`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.

Chapter 28

Will and Horace had been dozing close by the tree Halt was leaning against. They were seasoned campaigners and they knew there was nothing to gain by remaining tensed up, waiting for the action to start. Far better, they knew, to conserve energy and rest while they could. As Halt spoke, they both snapped awake, their hands instinctively reaching for their weapons.

`Relax,' Halt told them. `It's only the advance scouts.'

He indicated a point several hundred metres away, where the road passed over a crest. Three armed men had suddenly come into view, moving furtively, as if they could avoid being seen by stooping. They stopped, peering at the peaceful-looking village. One of them shaded his eyes with his hands. Nothing stirred in Craikennis and the leader of the three scouts, apparently deciding that the village was unaware of their approach, faced back down the road and waved his so far unseen companions forward.

Gradually, the raiders came into view over the crest.

They moved in two files, either side of the road. The watchers in the treeline could hear the faint jingle of weapons and equipment as they moved. Most of them were on foot, although Padraig and four of his senior commanders rode horses. They were small animals, however, not bred for fighting like Horace's massive battlehorse.

Horace moved quickly back into the trees and tightened Kicker's girth straps. The big horse, sensing imminent combat, shifted expectantly from one foot to the other, tossing his head and snorting softly while Horace soothed him and patted him, keeping a firm hold on his bridle. Kicker was bred and trained for battle, as was his master. Horace felt a familiar tightening in his stomach now. Not fear. More expectation and nervous energy as adrenaline flooded his system. He knew that once he mounted Kicker and charged at the enemy, he would relax. It was the waiting that got him tensed up. He wondered if Will and Halt felt the same way as the older Ranger led his apprentice towards their vantage point on the knoll. Horace smiled to himself. Even though Will was a fully fledged Ranger in his own right, Horace always thought of him as Halt's apprentice. Will thought the same way, he knew.

`We'll stay below the crest of the knoll,' Halt was saying. 'With just our heads and shoulders visible, chances are they'll never see where we're shooting from, or how many of us there are.'

`Or how few,' Will suggested and Halt considered for a few seconds before agreeing.

`Or how few,' he said. He glanced back at Horace,standing calmly beside Kicker, talking in a low, soothing voice to the horse. 'Horace looks calm enough,' he said.

Will glanced back at his friend. 'He always does. I don't know how he manages it. This is the time when I've got butterflies in my stomach the size of fruit bats.' He had no compunction about admitting his own nervousness. Halt had taught him long ago that a man who doesn't feel nervous before a battle wasn't brave, he was foolish or overconfident – and either condition could prove to be fatal.

`He's a good man to have at your back,' Halt agreed. Then he nodded his head towards the enemy. 'Hullo. They're getting ready.'

The outlaws had stopped their advance fifty metres from the village. The two files now began to spread out in two extended lines. Padraig and his companions remained behind the formation. From the village, a shout of alarm was heard, then someone began ringing a bell. A man appeared on the barricade. Even from this distance, Will and Halt could recognise him as Conal.

`Stop there!' he called. 'Come no further!'

Now there were growing sounds of panic and alarm within the village. The bell continued to toll and men were taking up positions on the barricade. But they were pitifully few and they appeared alarmed and surprised. Padraig obviously knew his business and understood that nothing would be gained by parleying. That would only give the villagers more time to organise their defences. He drew his sword and held it above his head.

`Forward!' he called, his voice ringing clearly across the field. His men responded, moving forward at a steady walk. There was no point in running at this stage. They'd only arrive out of breath and exhausted at the barricade that way.

From their position, Halt and Will had a side-frontal view of the battle line as the outlaws advanced. It was a perfect position for enfilade shooting. The two ranks began to increase their pace, jogging now as they approached the barricade.

`Three arrows,' Halt said quickly. 'Shoot for the centre of the front rank.'

From his position behind them, Horace watched with some awe as the two Rangers released six arrows in rapid succession. All six were in the air within the space of a few seconds. And within a few seconds, six men in the centre of the advancing line went down. Two of them made no sound. The others cried out in pain, dropping their weapons. One blundered into the men around him as he reeled in a circle, trying to pull the arrow from his shoulder. Then he sank to his knees, groaning in agony.

Those beside and behind the stricken men stopped in confusion. The even line of advance broke up as the centre stopped and the two wings continued forward, unaware of what had happened.

`Left flank,' Halt said and the two longbows sang their dreadful song once more. Another five men went down. Will frowned angrily. His second shot had been ineffective. His target, seeing a man close by sink to the ground, had involuntarily thrown his shield up and Will's arrow had glanced off it. Angrily, Will snapped off another shot and the man went down, the arrow arcing down above the rim of his shield.

But in spite of Will's initial miss, the overall effect of the second volley was successful. The left-hand end of the line stopped and the men faced outwards, trying to see where this new threat had come from. This meant the right wing was advancing on its own, and they covered the last few metres to the barricade at a run, letting out a roar as they went.

Only to be answered by a matching roar of anger and defiance as an unexpectedly large mass of defenders appeared above the barricade, thrusting down at the attackers as they tried to scale the improvised barrier of carts, trunks, tables, hay bales and odd items of furniture and timber.

Some of the defenders' weapons were improvised too -scythes and sickle blades mounted on long shafts were scattered among the spears and swords being wielded by the defenders. Will saw several pitchforks being used as well. But improvised or not, they were effective against the attackers, who were at a disadvantage as they tried to climb up the barricade.