The Red Knight (5 page)

Round Belly swept past Lemarasch, “My dear Antian friends, I—”

He began boldly enough, but on seeing the surgeon’s red work, he choked. His eye widened, his mouth closed, then opened, then closed again, making him look like a freshly landed fish.

Alyda wasn’t in the mood to deal with idiots, and gave Lemarasch a questioning look. He shrugged apologetically and stepped past the gasping Round Belly.

“Captain Stenna, Captain Vorbek, allow me to congratulate you on the Prince’s behalf. It was a fine victory, but this is clearly not the appropriate time to discuss business with you, Captain Stenna. Please, forgive our interruption.” In a whisper intended only for Alyda he added: “I’m really
very
sorry about this.” Then in a louder voice: “Captain Vorbek, perhaps you could assist us?”

“What can I do for you, Count Lemarasch?” Althus asked.

The old nobleman frowned. “It’s the standard you took—that of General Trevisa. General Calvigneri…” he indicated Round Belly, who inclined his head very slightly to the captains, “…would like to know how much you would be willing to take for it.”

“Ah, well. I’m afraid you’ll have to come back later and speak to Captain Stenna after all, for ‘tis the First that has claim to those colours.”

Gedthis dropped the needle in the bowl and rinsed his hands turning the water pink. “Another excellent job, even if I say so myself. Please keep it clean, Captain. I’ll be back later to check on it.”

Alyda grunted and sat back. The stitches pulled, and her side felt raw, which did nothing to improve her rapidly deteriorating mood.

Round Belly produced a silver vinaigrette from his sleeve and took a sniff before clearing his throat. “Captain Stenna, how much do you want for the standard? I’ll pay handsomely for it,
in gold
. ‘Tis just a pity I was delayed, or I would have taken it from the field of honour myself.” He tried to thrust out his chest, but merely succeeding in presenting his belly like a proud mother-to-be.

Take it himself?
Alyda looked at Althus. The Captain of the Anvil shrugged. Round Belly was dressed in a theatrical fantasy of a military uniform. The man reeked of perfume and self importance. His white gloved hand rested on the jewelled hilt of a sword that looked more suited to peeling apples than spilling blood. She’d wager a month’s pay that he’d never even seen a battlefield, let alone fought on one.

“I’m sorry,
General
, but the standard is going back to Antia with the First.” She was too tired to go into detail about what she thought of his offer, or in which orifice he could shove it.

Calvigneri’s sickly smile vanished. “Captain, I must insist that you sell me the standard. I’m sure you understand it cannot be taken from Suvian soil. Honour is at stake, I must return with it to our Prince’s headquarters, I absolutely must!”

Alyda was on her feet before she knew it. She took a step towards Calvigneri. Startled, he hopped back.

“General Calvigneri, that…” she stabbed a finger at Trevisa’s colours, “is a
battle standard
, taken in combat and paid for with blood. It will hang in a place of honour at Trelanlith Arth so that in years to come, when this day has been forgotten and we have long since turned to dust, the knights who come after will see it and remember those who fell in its taking.”

Calvigneri’s gaze flicked nervously from Alyda to the standard and back again. He gulped. “S…so you won’t sell it?”

“No.”

After an uncomfortably long silence, Lemarasch rescued Calvigneri. “My Lord, I believe it’s time to inspect the troops.”

“Yes! Yes, of course,” Calvigneri spluttered. “Why didn’t you remind me earlier, Lemarasch? Captain Stenna, Captain Vorbek, I cannot say that it has been a pleasure.” The General almost tripped over his sword in his haste to leave. When he’d gone, a wide grin spread across Lemarasch’s angular face.

“Thank you, Captain—I’ll dine out for months on this tale.” He bowed and left.

Althus chuckled. “You’re a born diplomat, Ali.”

She sat back down and put her feet on the table. “Aye. ‘Tis a gift.”

Chapter Two

L
ord Hyram prayed a silent prayer to no god in particular that the day would pass quickly and uneventfully. He loathed parades, disliked public holidays, and despised wearing heavy robes and chains of office on hot July days. Acid burned his gullet while he waited for Daris to finish reading his report. He looked out of the window to pass the time, but the impressive view of the capital afforded him little pleasure. Far below, beyond the garland decked walls of Weyhithe Arth, the winding streets were thronged with what looked to be the entire population of the city and every town and village for miles around. The air hummed with excitement, as the great unwashed waited to greet the knights of the 1st and the 2nd on their triumphant return from Suvia. Hyram wanted to vomit. He traced the path the parade would take from the city gates to the Arth,
if
everything went to plan. His stomach lurched when he considered what would happen if it didn’t.

“I cannot fault Stenna and Vorbek,” said Daris, when he’d finished reading the report. “They were exemplary, were they not?” He tossed the report on the table. Dressed in his ceremonial armour he looked every inch the warrior king. Hyram noted with unreasonable annoyance that he was wearing his hair in three braids in honour of his precious Guards.

“Yes, my Lord, your knights’ prosecuted war with brutal precision. It will be a desperate day before
King
Ranulfi contemplates the shores of Antia with hungry eyes.”

“Good, let’s hope he’s learnt the lesson his cousin did not.” Daris rocked on his heels. “So… How badly did my brother disgrace me?”

Hyram knew he’d have to tread carefully with this subject. “From what I’ve gathered, not a great deal—at least, not with the Suvians. According to reports they’re struggling to come to terms with the aftermath of their first real war for over twenty years. I don’t think they noticed the slight.”

“So who did?”

Hyram closed the window. “The Free Companies are certainly aware that the Prince did not disembark a single soldier. The Cathlan nobles have also been bragging about how their Governor slighted you, but then they would; they’re his subjects.”

“And he is mine, damn him to the Void!”

“I’m sorry, my Lord. I don’t know what to suggest.”

“Why don’t you suggest what you’ve hinted at before; that I have my brother quietly done away with?”

Hyram sighed inwardly. His mistake had been in mentioning that accidents sometimes happened to troublesome younger brothers who threatened the stability of a kingdom. It had only been the slightest suggestion, but enough for Daris to almost soul bind him into swearing never to consider harming Jerim—to the point where Hyram dreaded what would happen if the imbecile had a genuine accident. If only he’d done away with the poisonous little fuck without attempting to gain approval from Daris, then they wouldn’t have to deal with his constant scheming.

Daris paced angrily. “Why does he seek to infuriate me so? Have I ever denied him anything?”

“You’ve always treated your brother well, better than he has perhaps deserved. He has always been…difficult, my Lord. I don’t think it’s in his nature to be amicable, or to recognise where his best interests lie.” This was Hyram’s most diplomatic way of saying Jerim was a power-obsessed madman. The Councillor didn’t hedge out of fear, but out of love. He didn’t want to add to Daris’s problems. Unlike Jerim, Daris was a prince amongst men irrespective of rank, and happily for the people of Antia, had been born first. Hyram knew it hurt him deeply that the love he bore his brother had only ever been repaid with scorn. They’d fought since childhood, then, as now, Hyram had stood between his cousins, protecting one from the schemes of the other.

“Enough of Jerim. Today is not a day I want to think about him. Truth be told, I’m glad he’s
too ill
to attend the celebrations—he’d only darken the day with his malice and I would have my Guards welcomed home with joy in every heart in Weyhithe.”

Hyram smiled, but his stomach was churning. Not all hearts were full of joy, of that he was certain. His was gripped by fear and anxiety. His gaze was drawn back to the window. Down in the Great Ward, the 4th Company of the Royal Guards were preparing to ride from the Arth. Hyram was rarely roused to anything more than casual cynicism by martial displays. They were so damned pompous—little more than excuses for overindulgence, and buffing the egos of boorish thugs. Today however, he was keenly interested in the parade. Somewhere among the teeming crowds, his best agents were on the trail of the King’s enemies. While the knights basked in the adulation of the masses, his people were hunting killers in the shadows of Weyhithe. He didn’t know who he was looking for, but the threat, the merest whisper of the word
assassin
was too serious to ignore.

Daris clapped him on the shoulder. “Come, cousin, there’s no need for such a serious mien. Put Jerim from your thoughts and enjoy the day.”

“Forgive me, my Lord. ‘Tis only the heat that vexes me.” Hyram smiled in a bid to convince Daris of the lie.

Garian wasn’t tall, or particularly strong or, alas, a deadly swordsman. He was however, quick, intelligent, and very good at his job. But if the axe had been thrown with a little more accuracy, and a little less haste, he would now be nothing more than a twitching corpse sprawled in the doorway. Spurred on by the sharp reminder of mortality that had splintered the woodwork inches from his head, Garian charged into the room. The axe man looked surprised that he’d missed and hesitated before reaching for a sword that was hanging on the back of a chair. Garian didn’t waste a breath, and vaulted the table between them. He kicked the chair away, pinned the axe man against the wall, and held a knife to his throat to keep him there.

“Don’t move,” said Garian.

The man nodded slowly, then headbutted him. Because he didn’t have room to throw his head back the blow lacked strength; even so, he hit Garian hard enough to momentarily stun him. The axe man made a grab for the sword. Blinking away tears, Garian kneed him in the balls, reversed his grip on the dagger and thrust it, two-fisted, into the man’s shoulder. He felt the tip skid off bone before cutting through the muscle. A solid shiver leapt up his arm when the blade finally hit the wall. The man let out a shrill scream.

“Let’s try again, dog shit, and if you so much as breathe in a way I don’t like, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?” Only the slightest tremor in his voice betrayed Garian’s fury. The axe man nodded. “Good. So,
Gilhas—
who and where?”

Gilhas’s eyes widened at the mention of his name. Garian hoped he could bluff him into thinking he knew more than he did. All he knew for certain was that he was running out of time.

Gilhas clamped his lips together in a hard line. Garian twisted the blade. The bloody key unlocked his mouth and Gilhas let out another high-pitched scream.

“So help me man, I will flense the fucking meat from your bones if you don’t tell me what you know.”

Gilhas’s resolve began to crumble; tears pearled and ran down his bloodless cheeks.

“Are your new friends worth dying for?” Garian pressed.

“She…she had me buy poison… that’s all, I swear on the Twins! That’s all I did.”

“Tell me everything,” Garian demanded, praying that there was more to tell.

“A ca…captain, one of them comin’ back fr…from Suvia, that’s who she’s after, but I don’t know which one.”

Garian twisted the knife again, eliciting another agonized scream from Gilhas.

“For Asha’s sake! I swear it, I swear…” he blubbered.

“What does she look like? What’s her name?”

“No name, short, ‘bout your height, black hair—Hadami looking. A red cloak, g…grey cap.”

Garian pulled his dagger from Gilhas’ shoulder. The injured man yelped and slid down the wall leaving a scarlet smear on the panelling.

“You, innkeeper! Get your arse in here now.” Garian ordered the woman who was loitering in the hallway.

“Watch him until the City Guards arrive. If he’s gone when they get here, you’ll take his place in the King’s dungeon, understand?” He sheathed his knife, and wiped his bloody nose on his sleeve.

She prised the axe out of the door frame. “Aye, sir, as you say, sir. Don’t worry I’ll cut the fucker in ‘arf if he tries to move.”

Garian didn’t give a damn. Gilhas was a taken piece. Now he had to decide his next move, and do it quickly. There was no way he’d be able to battle his way back to the Arth in time to tell his master what he’d found out, the streets were rammed, and even if he did make it, the word of a petty criminal like Gilhas wasn’t enough to cancel the parade. Out of time and choices, he headed over to the East Gate where the knights would enter.

On the way over he collared a Sergeant of the City Guards and told her to detain every woman who fit the description Gilhas had given him. The indignation of the gypsies was a small price to pay compared to the riots that would follow if one of the King’s knights was murdered. He had no idea which one was the target, but at least they’d both be in the same place at the same time.