The Long War 01 - The Black Guard (44 page)

‘I’m more concerned with the balls it takes for a company of Red knights to march into Ro Hail and start throwing their weight around. Whether they accept it or not, this is
not
Tor Funweir.’ Horrock had clearly taken offence at the idea of men of Ro being in the realm of Wraith. ‘How many of them took the city?’ he asked.

‘A knight called Rillion led the assault with a couple of hundred Red men. It was the mercenaries that cleaned up though – a bastard called Pevain and his sadistic hired swords.’

Horrock shot an interested look at the Karesian. ‘I’ve heard of this
Pevain
. He lent his sword to Rulag Ursa when he seized Jarvik… the man’s a troll cunt.’ Horrock took a large gulp of frost beer and looked out over the ruined town of Ro Hail, deep in thought.

Bronwyn took the break in conversation as a cue to relax into her chair. The wine she drank was full and rich and made the tiredness she already felt flow over her more acutely. Hasim looked equally tired, but he was also alert in a way that Bronwyn was not. This was all new to her – the riding, the sleeping rough, the brutal battle – and all she really wanted to do was sleep.

She looked at the captain of Wraith Company sitting opposite her. He was a hard-looking man, tall and broad-shouldered, with many scars, but Bronwyn thought his eyes betrayed a thoughtfulness that struck her as out of place. He’d ordered Verellian kept alive, something that many Ranen warriors would have found unthinkable, and she guessed that Captain Horrock Green Blade of Wraith Company had achieved his position through brains as well as brawn.

‘So, all my men who stayed behind are dead… and Father Magnus?’ he asked, without turning back to Hasim and Bronwyn.

‘I suspect that’s why Verellian attacked. He knew that all your Ranen in Canarn had been killed by Pevain’s men. Magnus was being kept alive for some reason – I think at the urging of the enchantress – but he was well when I left,’ Hasim replied.

‘Hopefully, the pile of red meat downstairs can tell us what the bastards are up to when… if… he wakes up.’ Horrock drank deeply again and looked as if he had finished speaking for now.

CHAPTER 2

William woke up slowly, his head pounding, his legs weak and his vision black and cloudy. He could taste blood on his lips and his right hand felt numb and painful. He was cold and couldn’t feel his armour or greaves against his skin. Above him there was a light and crouching next to him was a young Ranen man, looking intently at a large white dressing across William’s chest.

Another figure stood nearby and, through his blurry vision, William thought that this was a woman and that she was carrying something. He tried to speak but the sound came out as a barely audible grunt and William was hit by a wave of extreme fatigue. The woman hefted the object she was carrying and a bucket of freezing-cold water flooded over the injured Red knight.

‘Well, I do believe our Red man is still alive,’ said the man crouching next to him.

William spluttered through the water and panted heavily as his vision began to clear. He was in a stone basement, surrounded by other injured men, and people wearing the blue cloak of Wraith were feverishly running around tending to the wounded. As far as he could tell, William was the only knight there and a sinking feeling filled him as he realized his men were all dead.

‘Don’t try to move,’ said the woman, ‘you’ve been leaking blood all over the floor.’

She was an older Ranen woman, perhaps fifty years old, and her hands were gnarled and bloodstained. She bore a slight resemblance to the young man of Wraith crouching next to him and William thought they were probably related.

He’d been positioned away from the majority of the injured Ranen and could see no few pairs of eyes glaring at him.

‘I need a drink,’ he said weakly. ‘In a cup rather than a bucket, if that’s possible.’

The young Ranen chuckled at this. ‘Get him some water, Freya. Maybe in a golden goblet or something else suited to a knight of Tor Funweir.’

The woman smiled and William lost sight of her amidst the press of Ranen in the stone basement.

‘Don’t get delusions, Red man. I only saved your life because the captain asked me to. I’d happily cleave your head in.’ The young Ranen punctuated this statement with an aggressive growl.

William shifted his weight and tried to raise himself up on his hands. He noticed that his right hand was bandaged and vaguely remembered losing some fingers to a thrown axe. The pain was dull and easy enough to ignore for a true fighting man, but William was concerned that his sword hand was badly impaired.

He managed to pull himself into a seated position and shuffled against the wall. The Ranen lent him a helping hand, which William felt was strange given the attitude he’d shown so far, but he clearly had no intention of disobeying his captain’s orders.

‘What’s your name, man of Wraith?’ William asked, trying to show gratitude for having his wounds treated.

‘I’m Micah, called Stone Dog. And you’re… somebody of Verellian?’ he asked, making a slight mess of the pronunciation.

‘Sir William of Verellian, knight captain of the Red.’ He spoke his title with little grandeur, knowing it meant little among the Free Companies. ‘Will I live?’

‘Unfortunately, yes. It seems I’m actually quite a good healer. It’s a shame really. Your back wound is minor, but Horrock split your breastplate with his axe and you had steel shards in the wound.’

William began to play the fight through in his mind, from Fallon’s initial attack to the axe blow that ended the encounter. He remembered seeing Sergeant Bracha pulled from his horse and beheaded in the stone courtyard, and Callis take a throwing-axe to the back of the head. He had left Ro Arnon with twenty-five men, all of whom were probably now dead, although he still hoped that Fallon had somehow managed to escape. His lieutenant was a cunning bastard and William suspected he’d be okay.

‘Why am I being kept alive when all my men are dead?’ he asked in a low, tired voice.

Stone Dog considered, while he looked at William’s bandaged right hand. ‘You’re in charge, right? That means you can tell the captain why you decided to break a truce that has lasted two hundred years.’

William tried to reply quickly, but coughed involuntarily instead, and again felt deeply fatigued.

After a minute of laboured coughing, he said, ‘I didn’t break any truce. We came here looking for a fugitive and your men were going to kill us. The only chance of survival we had was to strike first.’

Stone Dog chuckled again. ‘Turned out well for you, striking first,’ he said plainly, reminding William that his men were all dead.

The older woman returned with a small clay cup and passed it to William. He could grasp it, but his hand felt weak and the water only just reached his lips. He looked at his intact left hand and wished he’d paid more attention to using both hands when he was on the training grounds of Ro Arnon. Learning to fight left-handed would be difficult for a seasoned knight like William. He was set in his ways and he wondered whether he’d ever be the same fearsome swordsman he’d once been.

‘You’re lucky, Red man,’ said the woman. ‘My boy here is well schooled in the healing arts and, since your man killed our priest, it was touch and go whether we could stop the bleeding.’ She glanced around the stone basement. ‘Plenty of our men weren’t so lucky. We used valuable supplies to keep you alive.’

William leant back and took another drink of water, feeling strength return to his limbs. ‘Do you really feel the need to remind me that I’m an outsider here? And that I’m lucky to be cared for? And that you’d both rather see me dead?’

Stone Dog and Freya looked at each other before they shared a laugh at William’s words. The Free Companies were known for their boisterous sense of humour and cavalier attitude to death. In fact, their ability to laugh in the face of blood and slaughter was infamous.

‘Of course, it’s possible Horrock will still kill you… if he doesn’t like what you have to say,’ said Stone Dog.

‘I don’t know what he expects me to say. He’s surely not an idiot and he was there. He saw what happened as much as I did.’

William had a certain instinct for survival and, like all knights of the Red, he would never give his life away easily. The thought of being summarily executed bothered him and he began thinking of ways to escape. However, his various wounds made it unlikely he’d be able to walk unaided, let alone run, any time soon. He resigned himself to his predicament and tried to relax. For now at least, he wasn’t going anywhere.

The basement was becoming progressively emptier as the dead were removed and those who had been healed were taken to beds and rooms elsewhere within the underground complex. William had no hatred for the people of Wraith and he disliked it that he’d been forced into a position where confronting them was the only option. Tough as the men of Wraith Company were, he knew they couldn’t stand up to a focused assault and, given the situation in Ro Canarn, he was sure they’d have to run if faced with an army of Red knights. An invasion of Ranen, which had been vaguely suggested by Knight Commander Rillion, was clearly not suspected by these people. William considered whether or not he should tell them. In his estimation, that would not be a betrayal because ultimately it would result in fewer deaths and a swift resolution to the campaign. Wraith Company would not be able to hold the Grass Sea against the kind of army the king would bring with him. To stay and fight would result in a massacre.

As he thought, William began to feel his eyelids droop and his fatigue turn into a desperate need for sleep. The floor was cold and he was dressed only in woollen leggings with a Wraith cloak wrapped around his shoulders, but he was tired enough to sleep regardless.

Stone Dog and Freya took a last look at his dressings and then returned to their business elsewhere in the ruins of Ro Hail. William was left more or less alone, though the heavy wooden door that led up from the basement was securely locked, making escape impossible for the time being. All things considered, Sir William of Verellian decided he would be best served by sleeping and trying to recover his strength.

* * *

He was woken sharply with a light kick to his legs. Standing over him, a loaf of bread in his hand, was the Karesian prisoner, Al-Hasim. He was dressed in light leather armour, presumably acquired from the men of Wraith, and he had found a scimitar from somewhere.

‘Eat,’ Hasim said, throwing the bread into William’s lap. ‘It’s fresh and you need to get something other than an axe in your belly.’

‘Thank you,’ William said, looking up at the Karesian.

He was unsure about the prisoner. He’d stopped him being raped in Ro Canarn and had found him little trouble on the way north, but he was still a criminal and had thrown his lot in with Wraith Company.

‘Our positions seem to be somewhat reversed, Hasim, wouldn’t you agree?’ He tore off a chunk of warm bread with his teeth.

Hasim pointed to a length of chain that had been attached to William’s leg while he slept. It was fastened to a steel bracket on the wall and was a clear message that the knight was a prisoner.

‘I should probably thank you a second time, Verellian.’ The Karesian sat down on the stone floor next to William. ‘If I hadn’t been brought north with you and your men, I’d probably be Pevain’s wife by now.’ He was smiling and William found the situation bizarre, maybe even a little funny.

‘So, what happens now?’ he asked the Karesian.

‘I think that depends on you. Horrock doesn’t appear to be in any rush to kill you, but he’s angry at the incursion. This is Ranen, not Tor Funweir.’

Hasim was a Karesian and further from home than William, making the Red knight wonder what had caused him to travel this far north.

‘Where do you fit into this, Hasim?’ William asked plainly.

He smiled and offered William a bottle of dark liquid. ‘It’s Volk whisky. I stole it from Horrock. Drink it, it’ll help.’

William had heard about the Volk and their habit of brewing harsh liquor using frosted barrels, but his oath to the One precluded him from tasting alcohol. He waved his hand weakly, refusing the offered drink.

‘Ah, yes, that’s right, your god prefers blood to booze,’ Hasim said, taking a deep slug from the bottle.

‘Don’t moralize, Karesian. I’ve fought the Hounds and we both know that Jaa is perfectly capable of bloodletting when the mood takes him.’ William was a realist, but wasn’t inclined to put up with hypocrisy. ‘Not drinking alcohol is a fairly minor restriction in the grand scheme of things.’

‘Okay, okay. Maybe we should start with what we do have in common. Neither of us is Ranen and this is not our land. Agreed?’ Hasim asked with a friendly tone to his voice.

‘Agreed,’ William conceded, but he was unsure of the point Hasim was trying to make.

‘So, you and yours did ride into Hail and start a fight,’ he said grimly. ‘You have to accept that they had as little choice as you.’

‘Twenty or more of my men were killed. Don’t expect me to forget that today or tomorrow.’ William was a prisoner and planned to survive, but he still considered the Ranen his enemies.