David Gemmel - Midnight Falcon

'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.