The Long War 01 - The Black Guard (48 page)

Rillion looked decidedly jealous but remained silent. Only Animustus and Magnus noticed his reaction, and Magnus released a low snort of amusement. Sir Nathan tugged on the chain and stepped back to stand as close to the Ranen as he dared.

‘Keep quiet, priest, you’re in the presence of royalty,’ he said through gritted teeth.

‘And who is this brute?’ the king asked, doing his best to look imperious as he surveyed the Ranen warrior.

Rillion motioned to Nathan for Magnus to be led forward and a tug on his chain brought the prisoner to within a few feet of King Sebastian. ‘This is Magnus Forkbeard, a Ranen priest of their Ice Giant. We believe he was Duke Hector’s co-conspirator,’ Rillion said, clearly still jealous of the attention Ameira was paying to the king.

Mobius moved quickly to stand between Magnus and the king. ‘We should be wary of this one, my king. The Lady Katja warned us about him.’ He rested a gauntleted hand on the hilt of his longsword.

Ameira smiled at the mention of her sister. ‘My beloved sister is most wise, highness, though Father Magnus can be of no real danger to us any more,’ she said cryptically. ‘Perhaps we should go and discuss what is to be done with him. In private would be best.’ Ameira still held the king’s hand and Magnus could see her fingers lightly caressing his skin as she spoke.

Rillion clearly wanted to object, but he had simply to watch as King Sebastian Tiris was led away by the enchantress. Cardinal Mobius issued an order to a squad of guardsmen to accompany the king and the group quickly disappeared through a door and into the inner keep of Ro Canarn.

Mobius then turned back to Rillion. ‘So, now that his highness is otherwise occupied, we can dispense with the feigned politeness, Mortimer.’

‘What are you doing here, Mobius? This is a Red matter. Don’t you have Kirin to hunt down or something?’ Rillion asked with venom.

The Purple cardinal chuckled to himself and turned back to the lesser clerics behind him. ‘Brother Jakan, have the advance guard set up in the great hall in preparation for the king’s address to the troops. Send the rest of the knights to the muster field with Knight Commander Tristram.’

The cleric to whom he had spoken was a young man wearing the purple sceptre of nobility and he saluted formally before turning to the other clerics and relaying orders to the assembled knights and guardsmen. Magnus thought it a strange hierarchy – Purple clerics in command of knights of the Red. All were churchmen, but he’d never seen cooperation on this level before. To his perception the Purple clerics were warriors but not soldiers, and he thought this work more suited to the Red knights already in the town.

Mobius let his clerics move among the waiting army and, after a moment, stepped forward into the courtyard to stand with Rillion and Animustus.

‘You have had it all your way so far, killing and destroying to your heart’s content,’ he said out of earshot of most of the other knights, ‘but I’m here now and things will change. Do you understand me?’

Rillion sneered at the cardinal and glanced at Animustus, making sure he was not alone. ‘You have no claim on me or my knights, Mobius. Be careful about throwing orders around,’ he said, with an intentional threat in his words.

‘This campaign will be conducted with efficiency,’ the Purple cardinal said with a glance towards the destroyed town below. ‘And preferably without mercenaries being involved. We have more than enough knights for the job and, with accurate intelligence provided by our Karesian allies, we are optimistic of a favourable outcome before winter. If we need additional forces, Lord Corkoson of Darkwald will be sent for with his yeomanry.’

Magnus growled at the suggestion that this army was going to invade the Freelands of Ranen and he made sure the cardinal heard his displeasure.

Nathan again yanked on his chain and barked, ‘Silence, priest, I won’t tell you again.’

Mobius turned away from Rillion and stood facing Magnus, his expression one of haughty superiority. As a Purple cleric the man was of the highest level of Ro nobility, a churchman whose word was absolute law for anyone lacking royal blood.

‘Katja told me about you, priest, and about your brother. Algenon Teardrop isn’t it?’ he asked.

‘
Lord
Algenon Teardrop Ragnarsson, high thain of Fjorlan and commander of the dragon fleet,’ Magnus corrected, stating his elder brother’s title with pride.

‘Well, if we’re throwing around names, I feel I should introduce myself properly. I am Cardinal Mobius of Arnon, cleric of the sword and nobleman of the One God,’ he answered with equal pride. ‘You must be uncomfortable with defeat and even more uncomfortable with being paraded around as a trophy.’

Magnus scowled, thinking the cardinal was stating the obvious, but he was at least being polite. ‘I have long since stopped expecting honour from these knights,’ Magnus said. ‘They are cowards and murderers, and their allies are vile rapists.’

Cardinal Mobius nodded his head, considering Magnus’s words. ‘Well, worry not, priest, the invasion of your lands will not be undertaken by mercenaries and you have my word that all defeated opponents will be treated with appropriate honour.’

Magnus growled again at the news of this invasion. He was unsure precisely what was happening here. The knights of the Red had, long ago, subjugated the southern lands of Ranen, but for centuries the Freelands had existed without interference from the Ro.

‘Why cause so much blood and death?’ he asked Mobius. ‘There is no goal or objective in my lands worth any of this. So why invade?’ Magnus was angry but, more than that, he genuinely couldn’t comprehend why the Ro would do such a thing. A war between the Ranen and the Ro would be devastating to both.

Mobius flashed him a knowing look and directed a haughty smile at Rillion and Animustus. ‘Perhaps you should wait for the king’s address before you put too much faith in your countrymen,’ he said, with confidence.

* * *

The great hall of Ro Canarn was deathly quiet, with no man of Ro daring to speak until the king had broken the silence. He sat in Duke Hector’s chair, surveying the assembled knights before him. Most of those that had arrived with the king were on the muster field to the north of the town, but those within the hall still numbered close to five hundred, organized in columns stretching back to the pillared entranceway and filling the huge hall. Magnus was held at the front, his chain still in the hand of Sir Nathan of Du Ban. None of Pevain’s mercenaries had been allowed to enter the king’s presence and Magnus thought they must have been given the job of keeping order in the town – not that it would be a difficult job, since most of the populace, not already killed or imprisoned, would be cowering behind barricaded doors in their homes or else clustered in Lanry’s chapel.

The display of ornate red, gold and purple armour was impressive, even to the worldly Ranen priest, and he imagined that some of these well-adorned men might have honour and brains, more akin to Verellian than to Rillion or Nathan. However, the power in the room definitely lay with King Sebastian Tiris and with Cardinal Mobius, who had adopted a subservient position on a lower chair to the monarch’s left. The Purple churchman held a reputation among the knights and, as Magnus looked across their faces, he guessed that the majority of them were scared of Mobius. Knight Commander Rillion was more his equal in status and the looks they exchanged betrayed a deep-seated rivalry. Rillion stood off the raised platform at the head of the column of knights and did not look pleased at having had to give up his seat.

As with the last time Magnus stood in the hall, the presence that worried him the most was Ameira the Lady of Spiders, the Karesian enchantress, whose designs were being played out at the heart of this charade. She sat next to the king and the two exchanged strange glances and thin smiles while the knights waited.

When Tiris stood up, all knights saluted with their fists struck solidly against their breastplates, and Mobius bowed his head slowly in a well-practised gesture of respect.

‘My knights, my clerics,’ he glanced at Magnus, ‘and my captive. Tor Funweir thanks you for your unswerving loyalty and diligence in bringing to justice the traitor, Hector of Canarn.’

Magnus scowled but remained silent as the king continued.

‘However, much still needs to be done. The Ranen warlords have conspired with the traitorous former duke to supplant me and steal our land,’ he said in a voice that rose in volume to something approaching a shout. ‘And we will not allow these northern barbarians to act without punishment.’ He stepped from the platform and walked deliberately towards Magnus. ‘Tell me, priest, did you expect to get away with stealing my land?’

Magnus looked around the hall and saw hundreds of eyes regarding him, waiting for an answer that would play to the king’s well-practised oration. Instead of growling an oath of challenge or attempting to break free, as he guessed they feared, Magnus leant forward and said, as quietly as he could, ‘You are in thrall to a Karesian enchantress, your highness. She will have you invade my lands and see thousands of your men killed to secure no objective and to advance no cause.’

For a brief moment the king looked confused, but quickly regained his composure and glanced back up towards the seated figure of Ameira. They exchanged smiles of childlike adoration before Tiris turned back to Magnus and spoke again, this time with his chin raised in a self-righteous posture of authority.

‘Your poisonous words serve only to damn you further, priest,’ he said, loud enough for all to hear, ‘and your lands will come under the sway of the One God, as all lands eventually will.’ He then spoke more quietly, so that only those immediately around him could hear. ‘And the thousands dead will be your barbarian cousins who presume to defy the might of Tor Funweir.’ A look of euphoria entered his eyes as he stepped back on to the raised platform and began a lengthy and arrogant tirade against the Freelands of Ranen.

Magnus straightened as he felt a presence enter his mind and a female voice spoke clearly. ‘You are wrong, Father Magnus Forkbeard,’ said Ameira, through a means of communication that no one else in the hall could hear. ‘There is indeed an objective, a clear and achievable one.’

Magnus looked past the ranting king and locked eyes with the enchantress. Allowing his mind to relax, he formed a question for her. ‘What is all this for? What do you hope to gain? Your people have no stake in Ranen and Jaa cares nothing for these lands,’ he said, with genuine confusion, finally sick of all the half-whispered games played around the rape of Canarn.

She smiled, though there was no humour as her words formed. ‘Jaa? Is that the limit of your vision? Jaa is an old, decrepit Fire Giant, lamenting the loss of his supremacy. Rowanoco is a dull-witted axe-hurler, and as for the One, he lost touch with this world long ago, his people just haven’t realized it yet.’

Magnus narrowed his eyes as the enchantress decried his god and, more surprisingly, her own. ‘You speak in riddles, witch. Make sense.’

Another smile, and Magnus sensed that Ameira considered him more worthy than many of the men of Ro listening to the ranting of their king. ‘You are a man after my own heart. If things had been different, perhaps we would have been allies. We both dislike these short-sighted men of the One and there might have been a place for you in the Dead God’s empire of pleasure and blood.’

‘You no longer follow the Fire Giant?’ Magnus asked, with cold eyes directed towards the enchantress.

‘And the axe finally falls. I thought you cleverer than this, Father Magnus. The men of the One are ours to control, the men of Jaa are deeply within our design. All that leaves is your pitiful nation of farmers and mindless axe-men. Assist me and I will swear to you that no more Ranen will die than is necessary.’

Magnus turned away and looked at the floor. Around him, knights of the Red cheered and banged their breastplates in loud agreement with their king’s words, words designed by the enchantress to facilitate the invasion and subjugation of Magnus’s people. These men were loyal to their king and the priest couldn’t fault them for that, but they sat unknowingly within the thrall of a witch whose goal was not their own. Close to five thousand knights, clerics and guardsmen were massed on the plains of Canarn, ready to advance into the Grass Sea and the realm of Wraith beyond. Horrock’s men would be no match for this army, and Magnus’s thoughts turned to his brother and the fearsome warriors of Fjorlan.

‘Your plan has a flaw, witch,’ Magnus stated plainly in the dark recesses of his mind. ‘You may have the knights and their king, you may even have the Hounds of Karesia and the people of your homeland, but you will never advance past the Deep Cross and take Fjorlan, not while my brother draws breath and the dragon fleet sails… your empire of blood and pleasure will forever be confined to the south while Rowanoco holds sway in the north.’ It was a small victory, but one that gave Magnus heart for the coming war.

‘Apologies, Lord Magnus, we must appear very foolish to you, not to have considered the dangers posed by Algenon.’ Her words were mocking and Magnus felt a chill travel up his spine as if something beyond his perception was at work. ‘There are many ambitious men in your homeland, men prepared to do much to gain power. Your brother should choose his allies more carefully.’

Magnus felt rage rise within him, but he closed his eyes and suppressed it. He knew that he’d be killed if he were to channel the rage of Rowanoco in the presence of the king, and nothing would be gained by killing a handful of knights before he fell. His mind raced as he searched for the meaning of Ameira’s words. The Seven Sisters had clearly planned this invasion long before Canarn had been assaulted – the witch’s confidence in her status in Karesia and Tor Funweir was testament to that – but he did not know how she could have neutralized Algenon. If the dragon fleet had launched it would be only a matter of days before it reached Ro Canarn and the king and his knights were up to their necks in blood. If the men of Ro left to invade the Grass Sea, they’d leave their rear exposed to the battle-brothers of Fjorlan and the possibility that the fleet could turn round and sack Ro Tiris would quickly halt their advance. Magnus had seen the barracks of Tiris and knew that few knights would remain there. If his brother found Ro Canarn empty and an army advancing north, he would blockade the capital of Tor Funweir and bombard the city until the king retreated south. It was the stalemate that had existed for centuries: the Ro were better on land and the Ranen were better at sea. If the dragon fleet were removed from the equation, however, the Freelands would be vulnerable in the extreme.