The Long War 01 - The Black Guard (72 page)

‘I would have won,’ said Wulfrick quietly. ‘It was just a matter of time.’

‘Time we don’t have,’ replied Halla. ‘Let’s get this done.’

Wulfrick nodded and flung open the tent flap across the pavilion entrance. Halla and five men flooded into the command tent and Wulfrick followed. Observing a garish habitation of furs and heraldry, they quickly searched for the king of Tor Funweir.

The pavilion contained a large map, on a low table, showing the south lands of Ranen. Around the edges of the tent were banners of Tiris and the other houses of Tor Funweir – birds for the most part, of many different colours and breeds. A large feather bed of white linen looked as if it had been slept in and on a table next to it was a half-eaten meal of what looked like venison. Halla moved to the far side of the tent and heard what sounded like crying coming from the floor beneath the bed. She raised her eyebrows and pointed in the direction of the sound, causing Wulfrick to stride next to her and tip over the wooden bed.

Cowering on the floor, his head buried in his arms, and wearing a simple white robe, was a man in his mid-fifties, clean-shaven and smelling lightly of perfume. The figure of King Sebastian Tiris was not a noble sight and a pool of liquid spreading out by his leg indicated that the monarch was very scared indeed.

‘Have we pissed ourselves, your highness?’ asked Wulfrick with a vicious smile.

‘Please,’ the king cried, ‘don’t kill me… I can give you gold… gold and jewels… just spare my life.’ He looked up at them through bloodshot eyes and Halla felt anger that such a cowardly worm could be responsible for so much death.

‘We’re not going to kill you… my lord.’ She practically spat out the honorific. ‘You are now a prisoner. Get used to it. My name is Halla Summer Wolf and this is Wulfrick, axe-master of Fredericksand.’ She turned back to Wulfrick and said with aggression, ‘Grab this little boy and bring him.’

‘Come on, your highness, me and you are going to be good friends.’ The axe-master roughly pulled the king to his feet and turned up his nose at the pool of urine.

‘Are kings not taught to use the trench in Tor Funweir? I thought
we
were the barbarians,’ Wulfrick said with a sneer.

He wrapped a huge arm round the cowering monarch and led him out of the pavilion. Outside, a muted cheer rose from the assembled Fjorlanders as they saw the terrified, captive figure of the king of Tor Funweir. His eyes opened as wide as they would go when he saw the mass of Ranen, who would all have gladly killed him at the slightest opportunity. He looked across the dead guardsmen and clerics and saw the bound and unconscious form of Cardinal Mobius hefted over a man’s shoulder.

‘Now, your highness,’ said Halla, ‘we need you to call off your attack.’ She tried to convey as much menace as possible, despite the increasing pain in her shoulder. ‘If you don’t do exactly as I say… this man,’ she gestured to the hulking form of Wulfrick, ‘is going to start cutting things off.’

Wulfrick smiled and tightened his grip around King Sebastian’s neck. ‘I’ll start with your fingers… then your hands… and by the time they get to identify your body, there won’t be much left.’

The king was shaking violently in the axe-master’s grasp and he nodded at Halla. He was utterly broken, and the men of Fjorlan were looking at her with silent admiration. Her plan had worked thus far, with only a handful of Ranen dead.

The company of men sheathed their weapons and made their way quickly through the tents to the north. Falling Cloud joined them after a moment and looked with concern at Wulfrick’s side and Halla’s shoulder.

‘You two need healing,’ he said.

‘That can wait,’ replied Halla. ‘Rexel Falling Cloud, may I present King Sebastian Tiris.’

Wulfrick shoved the monarch forward and Falling Cloud looked at him, raising his eyebrows before smiling. ‘Not very noble-looking, is he?’

‘Rexel, don’t be mean,’ said Wulfrick. ‘The little lamb is covered in his own piss… that would ruin anyone’s day.’

A laugh erupted from several of the nearby Fjorlanders.

‘There are still a lot of things that can go wrong with this,’ said Halla, more nervously than she intended, ‘so let’s keep alert until it’s done.’

Once they emerged through the last line of deserted tents and past the bodies of those killed by Falling Cloud and his men, Halla saw the wide vista of knights and catapults arrayed across the plain before them. The encircling troops were still distant, but Halla nevertheless gasped at the enormous numbers of troops laying siege to Ro Hail.

Immediately in front of them were ten catapults – tall wooden engines designed to throw boulders a great distance – and Oleff Hard Head grinned viciously as Halla arrived.

‘Lady Summer Wolf, artillery at the ready,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Who’s your friend, Wulfrick?’

‘This? Oh, don’t you worry about him, he’s just a king I found cowering in a tent and begging for his life,’ replied the huge axe-master.

Oleff took a step towards the captive monarch and paused, nose to nose with the king. ‘Good evening, you cowardly troll cunt,’ he grunted, showering the king with spit.

‘Please,’ King Sebastian pleaded, ‘my life is worth much… you will be rich if you leave me unharmed.’

Oleff erupted into anger and said loudly, ‘Look around you, shit-stain, do we look like money means anything to us?’

‘Enough, Oleff,’ ordered Halla. ‘Are the catapults ready?’

The chain-master brought his anger under control and turned back to Halla. ‘Sorry, my lady, it’s rare I get to look into the face of a man responsible for so much needless death… killing Ro makes me lose my manners.’ He breathed in deeply and continued, ‘Ten catapults sighted and ready. They’re pointed at the nearest company of knights and should get their attention.’

‘Very well. Falling Cloud, assemble the men in columns behind us. Look mean, but don’t start anything.’

Rexel nodded and turned to issue orders to the men of Fjorlan, who quickly responded by forming into loosely packed lines behind the catapults.

‘Wulfrick, I imagine they’ll charge us as soon as they realize what’s going on,’ she said to the axe-master, who was now holding the king off the ground with an enormous arm round his waist. ‘As soon as they get close enough, show them our captive.’

‘Let’s just hope they stop,’ Oleff joked.

‘They will… they will,’ spluttered the king from his undignified position under Wulfrick’s arm. ‘I’ll order them to stop and they wouldn’t risk my safety.’ King Sebastian was less a king and more of a sheltered noble – a far cry from the rulers Halla Summer Wolf had been used to. Algenon Teardrop would have given his life rather than be captured and the axe-maiden momentarily pitied the men of Ro for having to live under the rule of such a man.

She crouched down next to King Sebastian and let her single eye stare into his face. ‘You’d better scream your orders at the top of your lungs, your highness,’ she said quietly. ‘We wouldn’t want the knights not to hear you now, would we? If they don’t, I promise you, you’ll be the first to die.’

Her men showed pride on their faces and she heard whispered words of triumph behind her. The survivors of the Kraken sea had had little to be happy about for weeks, but as they looked at their commanders and at the broken king, each battle-brother wore an expression of elation at the overwhelming odds they had overcome.

‘Oleff, send the knights my warmest regards,’ Halla ordered.

‘A pleasure, my lady,’ he responded, giving her a respectful salute.

A simple downward wave of his arm and the Ranen at the base of each catapult levered the engine into life. Each artillery piece gave out a loud noise as the wood of the arm struck the padded bracer at the top, and the catapults jumped forwards as ten huge boulders were launched high into the air. Halla smiled to herself and followed their trajectory as they flew into the dark sky, before arcing sharply down.

The first impact was loud and could be heard clearly, even at their distant position. Halla saw armoured men fly in all directions as the boulders smashed into the knights of the Red. She couldn’t see their faces, of course, and could only guess at the confusion caused by the unexpected bombardment, but those companies that had been hit lost their formations instantly and others, not yet hit, began to move away from the city walls to regroup. She heard trumpets sound – no doubt an alarm call – and within moments a good quarter of the encircling troops were making their way quickly back towards the camp.

The knights were mounted and drew long lances as they plunged across the muddy ground. It was unlikely that they could see who had fired on them, but the fact that the shots had come from the king’s position had clearly caused well-founded alarm.

‘Hold your ground, lads,’ ordered Wulfrick, still firmly holding the king. ‘It looks scary, but they’ll pull up soon enough.’

‘Show them the prisoner,’ Halla ordered quietly.

‘Get ready to shout, your highness.’

Wulfrick pulled the smaller man round and held him up effortlessly. King Sebastian was not especially diminutive, but in Wulfrick’s grasp he looked little more than a child as he was held aloft.

The knights charged towards the line of catapults at an alarming speed, and the assembled Fjorlanders stood their ground nervously, fervently hoping the charge would stop once the men of Ro saw their captured monarch. Halla could identify a Purple cleric among the riders and a decorated older man who she guessed was a knight commander.

‘Halt,’ shouted the king through a filter of tears and fear.

‘Louder,’ prompted Wulfrick, punching him lightly in the ribs.

‘My knights, halt,’ the king repeated loudly, genuinely shouting as loud as he could.

The Purple cleric was at the head of the knights and squinted to see who was shouting. Halla saw the realization only gradually dawn on his determined face, as he raised his lance and forcefully pulled up on his horse’s reins. The knight commander looked with a mix of anger and surprise as he saw the line of Fjorlanders standing in ranks behind the captured king, and the knights that followed began to pull back on their reins too. Several horses buckled and threw their riders, and several others rode at full tilt into the men in front as the order to halt only gradually reached the back ranks.

Around a thousand mounted men of Ro stopped on the dark plain in front of the line of catapults. At least a hundred of them had been thrown and some of those had been trampled to death by the heavy warhorses.

‘I think we got their attention,’ quipped Oleff nervously, as he looked at the large company of knights.

The Purple cleric, a young man with an elaborately crested helmet, rode past the bulk of the riders and was joined by the older knight commander. They broke off from the knights and rode at a trot towards Halla’s position. The other men of Ro followed only slowly, many of them still confused at what was going on.

‘Release the king, Ranen heretic,’ ordered the cleric, drawing his longsword.

‘Brother Jakan,’ said King Sebastian in a trembling voice, ‘sheathe your sword immediately.’

Wulfrick slowly lowered the king to the ground and held him roughly with an axe blade across his throat.

The knight commander, less impetuous than the cleric, kicked his horse a little further forwards and looked at the Ranen warriors before him. His eye was drawn to the dead guardsmen littering the ground behind them and the unconscious body of Cardinal Mobius, casually thrown over a man’s shoulder.

The knight of the Red was older than the cleric and bore numerous scars, including one that ran the length of his left cheek.

‘Knight Commander Tristram,’ the king said, addressing him, ‘you are to lift the siege and stand down.’ His voice was panicked and his eyes had not moved from the bloodstained axe that rested against his neck.

‘We’re a long way from Fjorlan,’ the knight stated calmly, addressing Wulfrick. ‘And that’s barely a company… you have no army and no hope of survival.’

‘I would listen to your king, red man,’ growled Halla from her position next to Wulfrick. ‘Lift the siege and no one else need die.’

‘Silence, one-eye,’ barked the cleric, causing every Fjorlander present to heft his axe and stand at the ready.

The churchman was clearly taken aback by this show of solidarity and his horse reared as two hundred axe-men growled at him with anger in their eyes.

‘Talk to her like that again,’ shouted Oleff, ‘and my friend here will cut something off your king.’

To emphasize the point, Wulfrick grabbed one of the king’s hands and bent back the fingers, with a vicious grin on his face. The king howled in pain and the men of Ro baulked at the sight.

‘Enough,’ shouted Brother Jakan. ‘Release the King… now!’ He still held his sword, despite the command to sheathe it, and Halla thought him likely to do something foolish.

She stepped close to the knight commander’s horse and spoke quietly. ‘This is what is going to happen, Sir Tristram, you are going to call all of your men back to this camp. We are going to take your king and enter Ro Hail – and you are going to let us.’

Halla glared at the Ro as she spoke and saw a serious look, tinged with confusion, staring back at her. Tristram was assessing his options as he listened to the axe-maiden, and he appeared to her much more level-headed than the Purple cleric, who was still holding his sword nearby.

‘Very well,’ he said plainly and with obvious reluctance. ‘If the king is hurt in any way, I will hunt you to the ends of the earth, axe-bitch.’

Halla smiled. ‘I’d expect no less. We will release him when Wraith Company is a week’s travel to the east and we are a similar distance north. Understood?’

Tristram gritted his teeth and nodded, trying to keep his anger in check.

‘This is heresy against the One,’ roared the Purple cleric. ‘You will release him
now
.’

The front line of Fjorlanders took a step forward at Falling Cloud’s instruction, and Wulfrick grabbed the king’s head, pulling it back to expose his neck.

‘This is Rowanoco’s land, boy,’ said the axe-master. ‘Your god doesn’t like the cold.’