Midnight Falcon (40 page)

'This will do,' he said.

'It will not do,' said Nanncumal, striding forward and snatching
it from Gryffe's hand. 'This is a rider's weapon. Do you know nothing? It
is blade-heavy and meant to be swung downwards from the saddle.' Replacing
the sword he pushed past several other outlaws and took down a longsword with
a leather-covered grip and curving quillons. It was some eight inches shorter
than the first blade. 'Here, numbskull!' he said. 'Feel the balance of this!'

Gryffe took it. 'I have to admit it feels better,' he said.

Nanncumal sighed. 'You expect these men to stand up to Sea Wolves?' he asked Bane. 'The Vars are born ready to fight. They are utterly ferocious. Gods, man, you know this. You've fought them yourself!'

'You are right, Grandfather,' said Bane. 'We'll send a messenger to the Vars asking them to wait for a week while we find better men to oppose them.' He smiled as he said it, and the old man suddenly chuckled. Then his expression hardened.

'I had believed . . . hoped that this story of the Vars was some nonsense dreamed up by Vorna. But it's not, is it?'

'No, it is not. Would you help my men choose suitable weapons? I need to see Finnigal.'

'Aye, I'll help them. I can't help feeling it will be like measuring a hound for a hat – an interesting but pointless exercise.'

'A plain speaker, isn't he?' said Gryffe.

Bane nodded, and left the forge. Finnigal was standing beneath Eldest Tree. Hundreds of Three Streams dwellers were trudging past him, heading for the west.

'I have scouted some possible areas for ambushing the Vars,' said Bane. 'Perhaps you'd like to ride out and see them for yourself?'

'No need,' said Finnigal. 'I won't be coming with you.'

'How then will I learn of your orders, Captain?' asked Bane, with a smile.

Finnigal laughed, but there was little humour in it. 'You won't. You'll take command. Since your arrival quite a few of the good folk of Three Streams have reconsidered their decision to stay in the settlement. But not the Lady Meria, and some fifty others. My men and I will stay and fight the Vars. With luck we'll reduce their numbers by at least thirty. Also, since some of those staying are young women, the Vars will probably dally here awhile before giving chase.'

'This is daft, man,' said Bane. 'Compel them to leave.'

'How does one compel the king's mother? She is not a soldier, and therefore not under my command. Be serious, Bane. The old lady has made her decision. I can say nothing to sway her.'

Bane stood silently for a moment. 'That is a terrible waste of twenty good men,' he said. 'However, perhaps there is an alternative. It will require you to trust me. Later on – if there is a later on – you can berate me publicly.'

'What is your plan?'

'Best that you do not know. Then there can be no question of collusion. I suggest you take your twenty riders to the top of the hill, to examine the ground beyond for possible fighting sites. In the meantime I will organize the evacuation.'

The soldier removed his iron helm and pushed back his mail hood. 'The Lady Meria', he said, 'has gone to the Roundhouse with the others who are remaining. Some of them have changed their minds, and she is seeking to strengthen their resolve.' He shook his head. 'Ah well, Bane, I think I'll take a ride with my men.'

'First have them bring a wagon to the Roundhouse,' said Bane.

Finnigal walked away and Bane returned to the forge. His men were gathered outside. All of them now wore breastplates and helms and were carrying swords and round wooden bucklers, edged with iron.

He called Wik to him. The outlaw leader had no mail-shirt, but was carrying a longbow and a quiver of arrows. 'Take the men to the brow of the hill and wait for me there,' said Bane.

'So far it is the easiest gold I've ever earned,' said Wik.

'The day is not over yet,' Bane reminded him.

Keeping Gryffe, the stocky Valian and the crippled Grale with him Bane returned to Eldest Tree, and waited until two Iron Wolves drove the last wagon to the Roundhouse. The men climbed down and mounted their horses. Finnigal and the seventeen other riders came into view and the troop rode off towards the west.

'Time to pay my compliments to a dear relative,' said Bane. 'Grale, you get ready to drive the wagon. You two come with me.'

Bane walked across to the double doors of the Roundhouse, Gryffe and Valian just behind him. Throwing open the doors the three men strode inside. A large group of people were gathered at the centre fire, and the Lady Meria was talking to them. She fell silent as Bane approached. He looked into her eyes and saw both anger and astonishment.

'Grandmother, how nice it is to meet you at last,' said Bane.

'Get out of my sight!' she shouted. It surprised him that, after the first glance, she did not look at him, but turned her face away.

Bane grinned, then scanned the faces of the crowd. Most of them were elderly, but there were some young women, with small children by their sides. 'The Vars will be here soon,' he told them. 'The old ones they will kill, and the babes and toddlers. The young women they will not kill. Not immediately. But when they are finished with them they will cut their throats. That is the Vars way with prisoners they cannot take home as prizes.'

'There are no Vars,' said an old man. 'The Lady Meria has assured us—'

'If the Lady Meria is right then you will all spend a few uncomfortable days and nights in open country. If she is wrong you are all dead,' said Bane.

'You will leave now!' commanded Meria. 'You are not welcome here!'

He bowed. 'As you command, lady, so shall it be.' Stepping forward he ducked down, threw his arm round Meria's hips and hoisted her to his shoulder. She shouted and rammed her fists against his lower back. Ignoring her he swung towards the outraged crowd, many of whom had risen to their feet. 'When the Vars come,' he thundered, 'have the courage to kill the children quickly.' He started to walk away.

'Where are you going with her, you brute?' shouted a middle-aged woman.

'To safety, lady. I suggest you all follow us.'

With that he carried the struggling Meria out of the Roundhouse and lowered her to the back of the wagon. 'Understand this,' he told her, his voice cold and hard. 'If you run I shall catch you, and tie you to the wagon. You have lost a little dignity today. You will lose far more if I have to drag you through the mud and tie your hands and feet.'

'You will pay for this with your life!' she hissed.

The crowd began to move out of the Roundhouse and cluster round the wagon. At that moment an armoured rider came galloping from the east. His horse thundered over the second bridge and he brought it to a stop before the Roundhouse. 'Where is Captain Finnigal?' he called.

'He is on the hilltop, scouting the ground,' said Bane. 'Have you sighted the Vars?'

'Aye, two hundred of them. They're right behind me.'

'Bara's teeth, man, how far east did you ride?'

'The captain said to go no more than a mile. So I waited on Giant's Tooth until I caught sight of them.'

Bane swore long and loud. Had the man been sent further east he would have seen the Vars earlier, and the news would have given the civilians greater incentive to evacuate Three Streams. But there was no point in hammering such a truth home now. Bane addressed the crowd. 'We can take fifteen of the oldest and most infirm in the wagon,' he said. 'The rest of you better run for your lives.'

The Vars had marched just under sixty miles in three days, but there was little sign of weariness among them. Snarri Daggerbright marched at the head of his little army, his second in command Dratha beside him.

'One more mile,' said Snarri, licking his misshapen lips. The rain had eased, the sun now shining brightly through a break in the clouds. Snarri had never been this deeply into Rigante territory before. The lands were lush and fertile, unlike the rocky slopes of his own home. The cattle they saw were – despite the harshness of the winter – already fattening well on the new grass. Snarri thought of his farm. More stone than soil, the crops withered and thin. Seeing this verdant land made him realize more than ever why Shard was determined to conquer it.

Snarri glanced back at his men, their mailshirts gleaming in the sunlight. On the first day of the march the Vars had been uneasy. Despite the assurances from Shard they scanned the horizon, constantly expecting to see a Rigante force. By the second day they were more relaxed. Snarri promised them women and plunder, and a rich harvest for the gods of blood.

'I've never had a Rigante woman,' said Dratha, on the second day.

'Hellcats, every one of them,' Snarri told him. 'Unless you beat them unconscious it takes three men to hold one down. They'll scratch, punch, kick and bite. You get no pleading from them, and they stare at you with murder in their eyes. Ah, but it is an experience to treasure.'

Dratha considered this information. 'I thought old Lars had a Rigante wife once?'

'Nah, she was Perdii. Softer. Once he got her back from the raid she settled down well. Lars said she only needed the lash a few times. After that she was fine. But I knew a man tried to take a Rigante woman for his wife – snatched her on a raid. Nothing but trouble. Ran away three times. He lashed her, beat her – broke her arm if I remember. She cut his throat one night, then she cut off his balls and nailed them to the door.'

'I remember that,' said Dratha. 'I was about ten. Didn't she jump off a cliff or something?'

'Aye. We had her cornered but she ran to the cliff top and leapt. Three hundred feet she fell. Tide was out. Not a pretty sight when we found her.' He laughed. 'But prettier than she would have looked had we taken her alive. No, take my advice, Dratha, when we get to the village find a married woman with a small child. They'll do anything to protect their young.'

At the base of the last hill Snarri called a halt, and gathered his men around him. 'Three Streams is just over the rise,' he told them. 'We go in fast and hard, kill every man and old woman you see. The younger women will be taken alive and bound. No pleasures to be taken until the settlement is secure. Does everyone understand that?' He looked around into the stern faces of his fighters. No-one spoke. 'Good. Now, there is one older woman who must be taken alive. Her name is Meria. She is around five and a half feet tall, with long, silver hair and green eyes. Kill no old women with green eyes. Take them and bind them.'

'What about soldiers?' asked a man close by.

'A troop of twenty Iron Wolves travelled with Meria. They need to be taken out first. Two more points to remember: a few of the villagers will run into the hills. Do not pursue them. Concentrate on those left in the settlement. And secondly no plundering until I give the word. When all the Rigante are dead – save maybe a few women for later pleasures – we will loot the homes. We will then divide the spoils evenly and equally. Are there any other questions?' Again no-one spoke. Snarri drew his sword. 'Then let us begin the slaughter,' he said.

He led the way up the steep hill. The rain had made it treacherous, and as they pushed on it became more so. One man at the rear lost his footing in the newly churned mud, slipped, and slid on his backside all the way to the foot of the hill. The Vars hooted and jeered, and, shamefaced, the warrior scrambled up to join them.

Snarri reached the top of the hill – and saw a column of fleeing refugees heading towards the west. He swore loudly. A wagon, packed with women, was moving slowly up the hillside opposite. One of the occupants was a middle-aged woman with silver hair. She was wearing a fine gown edged with gold. Snarri swore again. 'First share of the loot to the men who capture that wagon,' he shouted. Drawing his longsword he set off down the hill, the Vars streaming behind him.

The four horses were straining to drag the wagon up the muddy incline, the iron-shod wheels sinking deeply. Bane, Gryffe and Valian pushed from the back, but slowly the wagon ceased its upward movement.

'Everyone off!' yelled Bane. He glanced up at the hilltop some forty paces ahead. 'You'll have to make it on foot.' People began to clamber down. One elderly woman slipped and began to slide. Gryffe threw himself down, catching hold of the woman's dress. For a moment they both slid, then Gryffe clawed at the mud. His hand hit a buried stone, halting the slide. Valian moved back to help the woman to her feet. Three hundred yards away the Vars had entered the settlement and were racing towards the hill. Freed of the extra weight the wagon surged forward. An old man stumbled close by. Bane lifted him to his feet and helped him up the slope. At the top Bane called out for the bowmen to line the crest. He looked at Wik, who was very pale, his eyes wide and frightened.

'Do not shoot until they reach the hill itself,' yelled Bane. 'They'll not be able to come up it fast. When you've emptied your quivers fall back.'

'Damn right we'll fall back!' said Wik, licking his lips nervously.

'The rest of you line up behind the bowmen!' shouted Bane. The outlaws shuffled into line. Bane swung to Gryffe. 'You think they'll stand?' he whispered.

Gryffe shrugged. 'No way to tell. But I will!'

Finnigal and his nineteen Iron Wolves had tethered their horses some fifty feet back from the hilltop. He led his men forward, and glanced down at the charging Vars. Bane moved in close to the young officer. 'You mind a word of advice, Captain?' he asked, keeping his voice low.

'I'm listening.'

'Spread your men through the line. Some of the outlaws are looking terrified. Having Iron Wolves among them will stiffen their resolve.'

'That's good thinking,' agreed Finnigal. He grinned suddenly. 'I'm feeling a little terrified myself.'

The Vars reached the foot of the hill, and a blood-curdling roar erupted from them. Wik was standing, bow bent, staring down at them. Bane saw that his hands were trembling.

'Take aim – and shoot on my command!' shouted Bane. The fifty outlaw bowmen drew back on their bowstrings. 'Now!'

Fifty shafts slashed through the air. Many of the Vars were carrying iron-rimmed shields, and most of the shafts slammed into them, or bounced from iron helms. One man fell, an arrow through his forehead. Several others were hit in the legs or arms.