Gaise shook his head. 'You lied to Beck. You are a soldier, and one as naturally gifted as any I have known.'
'It is in the blood, Gaise. Varlish and Rigante, warriors both. Our ancestors have fought wars since time immemorial. And won them. More than that we have built societies and held them together. We are the rulers, Gaise. We are the mighty. Remember that tomorrow.'
'Do your best to stay alive, Father.'
The Moidart smiled. 'I do not care one way or the other. My time is almost over. If we win - and since no-one can hear us I'd say we have less than one chance in twenty - I shall stand down as Moidart, and pass on the mantle to you.'
'Why? What would you do?'
'Picture the mountains,' said the Moidart.
'What does that mean?'
'It means a lot to me,' replied his father, walking back to the white mare and stepping into the saddle. 'Do your best tomorrow, boy. I shall be watching you with a critical eye.'
'No change there,' said Gaise, and realized there was no bitterness in the words.
Aran Powdermill did not see himself as a traitor. He did not serve the Moidart out of loyalty. He had been hired to perform a service, and then pressganged into continuing that service. Indeed, had he chosen to exercise his rights as a free man and leave the Moidart had made it clear that Huntsekker would come after him and take his head. No, there was no question of treachery here. Quite the opposite, Powdermill decided. He was the victim of treachery, in that the Moidart had tricked him, and not allowed him to leave.
Added to which Powdermill would not be taking this action had the Moidart and his son not made such a stupid decision. Gaise had the skull, probably the greatest magical relic in known history. How could they not seek to use it? They would be killed now, the enemy triumphant, and the skull once more in the hands of Winter Kay. It was inevitable.
Why then should Aran himself not find a way to profit from the disaster?
It all made perfect sense.
He recalled his last conversation with the Moidart, late the previous afternoon.
'The skull is hidden somewhere in the castle. Can you locate it?'
'No, my lord,' lied Powdermill. 'The Lord Gaise has the Sword in the Storm. It blinds my talents. But has he not said it is too dangerous to use?'
'Nothing is too dangerous to use,' said the Moidart. 'But if you cannot find it then that is an end to it.'
In truth Aran had not set out to lie to the Moidart. It had been a sudden impulse. Part of it was the truth. When Gaise hid the skull he had been protected by the Sword in the Storm. But as soon as he moved away Aran had felt the power of the skull, radiating from deep within the castle. It pulled at him, tugging at his conscious mind. Aran was a man who loved magic, and had never, until he felt the Sword in the Storm, handled any object of great power.
With the Moidart and Gaise away from the castle he took a lantern and climbed to the upper levels, locating the now unused apartments where Gaise had spent much of his youth. Powdermill hauled aside the threadbare rug beside the bed and knelt to examine the timbered flooring beneath. Drawing a slender knife he inserted the blade between two sections of board and applied pressure. The hidden section creaked open. With trembling hands he lifted the velvet sack from its hiding place. Even through the cloth he could feel the power radiating.
Now back in his own room he sat with the skull in his lap. He had expected to commune with the spirit of Cernunnos, but nothing happened. Even so, he felt his own talents swelling and growing. And with them came the realization that he had in his hands an object far more powerful than he could safely use.
His first plan had been to flee the castle and take the skull with him. This was no longer an option. The raw energy it radiated could never be hidden completely by ward spells. Other magickers would sense it. Warriors would find him and seize it. He tried once more to commune with Cernunnos. Nothing. No, he realized, not quite nothing. He sensed that he was being heard, but ignored.
Closing his eyes he soared above the night dark battlefield, pausing to gaze down on the waiting men of both sides. From here he could see the formations, the two main ridges occupied by Beck and Mantilan, the infantry spread out thinly behind earth bags, or within trenches. Cavalry mounts were picketed on both flanks.
The enemy force was drawn up into three great divisions. From this great height the sheer numerical superiority of Winter Kay's forces was manifestly apparent.
This strengthened Powdermill's resolve. He could not safely harness the power of the skull, but if he found a way to serve it, he could still profit by it. If Cernunnos was to live again, then he would need worshippers. His spirit flew to the centre of the enemy camp. Not a single Redeemer spirit was in the air. None of these men had natural talent. The skull had fed them, as it was now feeding him.
Powdermill flowed through the officers' tents, seeking out Winter Kay.
He found him at last, standing on a ridge beside a huge cannon. He was staring out over the enemy fortifications. For a few moments Powdermill observed him. He was similar in look to the Moidart, the same harsh, patrician features, the same hawklike eyes. Yet Powdermill sensed a weakness in the man, shards of self-doubt and fear that were missing in the Moidart.
Focusing his newly boosted powers Powdermill spoke. Winter Kay jerked and spun. 'Who is there?'
'A servant of Kranos, my lord.'
Winter Kay stepped back, his hand upon the hilt of a slim-bladed dagger at his belt. Powdermill concentrated, allowing his spirit to glow gently in the night. 'I have what you desire to possess. I have that which was stolen from you.'
'Bring it to me. You will be rewarded handsomely.'
'It is at Castle Eldacre, my lord. I have it now in my hands.'
'This is some trick of the Moidart's to torment me.'
'Not so, my lord. I am Powdermill. I was forced into the Moidart's service, and threatened with death if I did not comply. Now I have the Orb, and I wish to serve you.'
'Why would that be?'
'There is something I want, and only you can give it to me.'
'Name it.'
'The sword of Gaise Macon. And to continue to serve the Lord Kranos.'
'You want a sword?'
'Not any sword, my lord. It is an ancient weapon, forged in a time of magic.'
'I promise you will have it. Bring me the skull.'
'I cannot bring it, my lord. Between Eldacre and yourself lie the forces of the Moidart. I could not find a way through alone. When the battle is won I shall be at Eldacre Castle and you will have the skull.'
'I need it now," said Winter Kay. Powdermill heard the desperation in his voice.
'Here in the town there are few fighting men, my lord. The castle itself is virtually empty. Maybe twenty soldiers, older men unfit for service in the field, a dozen surgeons and helpers tending wounded men, plus Maev Ring and a few clerics. If you send a small force, skirt the battlefield, and ride directly to the castle, there will be none to stop you.'
'Maev Ring?'
'She is the Moidart's quartermaster.'
'The witch who brought about the death of my brother Gayan? She is at the castle?'
'Yes, my lord.'
'And all you want is Macon's sword?'
'Yes, my lord, and to serve you and Kranos. I have no wish to die, and it is my understanding that those who serve the Seidh lord will become immortal.'
'I will send a force, Powdermill. If your deeds match your words I will grant you what you wish.'
As dawn approached the guns on the southern ridge suddenly boomed, flame belching from the huge barrels. Taybard Jaekel squirmed down in his trench. Fifty yards to the south the earth erupted. Great plumes of mud and dirt billowed up. A terrible screeching filled the air. Shards of metal and clumps of earth showered down over Taybard and Jakon.
Taybard glanced back to where the Moidart - dressed in black, save for a stylized breastplate of burnished silver - was standing beside Beck. The earl calmly walked to the edge
of the ridge and stared out at the pits and craters in the ground. 'They'll have their range presently,' he said.
'Aye, time to move back, my lord,' said Beck, nervously.
Beck shouted an order and the main body of the two thousand musketeers retired from the ridge. Some fifty men remained, huddled in narrow trenches. Beck moved up to where Taybard and Jakon were crouched. 'Sit it out, boys, and signal us when their infantry approaches.'
The fifty cannon in view on the southern hills boomed again. Beck dropped to his belly and squirmed alongside Jakon Gallowglass. Huge cannon balls, some of them containing explosive charges, hammered against the hillside less than thirty yards away. Taybard felt the ground beneath him tremble upon the impact. Several huge stakes flew overhead, blown from the earth. 'I doubt they'll have more than twenty rounds per cannon,' said Beck. 'Probably less.'
'Why's that?' asked Gallowglass.
'Weight. Fifteen pounds a ball, that's three hundred pounds per cannon. Fifty cannon. That's fifteen thousand pounds. Over rough ground a two horse wagon can pull—'
'We get the point, general,' said Gallowglass. 'Shouldn't you be—'
The guns thundered. The men on the ridge hunkered down. The earth exploded around them. Taybard was hurled into Beck. Mud and dirt rained down on them.
'Time for you to go, general,' said Gallowglass, spitting dirt from his mouth.
'See you in a while,' said Beck, climbing from the trench and walking back towards the rear slope.
'This is definitely not soldiering,' said Gallowglass, peering over the lip of the trench. On the far ridge he could see men reloading the cannon. Suddenly there was a distant explosion, and one of the pieces blew apart. Jakon watched the huge barrel rear up some ten feet in the air. 'Ha!' he yelled. 'Serve 'em right.'
The other cannons belched smoke and fire. Gallowglass swore and threw himself face down. This time the enemy gunners had found their range. All around the ridge top great gouts of earth plumed up. Thirty feet to the left of Taybard and Gallowglass a shell exploded in the air, sending shrapnel screaming across the ridge. Clods of earth thumped down on Taybard's back. Then something else dropped alongside his head. Glancing to his left he saw it was part of a man's hand.
Taybard grabbed it and tossed it out of the trench. Smoke and dust filled the air. He lifted his head and tried to pierce the man-made gloom. It was as if a fog had descended upon the ridge. He heard other cannon fire and winced, before realizing it was coming from the east, and was not directed at Beck's ridge. Beside him Gallowglass coughed and spat. 'See anything?' he asked.
'I can't even see the cannons now,' answered Taybard.
During the next few minutes the cannons fired four more salvoes. The silence that followed the explosions was rent by the screams of mutilated men.
By this time Taybard had taken to counting slowly between each salvo. The gunners were experts. Each time Taybard reached the count of twenty-eight the sound of distant thunder would herald another murderous assault from the sky.
'How many is that so far?' said Gallowglass, making Taybard lose count.
'Eight, I think. Nine maybe.'
Taybard saw movement to his left. A group of wide-eyed, fearful men were scrambling from their trenches. Two had thrown aside their muskets. Taybard could feel the panic spreading.
Just then the Moidart came into view. He had his hands clasped behind his back as if out on a morning stroll.
The fleeing men paused. 'Best keep your heads down,' said the Moidart, moving past them. They hesitated, then returned to their trenches. A breeze began to blow across the ridge top. The Moidart approached where Taybard and Gallowglass were hunkered down. They moved aside to make way for him. 'Not long now,' said the earl.
The breeze quickened, and the smoke and dust began to clear.
Taybard squinted through the last of the haze. On the valley floor he saw red-coated lines of men marching forward, muskets in hand. Thousands of them.
'Time to call up our boys,' said Gallowglass, scrambling from the trench.
'Not yet,' said the Moidart.
Other men had the same idea. The Moidart called out to them. 'Stay where you are! There's one more salvo coming.' Then he rose and calmly walked across the pockmarked ridge, disappearing from view.
Gallowglass stared after him, then looked back at the advancing enemy. They were within two hundred yards of the ridge now. At this point they quickened their pace. Sunlight gleamed from the bayonets on their muskets.
'I think we are going to need a little help up here,' muttered Gallowglass.
At that moment the cannon thundered again. Huge chunks were ripped from the ridge. The force of one blast caused a twelve-foot section of hillside to slide away, sending rock and earth tumbling down the slope.
'How in seven hells did he know they were going to fire one more salvo?' asked Gallowglass.
'They were hoping to catch more of us as we swarmed back up to defend the ridge,' Taybard told him, taking up his blanket-wrapped Emburley and untying the strings that held the covering in place.
Behind them two thousand musketeers scrambled over the ruined ridge, taking up pre-arranged positions in three ranks. Bendegit Law and his artillery men came over the ridge top, hauling barrels of powder. Eight of the twenty defensive cannon placed on the ridge had been smashed by the enemy salvoes. Four others were damaged. Bendegit Law directed his men with quiet efficiency. Bringing the eight surviving cannons to bear they loaded them and waited.
Taybard could see the faces of the attackers now, grim and determined as they stormed the slope. Lifting the Emburley rifle he cocked the hammer. 'Front rank forward!' bellowed General Beck.
The six hundred men of the front rank shuffled into position. 'Take aim!'
The red-garbed attackers faltered as the musketeers appeared on the ridge. Then they charged.
'Fire!'
Six hundred muskets loosed thunder into the charging men. Smoke billowed across the ridge top. 'Second rank forward!' shouted Beck. The first rank fell back to the rear to reload as the next line of musketeers stepped in to take their places. This manoeuvre was an innovation of Beck's that the men had been practising for weeks now. In most battles Taybard had seen or taken part in the object had been to deliver full ferocious volleys, then to reload. This rolling fire was far more effective.
The second rank emptied their muskets into the now faltering advance. Hundreds of enemy soldiers were down. Still they pushed on, stepping over the bodies of dead and dying.
'Third rank forward!' yelled Beck. Tire!'
Some of the soldiers below were starting to shoot up the slope now, and a score of Eldacre men went down.
The first of the enemy was almost at the top of the slope when Bendegit Law ordered the cannons to be fired. The blast ripped away the leading ranks of the enemy.
Taybard watched it all as if in a dream, his Emburley unfired. Smoke covered the ridge like a blanket of fog, and when the first rank volleyed again Taybard could not even see the enemy. Beside him Gallowglass was frantically reloading.
The second rank moved forward again, but this time Beck did not order them to fire.
The breeze picked up once more and the smoke cleared. The hillside was littered with red-coated bodies. The survivors were pulling back.
The Moidart approached Beck. Taybard heard what he said. 'While not wishing to appear intrusive, Beck, might it not be wise to pull back? I fear another salvo is likely soon.'
'Indeed, my lord, that is good advice.' He swung towards the men. 'By rank fall back to the base of the hill!'
The move was not quite swift enough. In the distance the huge fifteen pounders roared. The Eldacre men began to run. Two explosive charges burst in the air above them. More than a hundred musketeers went down.
Taybard and Gallowglass had not moved from their trench. Once more earth rained down upon them.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
KAELIN RING WATCHED THE CARNAGE ON THE WESTERN RIDGE THEN returned his
gaze to the open lands directly south. There was still no attack from that quarter. More columns of enemy musketeers were advancing now against the ridge, and he could see the Moidart and the defenders marching back into position.
'I wouldn't want to be up there,' said Korrin Talis.
Raising his head above the earth sacks Kaelin scanned the south. Lines of horsemen were gathering beneath the far slopes. 'Not long to wait,' said Kaelin. The knights are forming.'
'How many?' asked Korrin.
'Can't tell. Too much smoke. I'd expect around four thousand. Everyone knows what to do?'
'Of course they know what to do,' snapped Korrin. 'We're not idiots.'
A huge mass of enemy infantry moved out of the smoke, charging the eastern ridge, held by Mantilan. Kaelin saw the Rigante under Bael Jace rush to their aid.
'Here they come,' said Korrin. Kaelin jerked his gaze back to the south. The knights, wearing breastplates that glittered in the sunlight, were smoothly moving into formation. Their first line spread out until it covered about a quarter of a mile. Other lines formed behind them. 'Impressive bunch, aren't they?' muttered Korrin.
A distant bugle sounded and the knights advanced at the trot. When they reached three hundred yards they began to canter.
'Rigante!' bellowed Kaelin Ring. The eight hundred Rigante musketeers raised their weapons. The knights charged, the pounding hooves of their war horses making the ground tremble.
'Fire!' yelled Kaelin.
The first volley tore into the charging horsemen, smashing men from their saddles and bringing down mounts. The Rigante tossed aside the first muskets and lifted fresh weapons.
'Take aim! Fire!'
Another volley ripped into the enemy. But still they came.
'Back!' shouted Kaelin.
Leaving their muskets the Rigante began to run back towards the line of bushes a hundred paces away.
The knights galloped on, sabres gleaming. The first of the horses reached the earth ramparts and leapt over them. The Rigante were streaming back now, and the knights began to shout war cries as they bore down upon them.