David Gemmell - Wolf in Shadow

The following day Zedeki had returned, this time alone.

'I understand one of your men was killed,' he said.

'Yes.'

'There are some raiders in the hills and we are looking for them. It is best if your people stay in the valley for a time.'

'That will not be necessary,' stated Griffin.

'I should not like to see other deaths,' Zedeki said.

'Nor I.'

'I see your house is nearing completion. It is a fine dwelling.'

Griffin had built in the lee of a hill on a wall foundation of stone, topped by timbers snugly fitted under a steep roof.

'You are welcome to join us for our midday meal,' invited Griffin.

'Thank you, but no.'

He had left soon after, and Griffin was concerned that he had not repeated his request for the weapons.

Three days later Griffin himself rode from the settlement, a rifle across his saddle and a pistol in his belt. He made for the high ground to the west, where big-horn sheep had been sighted. As he rode, he examined the rifle loaned to him by Madden. It was a Hellborn weapon, short-barrelled and heavy; the stock was spring-stressed and Madden had explained that after each shot, when the stock was pulled back, a fresh shell would be slipped into the breech. Griffin disliked the feel and the look of the weapon, preferring the clean graceful lines of his flintlock. But he could not argue with the practical applications of a repeating rifle and had accepted the loan readily.

He headed north-west and dismounted in a clearing on a wide ledge that overlooked the valley.

Left and right of him the undergrowth was thick around the base of tall pines, but here — out of the bright sunlight — Griffin looked out over the land and felt like a king. After a little while he heard horses approaching from the north. Picking up his rifle, he levered the stock, then placed the weapon against a rock and sat down.

Four Hellborn riders advanced into the clearing, pistols in their hands.

'Hunting raiders?' asked Griffin, pleasantly.

'Move away from the weapon,' said a rider. Griffin remained where he was and met the man's eyes; he was black-bearded and powerfully built, and there was nothing of warmth or friendship in his expression.

'I take it,' said Griffin, 'that you mean to kill me, as you killed young Carver?'

The man smiled grimly. 'He talked tough at the start, but he begged and pleaded at the end. So will you.'

'Possibly,' said Griffin. 'But, since I am to die anyway, would you mind telling me why?'

'Why what?'

'Why you are operating in this way. Zedeki told me you had an army. Could it be that my settlers frighten you?'

'I would like to tell you,' replied the man, 'because I'd like to know myself. But the answer is that we are ordered not to attack. . not yet. But any one of you that strays is fair game. You strayed.'

'Ah well,' said Griffin, remaining seated. 'It looks like it's time to die.'

Shots exploded from the undergrowth and two riders pitched from their saddles. Griffin snatched up the rifle and pumped three shots into the bearded rider's chest. A shell ricocheted from the rock beside him and he swung the rifle to cover the fourth rider, but another shot from the undergrowth punched a hole in his temple. His horse reared and he toppled from the saddle.

Griffin's ears rang in the silence that followed; then Madden, Burke and Mahler rose from the undergrowth and joined him.

'You were right, Griff, we're in a lot of trouble,' said Burke. 'Maybe it's time to leave?'

'I am not sure they would let us go,' said'Griffin. 'We're caught between a rock and a hard place.

The settlement is well-positioned and easier to defend than moving wagons. Yet, ultimately, we can't hold it.'

Then what do you suggest?' asked Mahler.

'I'm sorry, old lad, but at the moment I'm bereft of ideas. Let us take one day at a time. Strip the ammunition and weapons from the bodies and hide them in the undergrowth. Lead the horses in and kill them too. I don't want the Hellborn knowing that we are aware of our danger.'

'We won't fool them for long, Griff,' said Burke.

'I know.'

It was after midnight when Griffin slipped silently into the cabin. The fire was dead, but the large room retained the memory of the flames and he removed his heavy woollen jacket. Moving across the timbered floor, he opened the door to Eric's room; the boy was sleeping peacefully.

Griffin returned to the hearth and sat back in the old leather chair he had carried across half the continent. He was tired, and his back ached. He tugged off his boots and stared at the dead fire; it was not cold in the room, but he knelt, prepared kindling and lit the fire afresh.

You will think of something, Donna had told him.

But he couldn't. And it galled him.

Con Griffin, the humble wagon-master. He wore the tide like a cloak, for it served many purposes. All his life he had seen leaders of men, and he had learned early to judge their strengths. Many relied on wit and charisma, which always seemed to link heavily with luck. He had never been blessed with charisma and had turned his considerable intellect to creating a different kind of leader. Men who did not know Griffin would see a ponderous, powerful, slow-moving man: a humble wagon-master. As the days passed they would, if observant, notice that few problems troubled the big man, seeming to disappear of their own volition as his plans progressed. They would see other men taking problems to Griffin, and watch their troubles shrink away like mist in a morning breeze. The truly intuitive watcher would then see that Griffin, unlike the dashing leaders of golden oratory, commanded respect by being the still centre, an oasis of calm amid the storms of the world. Rarely provocative, never loud, always authoritative.

It was a creation of which Con Griffin was very proud.

Yet now, when he needed it most, he could think of nothing.

He added fuel to the fire and leaned back in the chair.

Donna Taybard awoke from a troubled sleep to hear the cracking of the unseasoned wood on the fire. Swinging her legs from the broad bed, she covered herself in a woollen gown and moved silently into the main room. Griffin did not hear her and she stopped for a moment, staring at him by the fire, his red hair highlighted by the flames.

'Con!'

'I am sorry, did I wake you?'

'No, I was dreaming. Such strange dreams. What happened out there?'

The Hellborn killed young Carver — we found that out.'

'We heard shots.'

'Yes. None of us was hurt.'

Donna poured cold water into a large copper kettle and hung it over the fire.

'You are troubled?' she asked.

'I cannot see a way out of the danger. I feel like a rabbit in a snare, waiting for the hunter.'

Donna giggled suddenly and Griffin looked at her face in the firelight. She seemed younger and altogether too beautiful.

'Why do you laugh?'

'I never knew a man less like a rabbit. You remind me of a bear — a great big, soft brown bear.'

He chuckled and they sat in silence for several minutes. Donna prepared some herb tea, and as they sipped it before the fire the problems of the Heilborn seemed far away. 'How many of them are there?' asked Donna suddenly. The Hellborn? I don't know. Jacob tried to track them on the first night, but they spotted him and he rode away.' Then how can you plan against them? You don't know the extent of the problem.'

'Damn!' said Griffin softly, and the weight lifted from his mind. 'Zedeki said there were thousands and I believed him. But that doesn't mean they are all here. You are right, Donna, and I have been a fool.' Griffin tugged on his boots, lifted her to her feet and kissed her. 'Where are you going?'

'We came back separately in case the watchers remain at night. Jacob should be home by now and I need to see him.' Slipping on his dark jacket, he stepped out into the night and crossed the open ground to Madden's cabin. The windows were shuttered, but Griffin could see a gleam of golden light through the centre of the shutters and he tapped at the door.