Jack Whyte - Uther

Behind them, however, opposite the high cliff and high on the grassy slope of a small hill that rose above the trees to the west of them and overlooked the camp, they were indeed being watched. A man lay there, concealed behind a clump of grass. He lay almost motionless, gathering his strength and watching the activity below, and as he did so, he rubbed unconsciously at the stub of the single finger remaining on his left hand.

He and his companions had barely managed to escape the path of the growing lire that Uther's men had set in the narrow valley to the north, but they had clambered safely to the top of the western ridge and then swooped down to safety in the valley beyond, where they had stopped to rest and recover their breath before their leader decided what to do next.

They knew the enemy they were pursuing could not be far ahead, and they knew that the women in the fleeing party were slowing them down, making it possible for their hunters to catch up. But now they found themselves on the wrong side of the crest, and the hillsides on the other side were ablaze. Sooner or later, the leader knew, he and his men would have to cross over the ridge again to regain the valley they had so recently left. He had summoned the six fastest runners among the four score who remained alive with him and sent them off to the southward, bidding them run as far and fast as they could, until they could scale the ridge again and find the enemy.

The runners had fallen away one at a time as exhaustion overtook them, but One-Finger, the last and strongest, had run on, his long, wiry legs and effortless stride devouring distance. The lie of the land itself and the thickness of the brush that choked the hillsides had dictated the route he must take, and that route had pushed him farther and farther west, away from the ridge on his left side as it sank lower and lower, its summit angling steadily downwards towards sea level, until he lost sight of it completely, separated from it by at least two miles and hemmed in by an impenetrable press of stunted, thorny, bushy trees that defied him to enter them and fight his way through. Then, finally, just as he had been on the point of collapsing and giving up, he had broken out of the high bushes that surrounded him and found himself on the bank of a river. He had fallen on his knees and drunk the river water, then rolled in the stream, cooling his exhausted body. And afterwards he had climbed up onto the biggest boulder he could find and looked about for a high vantage point. He saw only one possible location, a solitary, low hill thrusting up from the trees from which he had just emerged, about half a league east of where he stood. He had headed directly towards it and had breasted it just in time to see the arrival of Uther's party at their campsite.

Now as he lay watching, he felt excitement grow in him. If he could find his friends quickly enough, he could bring them by the route he had found to where it met the river. The enemy would pass there early the following day, and he and his could be waiting for them there in ambush. Carefully, keeping his head low and moving with great caution, One-Finger crawled away until he was beyond sight of the encampment below. Then he stood up. breathed deeply several times until his lungs were full and set off northward at a steady lope.

Uther and Ygraine had barely begun to eat when the alarm was shouted and a lone rider came cantering towards the camp. Uther stood up, his food forgotten as he heard someone shout Garreth Whistler's name, and a great flood of dismay swept up from his belly. Despite the distance between them, he had recognized Garreth almost before he heard the distant shout naming him, for the King's Champion rode bare-headed, his long, white-golden hair catching the last of the sun's light. Ygraine, too, had come to her feet, and now she bent to place her food on the rock on which she had been sitting, and reached out to grasp Uther's wrist, her touch calming him and helping greatly to soothe his fears. He knew that Garreth's arrival could hardly bring good tidings, and a vision of a battlefield on which only ravens yet lived sprang into his mind. Forcing himself to remain outwardly calm, he, too, stooped slowly and laid down his food, then disengaged his wrist from Ygraine's hold and moved forward slowly to where Garreth could see him easily. Stone-faced, he watched as the approaching figure recognized him and angled directly towards him, keeping his horse at a steady lope until he had reached the spot where Uther stood. By that time, the King had seen the wide grin on his friend's face, but he ignored it, his own face a strictly schooled mask that showed nothing. The Commander's perception was the only one that counted here: this was a subordinate approaching who ought to be with his own men. Uther fought to keep his own imaginings under control.

Whistler brought his horse to a halt and swung his right leg forward easily over his horse's head, sliding effortlessly to the ground and striding forward to embrace his King. Uther halted him with an outstretched arm and spoke through stiff lips.

"What are you doing here, Garreth? I gave you clear instructions to stay with Dedalus."

Garreth Whistler stopped short, but his smile barely altered. "He didn't need me. He has everything in hand and more assistance than he needs. I thought your need of me might be greater than his."

"How so, when I told you what I required of you?"

Whistler looked from Uther's angry gaze to where Ygraine stood watching and bowed deeply. "My lady, I trust you are well?"

"We are. Garreth. all of us, as you can see. Thank you for asking."

"I'm waiting," Uther said, his voice soft and cold. "Make your report."

The other man looked back to him, his grin finally fading, and inclined his head. "Of course, my lord. Forgive me. I have to report that all is well with your army. Better than any of us could have expected earlier today. The plan proposed by Dedalus worked to perfection. The enemy went running after you in ever-growing numbers and left the field to us."

Uther blinked. "Left the—? You mean they all came after us?"

"Aye, lord, they did. Or most of them did. But not all at once. The first runners went after your party, seeing their chance for riches and hoping to catch you quickly. And then others realized what those first pursuers were doing, and they gave chase too, hoping to share in your capture—and especially in the capture and rape of the women they thought you had with you—your pardon, my lady." This last was to Ygraine, who merely nodded and said nothing. "Then, once things had reached that point, others joined in until the flow became a flood, and those who were then left behind, unsure of what to do, could see that Dedalus was strengthening his formations and making ready to fight again to the death. I think by that time they had had enough. Ded said all along they had little stomach for fighting our lads, and it was only their numbers that encouraged them. He was right. With what looked like more than half their army gone, chasing you, the others apparently thought it might be wise to follow them. Certainly none of them moved back to the attack. They simply melted away after that, many of them back towards the north. And as I said, they left the field to us."

"How many men did we lose altogether?"

"Too many. More than half. But when the enemy disengaged, we had a full five hundred still standing in formation, some of them slightly wounded, and more than a hundred mounted troopers regrouped on the hillside."

There was a long silence as Uther absorbed this. A silent ring of men had gathered around just within earshot, eager to hear the tidings Garreth had brought. He made no move to banish them, but when he spoke again he raised his voice slightly.

"You are describing a victory."