spring. Winter Kay took a deep breath.
Let us seek a little perspective here, he told himself. I was complacent in the question of Gaise Macon. Person was a cowardly fool, Macon brighter than I had anticipated. It will not save him now. Thoughts of Macon's impending demise helped relax him. Yet what of the Moidart? This was a real source of regret. The man would have been a great help in the cause. I should have gone to him sooner, thought Winter Kay. I should have healed his burns and made him one of us.
Too late now.
A light tapping sounded at the door. 'Come in, Velroy,' he called.
Eris Velroy entered and bowed. The man looked tired, his face ashen. His eyes darted to the box on the table, containing the Orb of Kranos.
'Sit down, man,' said Winter Kay. Velroy pushed a hand through his thick, sandy hair, then rubbed at his dark-ringed eyes. He slumped to a seat. 'You managed to break through the ward spell?'
'It was not necessary, my lord. The Moidart had no spell placed over the dungeon. I think he wanted us to see the torture of Marl. It was ghastly.'
'No doubt. The Moidart is highly skilled in such practices. He frightens you, doesn't he?'
'He does, my lord,' admitted Velroy.
'Where is the Finance now?'
'He is gathering his forces. They will march on Eldacre at week's end. Twelve thousand men, boosted by a division of five hundred knights. They have few cannon, though, as yet. The Finance believes that the Moidart will move his men into Eldacre Castle and seek to hold out there.'
'As soon as Macks is destroyed we
will deploy three more regiments in the north. What of Macy and his men?'
'They will attack Shelding tomorrow morning at dawn.'
'Always dawn,' said Winter Kay. 'I have often wondered why it is never midnight or dusk.'
'Yes, my lord,' said Eris Velroy, wearily.
'Macy has two thousand men. How are they allocated?'
'Three hundred musketeers, fifteen hundred cavalry and two hundred heavy infantry with pike and sword.'
'And Macon?'
'Just under six hundred, my lord. One hundred musketeers, four hundred and fifty cavalry and forty riflemen.'
'Most of whom will be asleep when the attack begins. Very well. You made it clear that I want Macon's head delivered to me?'
'I did, my lord.'
'Excellent. Tonight the world order changes, Velroy. Tomorrow a new age begins. It will be the Age of the Redeemers. I shall be riding with Kalmer and his knights - after saying my sweet farewells to the king and his family.'
'Will you take the crown yourself, my lord?'
Winter Kay looked into Velroy's tired eyes. 'You know, young Marl was always asking me such questions. He wondered why I never answered them. I suspect, having watched him die, you now know why.'
Velroy swallowed hard. 'Yes, my lord.'
'Come, make obeisance to the Orb. Restore your strength. The night to come will be long and bloody.'
Gaise Macon scanned the reports from his scouts. Columns of mounted soldiers had been seen heading west, some three miles north of Shelding. This was most odd. Luden Macks - who was camped some twenty miles west - had agreed a truce and a four-mile-wide neutral area between the armies. Shelding was at the western edge of this area, and if cavalry units were heading west they would be in danger of breaking the ceasefire.
And it was not only cavalry that had been identified. Taybard Jaekel had seen units of artillery on the southern road the previous night. Major movements of this kind would usually have followed meetings of the General Staff, and yet Gaise had not been summoned to any such gatherings.
Not only was the Eldacre Company now apparently excluded from such meetings, but with the withdrawal of supplies they had been left with food that would not last more than another two days.
Had it riot been for a moment of luck they would also have lost their horses. This last incident had angered Gaise and he had written a letter to Lord Winterbourne. Earlier in the afternoon he and Mulgrave had decided to ride out and scout the countryside. They had walked to the long meadow where the four hundred and fifty cavalry mounts were picketed - and arrived to find the grey-haired sergeant, Lanfer Gosten, involved in a furious argument with an officer of the Second Lancers. A troop of twenty riders were sitting their mounts close by.
'What is going on, Lanfer?' asked Gaise, as he approached the group.
'This gentleman says he has orders to remove our horses to new locations, sir,' said Gosten. 'It's not right. You can't leave cavalrymen without mounts.'
'Indeed you cannot,' agreed Gaise. He walked to where the officer sat a handsome grey gelding.
'I am Gaise Macon.'
'I have orders, general, to remove—'
'Get off your horse.'
'Sir?'
'You are in the presence of a general. Now get off your horse and salute.'
The man stepped down from the saddle and offered a swift salute. He was tall and slender, and wearing the red tunic, emblazoned with gold epaulettes, of a captain in the King's Second Lancers. 'Your name?'
'Konran Macy, general.'
'You are related to General Barin Macy?'
'I am his brother, sir.'
'Very well. Now what is this about the mounts?'
Macy handed Gaise his orders. They were explicit. All mounts in Shelding were to be taken to Lincster, four miles east. The order was signed by Macy's brother.
'There seems to be an error here,' said Gaise Macon. 'First, the Eldacre Company does not come under the control of the Second Lancers.'
'Lord Winterbourne has put General Macy in command of this section of the front, sir,' said the officer, smugly.
'And second, the Eldacre mounts are private property, owned by myself, and not the property of the army. Should General Macy wish to commandeer my mounts he can seek a written order from Lord Winterbourne. Such an order would be challenged by me, and subject then to a decision from a military court of inquiry.'
'My orders are to take the horses, sir. I intend—'
'Be silent! Your intentions interest me not at all.' Gaise swung to Lanfer Gosten. There were some fifteen musketeers close by. 'Sergeant, gather your men.' Lanfer Gosten barked out an order and the musketeers ran forward. 'Are those weapons primed?'
'Yes sir,' answered Gosten.
'Very well.' Gaise returned his attention to Konran Macy. 'Remount your gelding, captain. Return to General Macy and tell him I do not appreciate discourteous behaviour. Now get thee gone.'
Konran Macy stood for a moment without moving. His face had lost all colour and Gaise could see he was struggling to control himself. His blue eyes shone with anger. 'Are you deaf, or just stupid?' asked Gaise, stepping in close.
At that moment a rider behind Macy edged his horse forward. 'Konran!' he called out sharply. 'Let's go.'
Macy blinked and relaxed. Turning on his heel he walked to his horse and stepped into the saddle. With one backward glance, burning with hatred, he rode away, his men following.
Mulgrave approached Gaise. 'I think that man does not like you, sir,' he said.
'And I shall never sleep again for worry,' muttered Gaise.
'I think we should put off our ride, sir,' said Mulgrave. Gaise nodded agreement.
'Move the horses into town, Lanfer. Picket them on the common land beyond the market square.'
'Yes, my lord.'
Now, as he sat in his small study, Gaise was growing more concerned. What if Lord Winterbourne was intending a surprise attack on Luden Macks in violation of the truce? What if Macks were to break out? He would head due east - directly towards Shelding. Without mounts, with little ammunition and only one hundred and forty musketeers and riflemen, the Eldacre Company would be overrun.
As evening approached Gaise pulled on a fur-lined topcoat and, with the black hound Soldier padding at his side, left the house. Taybard Jaekel and another rifleman - a big fellow with a bushy red beard - both saluted as he came into sight.
'Warmer tonight,' said Gaise.
'Aye, sir,' answered Taybard Jaekel. 'Spring's coming.'
'Taking its bloody time,' muttered the bearded soldier. Gaise struggled to remember the man's name, which he acknowledged was a symptom of his weariness.
'Bard, isn't it?' he said at last.
That's right, sir. Kammel Bard. You had me flogged.'
'You seem to have recovered well,' said Gaise, with wry amusement. He wished Mulgrave could have been here to witness the moment. What on earth was the proper response to a man you've ordered lashed?
'Breed 'em tough in the highlands,' said Bard. 'Rigante blood, you know.'
Gaise laughed. 'Only a few years ago it would have been an offence to say that. Now I can tell you that my own family is equally blessed. My great-grandmother was half Rigante. Fine woman, so the legends have it. Even the king now talks of his grandfather and his Rigante heritage.'
'That's why we're unbeatable, sir,' said Kammel Bard. 'We're a Rigante army.'
Gaise smiled and strolled past the soldiers, who fell in step behind him. As they reached the gate Gaise saw Cordelia Lowen walking towards him. She was dressed as if for riding, with a heavy split skirt and boots, and a tunic coat with a fur collar. Her dark hair was hanging free. Gaise felt his breath quicken and his heart begin to pound.
'Good evening to you, general,' she said.
'And to you, lady. May I introduce my guards, Taybard Jaekel and Kammel Bard - two fine lads from my homeland.' Both men bowed clumsily. Soldier padded to her. Cordelia dropped to one knee. 'Best be careful,' sai
d Gaise. 'He's nervous around strangers.'
Cordelia tilted her head to one side and flicked her fingers. The hound instantly settled down on his haunches at her feet. Cordelia patted his head. 'He seems perfectly sweet to me.'
'Indeed so, lady.'
'Are you going to invite me inside for a hot tisane, or do I stand in the cold?' she asked.
'Inside? I ... er ... have no servants.'
'Is it beyond the skills of a general to fill a kettle with water and hang it over a fire?'
'I did not mean that. I meant we would be ... alone.'
'Oh, I see. Well, do not worry, general. I am sure if I attack you your guards would swiftly come to your aid.'
Gaise sighed. He noticed both soldiers struggling not to smile. 'Very well, lady.' Turning to Taybard he said: 'If I call for help come running.'
'We'll be there in a heartbeat, sir.'
Despite her apparent confidence Cordelia Lowen felt confused and uncertain. Her normally rational mind had been in turmoil since the meeting with Gaise Macon at the mayor's gathering. It was most unsettling. She could not seem to push him from her thoughts. She kept picturing those strange eyes, of gold and green, and his quick nervous smile.
For most of the day she had found herself thinking of him, and had managed to convince herself that it was concern for his safety that was unsettling her. After all, he was a servant of the king, and if danger loomed it was her bounden duty to assist.
Now, as he led her into the little house, she knew this was only partly true. At nineteen Cordelia Lowen was no stranger to the exquisite joys of physical attraction. There had been young officers whose presence quickened her blood, and handsome men who caused thoughts which were quite wicked. No-one, however, had come close to affecting her in the same manner as this young nobleman. The thought that she would leave tomorrow and perhaps never see him again was truly ghastly.
'There is a kettle somewhere,' she heard him say.
'Pray do not concern yourself with tisane, general. I was only teasing. Might I sit by your fire?'
'Of course. May I take your coat?'
'It is a little unconventional for a single woman to enter the home of a bachelor,' she said. 'It would be considered even more unseemly were she to undress there.'