Chapter Fifteen

  Gryffin joined the gathering of warriors who waited outside the inn in the half light of dawn. All told, there must have been three hundred of so warriors present, not counting the windborne who stood to one side by themselves. It was hard to pick out Sigur from amongst them. He seemed to be quickly growing into his new life and walked and acted with as much confidence as any of the others. Whether this was real or not, Gryffin could not say just by looking, but he hoped he was happy with the unexpected direction his life had taken only days before. The young hunter shivered against the early morning cold, even though the signs were that it would be another warm day. He pulled his heavy woollen cloak tighter around his body but still the chill managed to find every gap. The last two to arrive were Callun and Cormac and they immediately set about organising the patrols for the day ahead. Many of the older, wealthier warriors had warhorses, and Callun quickly split these away from the others. Dividing their number into three, he told them their patrol areas, including all the distant homesteads that the Eron considered to be particularly at risk. He dismissed each group with instructions to be careful and to immediately send a message if anything was found. They quietly filed out of the village, all heading eastwards in the direction of the forest that Dougal hunted. The next group to leave were the windborne, but they needed no instructions as to their duty. They would search the forest again today. The warriors of the goddess broke into a loping run and soon disappeared from the square. Now all that remained were the warriors on foot, still about two hundred in number. Cormac quickly divided them into ten groups and told them what was expected this day. All of their areas were closer to the village but still would mean walking many miles that day. Gryffin’s group was placed under the command of the local Tanner, Maric, a gangly man in his late twenties who seemed to permanently smell of the dyes and solutions he used in his trade. It was well known around the village that Maric was a little too fond of his ale, and that if he had spent more time on his profession and less time trying to drink away what little profit he made, then he had the talent to easily become one of the wealthiest men in the village. As it was, his appearance was rather shabby, and his pocked marked face carried a permanent shadow of stubble where he had been too lazy to shave.

  Obeying his orders from Cormac, Maric led his group of twenty, Gryffin included, out of the village towards the south. They spent a sweaty, tiring day marching from house to homestead asking if anyone had spotted any sign of unusual activity in the area. It soon became obvious that Maric was intent on putting as much effort into commanding the group as he did into his profession and, as Gryffin was the only one present who had any idea of what they were facing, it was to him that the others started to turn for instructions. As the light began to fade, it was Gryffin who decided that they should return to the village for the night, and upon their return it was to his instructions that they listened to as to what time and where to meet the next day. It did not go unnoticed by Cormac.

  “So,” The red-haired lieutenant said as the others were dispersing for the night to their homes and lodgings, “we send out a patrol with Maric in command and it returns in the evening with everyone, Maric included, following your orders. Would you care to explain?”

  Gryffin’s face coloured to match the larger man’s beard. Cormac laughed, not unkindly and slapped him roughly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, lad.” He said reassuringly. “If it’s alright with Maric then who am I to complain? Tomorrow, you oversee Maric’s group. I’ll go and clear it with Callun. Come to see me before sunup and I’ll explain what it is that I want from you then. For now, go and get some food and a good night’s rest.”

  The following day, a fully-in-charge Gryffin led his small warband on the same patrol path to the south of the village as the previous day. At noon they rested and ate at the edge of a small stand of alders which overlooked a long, narrow valley that ran away, out of sight, to the southeast. Through it ran the Chamast, a waterway not large enough to be called a river and too big to be called a stream, which eventually joined the much larger, but much more sluggish, river Asis away to the north. Gryffin sat, his eyes trying to trace the Chamast’s course as far to the south as he could, while he decided whether to eat the large red apple that constituted the last of his supplies or to save it for later. Caenid, the miller’s son, called out to him.

  “Gryffin, something is moving down the valley.”

  Gryffin hastily stowed his apple in his knapsack and scrambled to join the others as they stared at the slowly moving black smear that was wending its way along the valley floor in their direction. He chewed his lip nervously as he considered, firstly, who or what might that smear be, and secondly, what option lay open to him should they be unfriendly.

  Maric pushed his way to the front of the group until he stood at Gryffin’s shoulder. “It could be one of our other patrols covering further to the south.” Suggested the tanner.

  “It’s possible, I suppose.” Gryffin agreed. “There seems to be too many of them to be from the village, and why would they be heading back home so early in the day?”

  Caenid squinted into the distance, shading his eyes with his hands. “There looks to be at least a hundred riders. More than in the whole of the village.” He said. “So, what do we do?”

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  Deciding on a course of action, Gryffin spoke, his eyes never leaving the approaching riders. “Maric, you know the others better than I. Who is the fastest runner?”

  The tanner looked at the others in the group, gauging each of their strengths in turn. “If you are wanting someone to run all the way back to the village, then I’d send Caenid. He’s not the fastest in a sprint but it’s a long way back, and he has the stamina to make it in good time.”

  Gryffin turned to Caenid, who was still watching the riders with shaded eyes. “Tell Callun or Cormac that we are retreating towards the village and will need help. We will make a stand if it looks like we will be caught and can find a suitable place, but make sure they know that we will not let them pass uncontested either way. “

  Caenid nodded that he understood what he was to say, and then he was off running at a pace that soon had him out of sight. At Gryffin’s prompting, the others hastily gathered their belongings and started an uneasy march back towards the village.

  Two hours of hard marching saw them cover half the distance to the safety of home and, hopefully, the Eron or Cormac with reinforcements. From the occasional sightings they caught of the riders, however, it was becoming increasingly obvious that they were being overtaken and that even pushing their pace as fast as they could, they would still be overtaken within the next half hour and would still be well short of the village. The only positive, if it could be called one, was that they were almost certain that the riders were human and not Dokkaebi.

  “ Maric, it looks like we are going to have to make a stand soon.” Said Gryffin. “Keep an eye out for a suitable place.”

  The tanner’s eyes widened in horror at the thought. “Are you mad?” He said, the thought of facing a larger group of mounted men filling him with fear. “We are outnumbered five to one!”

  “What else can we do?” Gryffin shrugged, trying to hide his own fear that was equally as strong as Maric’s. “I refuse to hide and let the pass uncontested. We have to give the village time to prepare.”

  “But we will die!”

  “And so will everyone in the village if they are caught unawares.” Gryffin gave the tanner a tight smile letting his fear show a little. “I have no more desire to die than you do, but what can we do? I’ve been a member of the warband for less than two weeks and I refuse to hide the first time I am called upon to defend the village.”

  Maric gave out an almost hysterical giggle. “If I survive this, I promise that I’ll be the very model of conscientiousness at work. If I’d have earnt more money, I could have bought myself a horse. Then I would have been far away from this mad last stand that we are about to make.”

  “If only you had spent less money on ale, you would have been able to buy a horse without having to work any harder.”

  “That’s true.” Admitted Maric, his pock marked face splitting into a grin. “But tanning is such a thirsty occupation.”

  A little further on Maric and Gryffin found what they both agreed was the most defensible position they were likely to find to make their stand. Constrictions in the valley forced the track that both groups travelled on to thread between some rough ground that was clearly unsuitable for horse to cross at speed, and a stand of trees. Even better, one of the trees had fallen to create a barrier across the path. The riders were now only a few hundred yards behind them and Gryffin ordered his warriors to form a double line behind the trunk facing the approaching strangers. He himself stood in the centre of the front rank of the fragile phalanx. He silently offered up a prayer to the goddess to give him the courage to sell his life as dearly as possible if it became necessary, then wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers. Gryffin’s cloak and shield that were such a joy to him when he received them short days ago now felt like weights upon him. He shrugged his shoulders to ease the tension in them, shifting his shield to make it more comfortable. He looked left and right along the line at the young men who stood with him. Like himself, they realised that, should the strangers prove hostile, they were likely not to see the end of the next hour. It comforted the young hunter that although all looked pale and nervous, no one seemed to be on the verge of flight.

  As the body of horsemen caught sight of the defenders, they reigned in, coming to a halt barely a hundred feet from the young men that blocked their way. One exceptionally dusty rider urged his horse slightly ahead of his comrades. “Stand aside.” He barked. “We need to pass this way.”

  Gryffin tightened his grip on his weapon to bolster his shaky courage. “What do you in these lands?” He yelled in return.

  “None of your damn business! Now, move aside!”

  “No.” Replied Gryffin, his level voice making him appear much more in control of himself than he actually felt. “If you will not answer my question then we will not let you pass without a fight.”

  A ripple of laughter passed through the ranks of horsemen.

  “Maybe you will not find it so funny when we knock a few of you from your saddles.” Said Gryffin, bristling with indignation. This time the laughter came from those that stood either side of him. He half turned as a rolling peal of thunder behind him announced the unexpected arrival of help. Callun and all the mounted warriors that he could muster pulled to a halt beside the defender’s line. Gryffin turned back, his expression changing to one of relief. “Perhaps you’d care to reconsider your trespass on our lands.”

  From deep with the body of the riders, three warriors pushed their way to the front. Each reached behind them and pulled cloaks free from their saddlebags, placing them around their shoulders. With a sinking feeling Gryffin noted that all three were tribal tartans of the Six-tribes, one even being an Aedua red and green. He turned to his Eron in confusion, but Callun’s face was unreadable.

  “Are you going to introduce me to your village champion, Callun?” Asked the warrior in the Aedua plaid. His voice was surprisingly mellow and gentle, totally at odds with his powerfully built body.

  “I will indeed.” Said Callun, his voice as strange as the expression on his face. “Gryffin, may I introduce to you Drem, Mal of the Sequani tribe, and Connal, Mal of the Venilli.” The two warriors either side of the Aedua rider bowed in their saddles. “And this,” he said, completing his introductions, “is Amren, Mal of the Aedua and Ard-mal of the Six-tribes. This is your High king, you young blockhead!”