The wind changed, and the sound of drumbeats echoed across the field as the Stone army continued its march towards the Keltoi centre. Bran signalled his archers to draw up behind the front lines. Hundreds of Rigante bowmen ran forward.
Three hundred yards away now and a trumpet sounded in the enemy ranks. The soldiers of Stone halted their march, the formation changing again. Bran's heart sank, for the Stone line spread out into the open fighting square. Then they advanced once more. Bran's mind raced. They could still envelop the enemy, but to what advantage? Their only hope had been to compress them, destroying their ability to manoeuvre. This new formation was flexible, and Bran could see two Panthers in reserve at the centre, ready to plug any gaps that might develop.
Two hundred yards and Bran could now see the figure of Jasaray at the centre of the enemy square. The emperor was wearing a simple unadorned breastplate of iron, and an old battered helm. He was walking with his hands clasped behind his back, and chatting to the officer beside him.
One hundred yards, and the drums picked up their beat. The advance quickened. Bran could feel the tension in the men around him, the beginnings of fear.
'Death to Stone!' bellowed Bran, drawing his sword and holding it high. A huge cry went up from the Keltoi, a roaring, releasing wall of sound that swept over the advancing ranks.
Fifty yards. Now Bran could see individual faces. 'Archers!' he shouted.
The Rigante bowmen notched shafts to their bowstrings, drew back and let fly. Bran saw four Stone soldiers run to Jasaray, locking their shields round the emperor. Most of the shafts clattered from shields and helms, but a few found gaps in armour and sliced into unprotected flesh. A score of soldiers in the front line fell. The advance continued. Volley after volley soared through the air.
Twenty yards and Bran signalled a halt to the shooting. They had hit and injured some two hundred enemy soldiers, many of whom continued to march. Then the enemy shouted a battle cry and surged forward. The Keltoi leapt to meet them.
And the killing began.
Following Bran's orders the Gath general, Osta, led his Horse Archers in a flanking attack against the enemy's right. With shields worn on the left arm the right flank of an advancing army was always more vulnerable. But as Osta's five hundred riders bore down on them the men of Stone merely spun on their heels, presenting their shields, and blocking the first volleys.
Osta swung his men and galloped parallel to the enemy line, shooting as he rode. Beyond the shield wall Osta saw the Stone archers. Not one of them loosed a shaft. The attack having proved abortive Osta signalled his men to return to the hillside. Once there the Gath dismounted and walked to where Govannan was waiting with his heavy infantry.
'This doesn't look good,' said Osta. 'If we attack, we'll break on their shield wall like waves against a cliff.'
'We'll wait for the signal from Bran,' said Govannan, 'then we'll smash that wall or die trying.'
'Where in the name of Taranis is Conn?' whispered Osta, leaning in close.
Govannan said nothing. Before the king had ridden out yesterday he had summoned Govannan to his tent. The white-haired infantry leader had expected a conversation about tactics. Instead Conn had poured him a goblet of wine. 'I shall be gone for most of today,' he said. Govannan saw that the king was in full armour.
'Where to?' he asked.
'I cannot say.'
'The battle is tomorrow, Conn. For the sake of us all take no risks!'
'Some risks cannot be avoided.'
An uneasy silence had developed. Govannan broke it.
'What is it that you wished to discuss?'
Conn had smiled. 'You remember the bear?'
'How could I forget?'
'You and I were not friends then, and yet you ran to my aid. I have never forgotten that, Van. As the beast tore into me I saw you attack it, and in that instant I knew what it was to be Rigante. No matter how terrifying the enemy, we stand together and we do not run.'
'Why are you saying this?' asked Govannan, suddenly fearful.
Connavar smiled. 'I wanted to thank you for that day.'
'Damn, Conn, but you are worrying me now. Where are you going?'
'To meet someone I love.' He offered his hand and Govannan shook it. 'I'll see you tomorrow.'
The king had left the tent, mounted the grey, Windsong, and ridden off towards the east.
'If he doesn't come we're finished,' said Osta, the words jerking Govannan back to the present. Govannan said nothing.
The fighting on the hillside was ferocious now. Hundreds of Rigante were down. And the Stone advance continued.
Fiallach rode down from the hillside, leading ten thousand Iron Wolves. Slowly they filed across the field, just out of bowshot of the enemy rear, forming up into five well-spaced lines, ready for the charge when the signal came.
The giant Rigante warrior longed to kick his horse into a run, and thunder towards the hated foe, his blade scything through flesh and bone, and it took a great effort of will merely to sit and await Bran's signal. Especially now, with Bran's plan in ruins and hundreds of Rigante warriors being cut down by the advancing square.
Fiallach stared with undisguised malevolence at the enemy bowmen. Not one shaft had been loosed, and that meant the charge would take place under a rain of death, horses falling, men being trampled under iron-shod hooves. The horses' breasts were covered by chain mail, but necks, heads and legs were open to attack. The big man eased his shield from his left arm, hooking it over the high pommel of his saddle. His son, Finnigal, moved alongside. The boy shouldn't have been here, but Vorna had healed him well, and he had insisted on riding beside his father. Fiallach scratched his silver-streaked beard. 'Not long now,' he said.
Finnigal removed his helm, running his fingers through his hair.
'The losses will be fearful,' he said. 'We'll be riding into an iron-tipped hailstorm.'
'Aye – and we'll ride through it,' said Fiallach grimly. 'This is the moment I have waited half my life for, to destroy once and for all the myth of Stone. And we will, boy.'
'Where is the king?' asked Finnigal, echoing the question in every man's mind.
'He'll be here, don't you fret about that. You think Connavar would miss this battle?'
'He's missed it so far,' muttered Finnigal.
Fiallach did not respond. The king's absence was a mystery, and a worrying one at that. Many men had seen Connavar ride from the camp. By the evening Fiallach had sought out Bran, but he had no idea where his brother had gone. All he could say was that he and Conn had worked on a strategy, and Conn had left the camp in mid-afternoon. Fiallach had then spoken to Govannan, who told him of the conversation earlier, when Connavar had said he was going to meet someone he loved.
'Many men need a woman the night before a battle,' said Fiallach. 'It helps to relax them.'
'I think he was planning to meet Braefar.'
'For what purpose?'
Govannan had shrugged. 'To forgive him, perhaps. Hell's teeth, Fiallach, I don't know. What worried me was that it sounded like a farewell.'
'You must be mistaken,' said Fiallach. 'Conn would never leave us at such a time. Gods, man, this is Jasaray we are facing!'
'I hope you are right, my friend,' said Govannan, 'because without him we'll not succeed. Don't misunderstand me – Bran is a great planner and you are a fighter beyond compare. But Conn brings his own personal magic. Every man fights harder when he is close. He inspires the men just by his presence.'
'He'll be with us,' said Fiallach.
But now the battle was under way, and there was no sign of the king. On the slopes far ahead the Stone advance had pushed halfway to the crest. Several thousand Rigante had been killed. Fiallach hefted his shield and slipped it over his arm. Signal or no signal, he would not wait much longer.
A huge cry went up from the right. The heavy infantry on the hillside were cheering wildly. Fiallach swung in the saddle. The lines parted and Connavar the King came riding through, his golden armour ablaze in the sunlight, his full-faced helm in place, his patchwork cloak streaming in the wind. Upon his arm was a shining shield of gold, that glittered so brightly it seemed the sun itself was riding with him.