Darkspell - Katharine Kerr [58]
“Wolves, are you?” he said.
“We are. What’s it to you?”
The leader’s eyes flicked to her twenty-four men and counted hopeless odds. With a shrug he wheeled his horse and led off his troop in retreat. As they turned, she saw that one rider was carrying a shield blazoned with the green Wyvern of the Holy City.
“So,” she said to Ricyn, “I see why Glyn sent his men along with us.”
“Just that, my lady. Slwmar of Cantrae isn’t going to let this much land go without a fight.”
“We’d best get back and tell the others.”
Back at Blaeddbyr the ditch was finished and the earthwork piled up, though not yet tamped and reinforced. In a rough circle the logs for the palisade lay like a shark’s teeth on the ground just inside. Gweniver found Gwetmar and Dannyn talking with the master carpenter and led them aside to tell her news.
“So I’ll wager Burcan will know by sunset that we’re back,” she finished.
“Just that,” Dannyn said. “They know we couldn’t be at the ruined dun, so I’ll wager they ride straight here. We’d best meet them on the road. If we’re badly outnumbered, we’ll fall back to the village, and the earthwork will even the odds for us.”
“If we have to retreat,” Gwetmar joined in, “we should do it as soon as we realize we have to. We don’t want to get cut off.”
“Of course,” Dannyn said. “But you’re staying here to hold the village.”
“Now, just one moment! I intend to ride in defense of my own lands.”
“The intention is noble, my lord, but the thought is poor. The only reason that me and my lads are here is to keep you alive.”
When Gwetmar flushed in rage, Gweniver intervened.
“Don’t be a dolt!” she snapped. “How do we know if that child Maccy’s carrying is a lad or a lass? If you die in battle, and if it doesn’t live or suchlike, then there isn’t any Wolf clan until Maccy remarries. We’ll have to go through this whole cursed thing again.”
“Exactly.” Dannyn gave Gwetmar a smile that was meant to be conciliatory. “You produce the heirs, my lord, and we’ll get the land for them.”
On the morrow Dannyn woke the men early and led them out as the gray dawn was brightening, because if Burcan marched fast, he would reach the village by late afternoon. In the middle of the morning they crossed the border between the two demesnes and marched on through fields gone to weeds and wild grasses. Here and there they saw empty farmhouses, rotting in the weather. At noon they came to a large meadow with a thick stand of trees to one side. Dannyn sent out scouts, then let the main body rest their horses for a short while before he formed up the battle line. Two thirds of the men drew up across the road; the others hid among the trees, where they would wait until the battle was joined, then fall on Burcan’s flank.
They were waiting in the hot sun when the scouts came back, bearing the news that they’d met with scouts from the Boar. Gweniver turned to Ricyn with a smile.
“Well and good. They’re on their way. Remember to leave Burcan himself to me.”
“I will, my lady. And if I don’t see you alive tonight, then I’ll see you in the Otherlands.”
When she drew a javelin, her men followed her lead, the points flashing like a line of fire across the road. Again they waited, the horses stamping restlessly, the men utterly silent. Suddenly Gweniver felt a cold touch ripple down her spine. When she looked around, she saw her father, her brothers, and her uncles, sitting on shadowy horses as insubstantial as they, off to one side of the battle line. They watched her gravely, as silent as the living men while they waited to see either the victory or the death of their clan.
“Is somewhat wrong?” Ricyn said.
“Can’t you see them? Look. There.”
Utterly puzzled, he peered in the direction she pointed out, while the ghosts smiled, as if thinking that good-hearted Ricyn had changed very little since last they’d seen him. Just at that moment someone raised a shout.