Leaping Wolf, page 10
part #2 of Caledon Saga Series
Faces turned to him and fighters backed away from each other, and Caserach let go of the headman’s hair. He almost collapsed but Idwal held him upright and Caserach glared at him before shouting again.
‘Enough?’
The white-haired man nodded feebly and dribbled more blood as he coughed out his answer.
‘Enough.’
It wasn’t loud and Caserach kept staring at him, and the old man repeated himself enough times that those Caderyn nearby were convinced. Word spread in a rumble around the rest of the tribesmen and they sullenly stepped back from opponents or else tossed weapons to the ground ungraciously. The Dariniae began to cheer amongst themselves and Caserach smiled along with them. Idwal passed the old headman into Grwnn’s arms and joined the others in collecting bangles and trinkets from the beaten Caderyn, who handed them over with angry snarls but knew better than to object. So long as the Dariniae didn’t try to take more than their due, they had no right to call the raiders’ trophies theft. They had won the fight, albeit not entirely fairly, and tribute was the proper thing to offer.
Caserach wondered how much he could squeeze them for before they decided it was worth fighting again. The battered old man should be good for a boatload of grain at least, and he could probably be persuaded to send one every moon until winter came. Something like that would do wonders for his popularity at home, and that was something he was very keen to gain. But home is something that can wait until morning. Today I have my new friend to impress. He left Grwnn holding the sagging chief and headed off to the edge of the town.
Beside the last roundhouse stood the only men who’d not been fighting in the battle, their leader watching Caserach with an almost bored expression. He was a serious-looking fellow, his dark hair hanging raggedly over his long, horse-like face. His eyes were flat and dull and his beard was just a thin line of grey-specked black along his jaw. He was dressed in a drab, yellow-brown tunic belted in at the waist with a cheap bronze buckle, and the sword worn at his hip looked like it didn’t see much use. For a prominent chief among his people he was a pretty shabby sight, but then what could you expect from a Breiryn?
Caserach approached him with a smile and tried his best to sound friendly.
‘Well Asrec, are you convinced?’
From the looks of him he was trying to seem unimpressed but the Darin saw through the facade. Of the Dariniae who were loyal Caserach had brought only the best of them with him, and their little demonstration had gone well. Asrec nodded slowly.
‘Your warriors are impressive, and the attack was indeed well-managed.’
He was putting it mildly but then he hardly seemed the type of man who was prone to enthusiasm. In truth, Caserach had timed things perfectly; attacking the town from one side before a second force pounced in from the other, catching the already surprised Caderyn between the hammer and the anvil. Combined with his forcing the headman to call it off, what might have been a bloody fight had turned into an easy victory. He kept the smile on his face.
‘Then you will support us?’
The Breiryn still looked doubtful, though with a face like his it was hard to tell.
‘Well, I think perhaps…’
All Caserach wanted to do was slap some spirit into this miserable piss-drinker but he wouldn’t have got where he was now if he’d made a habit of giving in to instinct. Instead he kept the smile up and tried to sound reasonable.
‘You wanted to see that we were as good as we claimed, have we not proven so?’
The horse-faced man nodded reluctantly.
‘Aye, you have.’
Caserach ploughed on before he could say anything else.
‘And you know what will happen if the northern tribes remain united as they are? Rhianwyn is practically a Gaian, and when her old friends are no longer a threat to her she will do as they do and look to conquer her neighbours.’
Asrec gave no sign of agreement, but he didn’t contradict him either. Caserach continued.
‘She will attack your territory over land and once your people have been enslaved she will attack mine over the sea.’ He leaned forward, trying to look earnest without being threatening. ‘But together we can stop her. If we can show that she is not so strong as she makes out, that her precious Caledon is a house built on sand, then the Gorvicae and those fools among my people who have been taken in by her lies will abandon her. Only then can we be safe from her ambitions.’
Asrec stroked his ridiculous beard thoughtfully.
‘Hmmm. Many of my people might think the same but you, Caserach, are unknown to them. Even Ierryn, for all the troubles he caused, was a man of great renown. We know little enough of your reputation.’
The urge to knock the bleating bastard down flared up even hotter at the mention of his uncle, but Caserach had been prepared for this and kept himself calm, his shoulders down and relaxed, his palms together. He adopted an expression of manfully controlled grief mixed in with a tiny dash of offended pride.
‘Do you not think that I too held my uncle in high regard? What was he to you but an enemy? To me he was as a second father.’
The lies seemed to take Asrec off-guard and Caserach followed up carefully.
‘I tried to tell him of the folly of shackling ourselves to that Gaian bitch. I begged him to see reason but he would not listen. Having to fight him was the worst nightmare I could have imagined and I wept as he fell to the dirt.’
He locked eyes with the Breiryn chief and made sure to put in just the right touch of suppressed emotion.
‘I was forced to kill my own High Chieftain, my own kin, to keep our people safe. Will you not lend us the strength of your warriors to do the same for both our tribes?’
Keep the look up now, let him see that you’re eager to be his friend but that you’ll tell the whole world of his cowardice if he refuses you. He’s half convinced already, you just need to keep him on the line.
‘Would you deny the strength of my warriors, their determination and courage? Would you not be proud to fight this tyrant with us?’
Once again, Asrec was trying to hide how impressed he’d been. Even Caserach had been pleasantly surprised at how well they’d done, given how few Gadarim he had with him. Most had gone to Nantwyn with Ierryn and had either died there or else were still with Kyran and the legion. We shall have to deal with him of course, but one thing at a time. Only a few of the warrior elite had remained to safeguard the Dariniae’s home, and precious few of those had been willing to join Caserach. But they will all come around, once they see I am all they have.
Asrec nodded his head.
‘They are indeed fearsome, and Rhianwyn should indeed be opposed.’
Caserach leaped in, smelling victory.
‘All I ask is enough warriors to beat her broken legion; that Gaian obscenity she has inflicted upon honest Lurians. Once that is done and the Gorvicae head north again we can demand all the tribute we want from the Caderyn, and sleep the sounder in our beds to know that she is undone.’
The cowardly fool stroked his beard some more. Come on damn you! You may be as much use as a hog-spit made of grass but I need your men to get this done! The Breiryn chief mumbled some nonsense to himself and Caserach was on the verge of arguing some more when the southerner looked up at him and extended his hand. Caserach smiled his best comradely smile and clasped wrists with him. He was completely unsurprised by how weak the grip was.
‘Very well, Caserach son of Heuryn. We shall be allies against this woman. I shall muster the clans of my people to your aid.’
Caserach kept on smiling, the expression almost genuine this time; Edryd’s promises were coming true. The Darin chief looked at the Breiryn and made sure to keep hidden the contempt he had for this man. Asrec can secure your chair for you, you can put up with him for now. Later… later the raiding will be plentiful and the coastline will be ravaged, and this horse-faced fool will rue the day he tried the patience of the Dariniae!
Chapter 8. The Proposition
Gawan wandered about the hill of Bryngarth, unsure of what to do. He had woken before the dawn, eager to be leading his cohort off to battle, but had soon realised there was nothing for him to actually do yet. The wagons were already loaded with supplies, armour and weapons, and his warriors would be waking soon enough. They would breakfast, which was already being prepared for them, and then be away in almost no time, heading south and east towards the enemy. There was nothing Gawan could do to hasten it, yet still he had left a soft bed and a loving woman to pace around aimlessly in the chilly morning dew.
He shook his head at his own folly. After all his years of fighting he ought to be used to this by now. A small war party might be quick enough to move but any large group of fighters would take time to get going, especially over a long distance, and one man rising earlier would make no difference to that. More than twenty years as a Gadarim and still you leap for combat like an untested youth. You are not young anymore, Gawan. You really should have learned patience by now.
He decided not to waste time scolding himself and instead went on with his walk, mainly to make the most of the chance to stretch out his legs. It was a long ride to the coast and they would all be sore by the end of it. He tried to look on the bright side; at least he wouldn’t have to carry much on this march, a pleasant advantage of travelling in such large numbers. His mailshirt and shield were loaded up on the carts and his saddlebags would be light enough. I hold the only things that truly matter anyway; a knife for my meat, the green cloak of my tribe and Heartreaver at my hip. Gawan ran thick fingers across the leather grip, worn smooth by many years of use. He almost smiled. What man could ask for more than this?
The sensible part of him reminded him that a few hundred comrades, a shield and an armoured shirt might come in handy, but his mood was brightening and he refused to be dragged down. After an evening of good food and drink he’d shared a pleasant night with Emeryn and would soon be on his way to another battle, one that he stood a damned good chance of winning. And after that we head back north, and home.
He stared out to the east as Belenos began to rise. The smell of the morning was fresh in his nostrils and reddish light was spreading across the skies to light up the plains below. At the base of the hill the thick woodland spread out north like a mop of dark hair above the ‘face’ of the lighter grass. Once again he had to admit that for all his pining for the northlands, the Caderyn had picked themselves a nice piece of land down here. Though it was still a far cry from home of course. Gawan furrowed his brow a little. But I wonder; will Graigarw feel the same as it once did? For years he had lived in the Gorvicae capital, protecting Baercban in between the various fights with their neighbours. Would it still feel like home with Taliesyn or Karadoc in the chieftain’s seat? His scowl deepened. It would probably still feel more like home than home could feel again.
The First Man felt his good mood evaporating and he turned away from the stunning view. He was spared from sinking into melancholy by the sight of Elfed approaching, though the urgency in his stride replaced Gawan’s gloominess with concern. His fellow Gadarim was walking quickly with an anxious look on his age-lined face, and the Gorvic tilted his head as he drew near.
‘Something wrong?’
The Caderyn nodded and kept his words brief.
‘The chieftain has called us to the longhall, at once.’
The lean man beckoned and started walking back the way he’d come, and Gawan fell into step beside him.
‘Do you know what this is about?’
Elfed shook his head.
‘I know only that a rider got here sometime in the night, his horse half-dead so they say. I was sleeping but it seems Owain was summoned straight away and he sent for me not long after. He told me to fetch you while Bran went to find Kyran, the druids will likely be there as well.’
Gawan nodded and kept walking while his brain broke into a sprint. Whatever reason Rhianwyn had for calling her senior Gadarim at this hour, Gawan would wager his right hand that it was something very bad. All talk of logistics and planning for the legion had taken place the night before and there was nothing more to say on that score. Merwyn was organising for them to be supplied on the march and Kyran and Bradan had assured them all that they had boats enough between them for the crossing. Gawan had frowned as he thought of that. Many more Dariniae had come over than would be sailing back again.
They were as prepared as they could be, which meant either some problem had come up that none of them had foreseen, or this rider on his dying horse had come with some very serious tidings. Had Caserach crossed the sea and begun raiding Caderyn land? If so he was a damned fool. The sea was his only protection against the wrath of the Dragon Legion, and even if he managed to attack them on the crossing, Kyran and his warriors were well-accustomed to fighting on the water, as would be Bradan and his Mobryn men. So far as Gawan knew this Caserach was no fool, so what else must he have done?
The pair covered the ground across the hill quickly and the longhall was soon in sight. Gawan glanced off to his right and saw the Gaian-style building that the governor had built, back when they had occupied Caderyn lands. It was a good thing that Rhianwyn had not used it for herself; she’d merely left it to those Gaian clerks she had invited to remain to help the Caledon in their dealings with the Empire. What little face she’d lost by allowing them to stay she had saved by doing her ruling from the longhall of her forefathers. Gawan looked at the thick grey columns and the posturing statues. Portunus had clearly built it intending for it to look imposing, and to make the Caderyn feel envious when they saw it from their roundhouses. To Gawan’s eyes it looked impressive but also hugely out of place; like a stag poking his antlers up in the middle of a dairy herd.
They reached the hall but rather than make for the main entrance, Elfed took them towards a side door that led into the back rooms. Presumably the main hall was still full of sleeping tribesmen, but nonetheless Gawan was not keen to go in this way. Elfed opened the door and the pair walked in, and Gawan tried hard not to look at a certain spot on the little room’s floor. The stain had been washed away for the most part but still he could see traces of his chieftain’s blood on the boards. It seemed like only the day before that Baercban had lain there with a red hole in his chest. The hole Gawan had made. He reminded himself firmly that the killing had been just, and looked around to see who else had been summoned at this hour of the morning.
There were some half a dozen other people already in the room, all standing around with almost no noise of conversation between them. Rhianwyn was at their centre, standing next to Owain. The chieftain wore a dark red dress with a brown woven belt, and though her face was alert he could see that the belt had been clumsily tied, and her black hair was tousled from sleep. There too were Bradan, Alraig, Merwyn, and the stick-thin Caderyn druid Gawan had seen the night before. Bradan’s braid was untidy and Merwyn especially was bleary-eyed, and Gawan assumed that they too had been dragged from their beds for this impromptu council. None of it bode well.
Along with the Caderyn were Boryn and Hywel, and Gawan exchanged nods with them and then the room in general. Before he had to think of anything to say the door behind him opened again to admit Bran and Kyran, along with two others that Gawan assumed were a druid and a headman of the Dariniae. The white-robed man looked ancient but broad, the chief beside him around Gawan’s own age and lean-built like Kyran. Once all were inside and the door was closed, Rhianwyn spread her arms and addressed them. She wasted no time with pleasantries.
‘Comrades, I am sorry to say that more bad news has come during the night.’
Gawan noted the lack of surprise in the people around him and guessed he hadn’t been alone in his concerns. Rhianwyn continued calmly.
‘Caserach has crossed the Glaswair. He and his followers travelled eastwards at great speed and have launched an attack upon Three Willows. They have killed many warriors and are extracting a tribute from Bleddin.’
There were several angry rumbles but it was Elfed who spoke first.
‘Well I hope Bleddin gave him only his heaviest bracelets! The slower Caserach is when he tries to run home, the quicker we’ll catch the bastard.’
There were sounds of approval and Kyran nodded his head.
‘He was a fool to cross the sea in the first place. He might need the grain but as you say, tribute will slow him. He must be desperate to prove himself as a man to follow.’
The distaste was plain on the Darin’s face and Gawan suspected once again that he was on the verge of spitting. But the Gorvic was also thinking quietly. Why indeed had Caserach done something so foolish? Had he assumed that Fearghal had died without telling his tale, and that the Caledon didn’t know about his murdering his uncle? And even if he did think that, why attack the Caderyn now, when the Dragon Legion was still largely in one place and easily deployed against him? Battered though they were, the legion was still more than a match for whatever warriors he had gathered to him. Why provoke their wrath?
He voiced his questions to the room in general but it was Rhianwyn who answered, her eyes rueful.
‘Caserach wants to goad us into battle. He would prove himself strong in the eyes of his people and hope that they forget how he made himself chieftain.’
Kyran and the Darin headman both looked grim at that but Bran just shrugged his shoulders.
‘Let him try. We have more than enough warriors to crush whatever he has, and if we send riders to Mobryn now they might be able to hunt the coast for their ships before he can retreat?’
Bradan nodded and stepped forward.
‘I can set off right now. With some fresh mounts I can be home in a matter of days.’
There were some encouraging murmurs but Rhianwyn held up a hand.
‘Wait father, there is more.’
Gawan blinked. It seemed odd that she used such a title for a man like Bradan. He was younger than both Merwyn and Alraig after all, and looked only a few summers older than Gawan himself. But then the First Man took a closer look at the headman of Mobryn. His face, and his blonde braid especially, reminded him of a Caderyn he had fought some years before; a young man who’d tried to fight him in vengeance for killing Dane, Carradan’s son. He’d been a bold enough fellow, and not unskilled with a blade, but had been no match for the Leaping Wolf. Gawan actually felt a little guilty about his fate, since he’d knocked the man to the ground only for Gaian soldiers to stab him there before he could rise. Their legions might be devastating, no doubt about that, but honour and glory were foreign words to the all-conquering Gaians, and not one of them had thought twice about killing a man who was already down.
