The Kings of Clonmel

Chapter 27

It did rain during the night, a light shower that fell for about fifteen minutes just after midnight. But the camp site wasn't quite as uncomfortable as Halt and Horace had envisaged. They had overlooked the fact that Will still had his tent and camping equipment with him.

Even though the tents were designed for one man, it was possible to squeeze two people into one. And of course, at any time, one of the group was on watch.

Will had the final shift and, as dawn was slowly spreading over the countryside and birds were waking up in the trees and bushes, he saw Halt crawling out of the low tent.

The older Ranger looked with annoyance at the damp patches on his knees. It was impossible to emerge from a low tent like that on wet ground without getting your trousers wet, he reflected. He stretched and walked to where Will was watching the road, wrapped in his cloak.

`Any sign of them?' he asked.

Will shook his head. 'Not so far,' he said. Then headded, 'I thought you said a dawn attack would be too obvious and they probably wouldn't attack until midday

Halt picked up Will's canteen and took a swig of cold water, rinsing it round his mouth, then spitting it out.

`I did. But then they might decide to do the obvious thing after all,' he said.

`Oh, it's a case of they think I'll think that they'll do A, so they'll do B because I wouldn't think they'd think of that but then because I might think I know what they're thinking they'll do A after all because I wouldn't think they'd think that way,' Will said.

Halt looked at him for a long moment in silence. 'You know, I'm almost tempted to ask you to repeat that.' Will grinned ruefully. 'I'm not sure I could.'

Halt moved away to rummage in Will's pack for the coffee pot.

`Might as well light a small fire,' he said. 'They won't see it among the trees and if they smell the smoke they'll think it's from Craikennis.'

Will cheered up at the words. He'd assumed they'd have a cold camp. The idea of hot coffee was a pleasant surprise. A few minutes later, Horace crawled out of the tent. He made sure he emerged on hands and toes, not letting his knees touch the wet ground. Halt scowled at him as he saw him spring athletically to his feet.

`I hate young people,' he said to himself.

Horace wandered over and took a cup of coffee to Will, then went back for one for himself. The three stood, sipping the hot, restoring drink, easing the cramps of a night spent on the hard, damp ground out of their muscles. It took a little longer for Halt to manage this.

He muttered darkly about young people again. Horace and Will, wisely, chose to ignore him.

After a few minutes, Horace asked: 'So what's the drill for today, Halt?'

Halt pointed to a small knoll a few metres from the treeline.

`That's our position there. Will and I will see if we can't thin out Padraig's numbers a little.' He looked at his former student. 'Don't take any chances, but whenever you can, shoot to wound or disable.' He saw the unspoken question in Will's eyes and continued, 'I know, these men are killers and murderers and I have no compunction about shooting to kill. But a wounded man takes another man out of the battle – he has to tend to him.'

Horace smiled. 'I thought you were getting sentimental in your old age there, Halt.'

The Ranger said nothing. He glared at Horace for a long moment and the big warrior wished he could take back the phrase 'old age'. Over the past weeks, he'd noticed that Halt was a little prickly about the fact that he wasn't getting any younger.

`Sorry,' he mumbled eventually. Halt said nothing. He snorted angrily and Horace suddenly found it necessary to take a great interest in adjusting his belt buckle until it was just right. Halt let him suffer for a few moments, then beckoned him to follow.

`I want you mounted and ready, Horace. But stay back out of sight till I call you. And I want you to put this over your shield.'

He searched in his saddlebags and brought out a folded piece of heavy linen, handing it to the younger man.

Horace spread it out and found it to be a circular piece, a little larger than his shield, with a drawstring around the edge. It would slip over the shield and the drawstring would pull tight to hold it in position. Sometimes, he knew, knights used these covers in tournaments, when they wanted to cover their insignia and fight incognito.

But this wasn't blank. It had a strange and rather striking design in the centre. It was a reddish-orange circle, with the bottom third of its arc cut off by a straight black line that protruded a few centimetres either side. It reminded Horace of something, but he couldn't quite place it.

`It's the insignia of the Sunrise Warrior,' Halt told him. Horace cocked his head to one side interrogatively and the Ranger continued. 'He's a figure of Hibernian myth. The story goes that when the kingdoms are in peril, the Sunrise Warrior will rise up from the east and restore order within the kingdoms.'

`And you want me to be him?' Horace said. Now that Halt had mentioned the word 'sunrise', he realised that was what the design had reminded him of.

Halt nodded. 'Your legend begins today, when you save the village of Craikennis from two hundred men.'

`Eighty,' Will said. He had strolled over to watch as Horace fastened the cover over his shield. For this trip, Horace's normal green oakleaf insignia had been painted over and his shield was blank.

Halt looked up at the interjection.

`There'll be two hundred by the time I finish telling it,' he told Will. 'We might even get you to compose a ballad of praise to the Sunrise Warrior.'

Horace grinned. 'I think I'd like that,' he said. Will gave him a pained look but he pretended not to notice it and went on, 'But really, Halt, what's all this legend and myth got to do with anything?'

`We'll fight fire with fire. Tennyson is claiming the support of Alseiass, the almighty Golden God. Says Alseiass is the only hope for the Kingdom, the only hope of protection from these outlaws. And people are buying his message. So we'll enlist the Sunrise Warrior and offer him as an alternative. Sooner or later, Tennyson will have to challenge us. When he does, we'll see him off.'

`Couldn't we just capture him and get rid of him without all this rigmarole?' Will asked.

`We could. But we have to break his power, his hold over the people. We have to destroy the myth of the Outsiders. And we have to be seen to do it. Otherwise, he'll be seen as a martyr and one of his followers will simply rise up and continue this damned business.

`The whole Outsiders plan works because there's a power vacuum. The King is weak and incapable so Tennyson can step into the gap to provide strong leadership and a symbol to rally round. We have to discredit both Tennyson and Alseiass, and provide a viable, visible alternative – and that's the Sunrise Warrior.'

`You mean I'm going to have my own cult?' Horace asked and Halt nodded reluctantly.

`In a way. Yes.'

Horace beamed. 'Then perhaps you two might start showing a little more respect.'

`That's unlikely,' Will told him.

But Horace ignored him as before, beaming even morewidely. 'I rather like the idea of having you two as my acolytes,'he said.

Halt and Will exchanged a glance.

`Don't push it,' they both said at the same time.

The morning wore on. After the sun had dried out his tent, Will packed it away, along with most of his camping equipment. He left out only their basic needs for cooking and, of course, the ever-present coffee pot.

While his friend attended to these details, Horace cleaned and sharpened his weapons, running a stone down the already razor-sharp edges of his sword with a pleasing zzzz-ing sound. He laid out his mail shirt and helmet, ready to put them on at short notice, and saddled Kicker. He checked every inch of his harness but left the girth straps loose for the time being. There was no point in subjecting his horse to the discomfort of a tightly cinched saddle while they waited.

During the next few hours, they were conscious of considerable movement inside the nearby village. The sentry post outside the barricade was left unmanned, but they could see men moving behind the barricade itself, in greater numbers than they'd seen on previous occasions, and the low buzz of voices carried across the field to them. From time to time, the bright morning sun reflected off weapon blades or the occasional helmet as the defenders moved from one place to another.

`Looks as if Conal is taking your warning seriously,' Will said.

Halt, who had spent the morning watching the road, hunkered down with his back against a tree, glanced at the village and nodded.

`He struck me as a reasonable man,' he said. 'I hope he doesn't tip his hand too soon. It'd be better if Padraig wasn't aware that the entire garrison is expecting him.'

`That might be too much to hope for,' Will said. `It's more likely Conal will be hoping that a show of force will avoid a fight.'

`It won't,' Halt said grimly.

`You know it and I know it,' Will said. 'But does Conal?'

But in spite of his cynicism, it appeared that Conal did understand the value of surprise, and the inevitability of an attack. As the sun rose closer to the overhead position of noon, they saw a distinct decrease in the amount of visible activity at the barricade. The men on duty no longer craned over the top of the makeshift wall to see if the enemy were coming. And the babble of voices died away. The village appeared to be sleepy and peaceful. There was no sign of any defenders, no indication that Craikennis was expecting an attack. An observer would think that the villagers were relaxing over their midday meal, with perhaps a little nap to follow afterwards. The sun was hot and insects buzzed drowsily. There was even a slight shimmer of heat haze along the high road. It was a peaceful, restful, normal day in the country – up to the point where Halt spoke.

`Here they come,' he said.