The Long War 01 - The Black Guard (47 page)

‘So, I am to die today?’ Magnus asked grimly.

Nathan smiled and Rashabald laughed. Castus began to join in the laughter, but a hard glare from the two knights shut him up. Magnus was again gratified that the bound man was not held in high regard by his superiors.

‘I don’t believe so, Ranen. Though Lord Rillion does not divulge his mind to me, so it is possible,’ Nathan responded. ‘You are to be a trophy of conquest, a symbol of our great victory over the traitorous men of Canarn.’

Magnus snarled and lunged forward, clamping his huge hands on to the cell bars and casting baleful eyes over Nathan’s face. The knight did not react with anything more than an amused smile, but Rashabald and Castus both jumped at the sudden movement.

‘Why am I tormented by petty men? Have I not done enough to warrant a clean and honourable death?’ Magnus addressed the query skywards and almost shouted each word in anger and frustration.

Nathan turned to Rashabald. ‘You see, brother, the instincts of a caged animal are common among the barbarian north men. I’m frequently amazed that they have proven such a thorn in our side for so long.’

The executioner responded with a nervous smile. To Magnus he appeared nothing more than an old man doing a coward’s job. He was living on borrowed time, in Magnus’s estimation, for his beheading of Duke Hector and numerous other honourable men. Magnus was ignorant of what had happened over the last two weeks, aside from the fact that Bronwyn had not yet been found and Hasim had been taken north with Verellian, but he could barely tolerate another moment in his cell and his mind was filled with thoughts of blood and vengeance.

‘Step back, Ranen,’ said Nathan, with scorn, as he drew his longsword.

Magnus didn’t move; instead, he gripped the cell bars even harder, turning his knuckles red and growling down at the men of Ro. Nathan smiled viciously and stepped forward, coming to a stop within a few inches of the huge Ranen.

Nathan was a large man, though still small compared with Magnus, but his bearing and evident confidence rendered him a man to be taken seriously.

‘I am not afraid of you, Father Magnus. If you try anything I don’t like – and I do mean
anything
– I will gladly kill you, and Lord Rillion can parade lesser men before the king,’ he said menacingly.

Magnus had suspected that King Sebastian Tiris would be arriving in Canarn at some point, so this was not a surprise. Rillion’s order that the knights should pull back from the town and leave it in the care of Pevain’s men was most likely in preparation for their monarch’s arrival.

‘Your king is here?’ asked the Ranen priest, letting his growl die down and his hands relax slightly on the bars.

‘He’ll be arriving within the hour, at the head of a Red fleet, and you are to be brought before him as a sign of our victory,’ Rashabald said, with a note of pride in his old, croaky voice.

‘If your king has as little honour as you, I would rather spit in his face,’ Magnus said in defiance.

Nathan didn’t react to the insult and told Rashabald to be silent when the executioner began to splutter. Castus took a step forwards and half drew his longsword.

‘My lord, shall I cut his filthy tongue out?’ the gaoler asked, braver now that he had the backup of the knights.

‘I don’t think that would be wise,’ Nathan replied, maintaining his calm. ‘Rillion wants him unspoiled when he’s presented to the king.’

Magnus was led from his cell, along the empty corridor and up into the keep. It was early morning and the air, though crisp and clear, still held the odour of death that hung across the courtyard. The knights were now in full dress uniform and arrayed in shallow columns lining the path from the drawbridge up to the great hall, though the city itself had been left in the charge of Hallam Pevain and his mercenaries.

All the knights sported freshly cleaned red cloaks and their armour had been mended and polished to a burnished shine, with the tabard of crossed longswords over a clenched fist visible on every chest. Magnus estimated that the knights were preparing for further action.

Dark thoughts again entered his mind, much as they had when he had been led to witness Duke Hector’s execution several weeks ago, though what he now suspected was a potential invasion of the Grass Sea. Magnus couldn’t think of any other reason for the knights’ continued presence in the broken remains of Ro Canarn and for the arrival of King Sebastian Tiris.

The courtyard had been left much as it was the last time Magnus had seen it, and its lack of order and cleanliness spoke volumes about the knights’ intentions. They had not made any particular effort to occupy the city, beyond subjugating its populace, and the ruined wooden buildings visible beyond the keep had been left where they had fallen. If Rillion and the king had truly cared about Canarn, they would not have allowed its rape and pillage at the hands of Pevain.

‘Why have your knights not tried to repair the city?’ Magnus asked of Captain Nathan as the small group moved down the line of knights and across the courtyard to the drawbridge leading into the town.

‘Why should we? We’re knights of the Red, not carpenters and masons,’ Nathan replied with arrogance.

‘It’ll teach ’em a lesson to see their homes burning,’ supplied Castus, with a vile grin.

Nathan again shot the gaoler a questioning look, but it turned to a smile of agreement.

‘I still plan to kill you, gaoler,’ said Magnus, without turning to look at the unpleasant little man.

‘Stop!’ ordered Nathan as he stepped in front of the chained Ranen and glared up into his eyes.

Rashabald tugged on the chain, causing Magnus to halt in front of the knight captain. ‘Look around you, priest.’ He gestured at the hundred or more armoured knights lining the courtyard. ‘You are a man to be feared, no doubt, but this is not a fight for you. Castus is a man bound to the Red church and is accorded privilege as such. One more word of that kind and I
will
have to punish you.’

Magnus glared at the smaller man. Nathan was not making idle threats or exercising his authority for the sake of it and Magnus detected a sincerity in the knight’s words. The Ranen had to conclude that Nathan was a professional soldier and meant every word he said.

‘I’ll say these things to myself in future, then,’ Magnus replied in his Ranen drawl.

Nathan smiled in spite of himself. ‘Very well, just don’t think that I’ll let another word of disobedience pass. I can’t and I won’t. I’m not William of Verellian and you’ll find me less impressed with you.’ He turned sharply and motioned for Rashabald to lead Magnus behind him.

At the top of the drawbridge stood a small group of knights and others, waiting for the king to arrive. Standing in the centre and wearing an ornately decorated red breastplate was Knight Commander Mortimer Rillion. He looked impressive, even to Magnus, and his high, crested helmet displayed old heraldry, indicating that the knight was of a nobler lineage than his fellows. His tabard had the same crossed swords as the other men, but it also had a laurel wreath placed above the clenched fist, the mark of a high noble of Tor Funweir and a distant relative of the house of Tiris.

To the commander’s left stood Ameira the Lady of Spiders. She was standing a little way from the others, eagerly awaiting the arrival of the king’s party. Magnus thought he detected a note of jealousy in Rillion’s eyes as he looked at the Karesian witch. This again caused Magnus to question the motivation of the knights, as Ameira held a position on equal footing with Father Animustus, the Gold cleric who stood on the other side of Rillion. Two other senior knights of the Red stood with the commander in guarding positions and both turned with hard looks as Magnus approached.

Nathan saluted the commander as he arrived and Rashabald handed the chain to one of Rillion’s guards.

‘My Lord Rillion,’ Nathan said, ‘the prisoner has been fairly well behaved thus far, though I echo Verellian’s words when I say that Castus has not endeared himself to the Ranen.’ The last was spoken with a smile and caused both Rillion and the Gold cleric to laugh quietly.

‘Very well, captain, please remain here in close guard. I don’t want a repeat of his performance in the great hall,’ Rillion said, referring to the knights who had died trying to restrain Magnus the last time he had been brought out of his cell. ‘Make sure he is well secured.’ The commander pointed at the leg and wrist manacles the Ranen priest wore, causing Rashabald to double-check the steel restraints.

Magnus did not resist. He was glad to be out of his cell and trusted that Rowanoco had plans for him that didn’t involve his immediate death. The knights looked at him warily and he heard a few sergeants order their men to keep their eyes to the front and ignore the huge Ranen. He found this amusing, but didn’t let it show; nor did he let the enchantress see that he thought her the most dangerous player in this game of conquest and subjugation.

Beyond the town, past the tower of the World Raven, Magnus could just make out the high rigging of tall ships in the harbour of Canarn, ships that had not previously been there. The banner of Tiris, a white eagle in flight, was caught in the breeze and indicated that King Sebastian Tiris, ruler of Tor Funweir, had landed in Ro Canarn.

Rillion ushered Nathan, Rashabald and Magnus off to the side and stood with his chest thrust out at the top of the drawbridge. The columns of Red knights came to attention, their steel armour clanking loudly in unison, and Magnus began to see movement in the city. From the southern harbour people emerged, walking in ordered fashion with pennants held above the marching soldiers. Magnus narrowed his eyes the better to look across the town and was taken aback by the numbers of soldiers he could see approaching. He guessed that, alongside the tall ships, there would be troop transports nestled just out of view. The red breastplates he could see marching through the ruined city indicated an army of considerable size, perhaps five thousand men, with several distinct companies of knights of the Red accompanying the king. To the rear, supply carts and engineers could be seen, with sapping tools and smelting equipment – anvils, portable forges, blocks of steel and spare segments of armour – all the necessary paraphernalia of a sizeable army.

This was an invasion force, and Magnus fidgeted uncomfortably as the army marched towards the keep. He could now make out individuals among the advancing knights – captains, lieutenants and several commanders, besides the rank and file knights of the Red. At the head of the column, seated on a white horse, one of only two men riding and not walking, was a figure resplendent in gold armour. On each side of his breastplate white eagles flanked an ornate crown design, and at his side hung a jewelled scabbard. He was a man of perhaps forty years, though he had neither scars nor a beard to lend any seasoning to his face, and Magnus was unimpressed with his bearing.

Either side of the advancing column, Pevain’s bastards were peering out from between buildings to take a look at the king, and many of them seemed particularly interested in the Purple cleric who rode next to the monarch. Those knights in the keep who were close enough to see the riders began to whisper amongst themselves and Magnus heard the name Cardinal Mobius attached to the cleric. The cardinal wore unadorned steel armour, though his purple tabard, displaying the sceptre of nobility, was enough to make him stand out.

‘What’s he doing here?’ Rillion asked of Animustus.

The Gold cleric was evidently distressed at the presence of the Purple cardinal, a man who clearly outranked him, but he mumbled a reply. ‘Not known, but it doesn’t bode well for your continued command, Mortimer,’ the fat man said.

‘Your highness, welcome to Ro Canarn,’ Rillion said with a deep bow, causing the knights in the courtyard to snap abruptly to attention.

Magnus stood defiantly to one side, his restraining chain held by Sir Nathan, with Rashabald and two other knights standing in close guard. The Ranen priest didn’t turn away from the king or avert his eyes as did most of the Ro, but instead he glared down at the monarch, letting the hatred and anger show in his dark eyes.

‘Commander Rillion, my most loyal servant, it is a pleasure to see you again,’ King Sebastian stated grandly, letting his voice rise to be heard throughout the keep. ‘Brother Animustus, I hope that the assault on Ro Canarn has proved profitable for your order?’ He spoke to the Gold cleric in a tone that suggested to Magnus that the king did not hold the Gold church in high regard.

‘Absolutely, your highness, the traitor’s gold and valuables have been appropriated to the glory of the One,’ Animustus replied with evident relish, rubbing his chubby hands together and looking most pleased with himself.

Cardinal Mobius handed the reins of his horse to a lesser Purple cleric who stood behind him and moved to stand next to the king. Rillion and Animustus both looked at the cardinal with a mixture of distrust and reverence, as if assessing where they stood in relation to the senior Purple churchman. Mobius didn’t pay much attention to the looks he received, but simply stood close to the king’s right shoulder.

‘My king, we should get the men settled before we deal with the pleasantries,’ he said quietly, before turning to Commander Rillion. ‘Mortimer, I assume that you have done as we asked.’ His tone suggested past familiarity between the two men.

Rillion nodded, but didn’t take his eyes from the cardinal. ‘Of course, the muster field is clear for your men… though I wasn’t expecting so many.’

The king laughed. It was a practised sound, which struck a slightly false note. ‘One cannot invade a country without an army, my dear Mortimer,’ he said, with just a hint of arrogance.

Ameira shared his laugh and all the men present turned to look at her. ‘And you must be the Lady Ameira.’ King Sebastian reached for her hand and kissed it warmly, a vaguely euphoric look in his eyes, which Magnus had come to expect from those who fell under the sway of the Seven Sisters.

‘Indeed, your highness, it is a pleasure finally to meet you,’ Ameira said, holding on to his hand and laughing in a girlish fashion.