The Red Knight (52 page)

“Thistle Whelk poison. They use it to paralyse their prey; we use it to numb a localised area. It lasts for about four hours—more if you don’t move much. Will that be long enough?” he asked as he applied the sticky ointment to Alyda’s knee with a bone spatula.

She laughed through the pain. It was better than screaming. “More than enough I should think, Ged.”

Gedthis carefully put the lid back on the jar and stowed it in his box. “You really shouldn’t walk on it though. Even if you can’t feel the pain you could do long-term damage.”

The idea of anything being long-term struck her as particularly amusing and she let out a loud, unfettered laugh that degenerated into an infectious chuckle. Soon the sour faced surgeon was giggling like a child, quickly followed by Jamie.

“Why are we laughing?” Jamie asked when he managed to catch a breath.

Alyda and Gedthis looked at each other and laughed even harder.

When they eventually composed themselves, Alyda wiped tears from her eyes, and turned to Jamie. “Go find Pol; I need her to take a message to the Guthani.”

“Out of the question. Kill the girl, tie her carcass to her horse and send it back. That shall be my answer. I can’t be fucked to write anything.” Thorgulsen tossed the scroll on the table.

Telvier winced a smile, and brushed past Trenham. “Indeed, Thane, most succinct, but might I suggest you refrain? If Queen Thea and her sons kill themselves as the note suggests they might, everything we’ve done, everything we’ve lost—” He looked pointedly at Trenham. “…will have been for nothing. Heroic deaths notwithstanding, I don’t think Prince Jerim or Lord Redbear will be pleased with any of us.”

“Fuck them,” Thorgulsen snarled, hating that the Suvian prick was right. He also hated that the Antians were still making demands when they should just admit defeat and accept their fate.
What more did he have to do?

“I hate to say this, but I agree with Telvier,” said Trenham. “If we go in and slaughter everyone and the Queen dies, it won’t matter if Jerim wins. He and Princess Matia will be fighting constant rebellion in Antia, and they’ll not thank you for that.”

“What does the Steelskin mean by,
‘—having the surrender administered by the Free Companies’.
I don’t understand all this word weaving. What ever happened to I win, she loses and I decide what happens?”

“I think Stenna wants assurances that you won’t renege on any agreement you make,” Trenham answered. “If the articles of surrender are written and witnessed by the Free Companies there’s no chance of that happening.”

“No? What if I decide to go back on my word, Free Company contract or not?” The Thane smiled humourlessly.

“Then every Free Company in Antia and beyond will be obliged to hunt you down,” said Telvier, “an open contract as it were. ‘Tis how we maintain our high standards.”

Thorgulsen smoothed his beard. “I’m past caring; I want this finished one way or the other. Get yourself and your scribe ready, Trenham. Tell the Steelskin I’ll meet with her captain.”

There was no way Alyda could get her leg armour back on. Even though her knee was now pleasantly numb, the whelk poison did nothing for the swelling.

Jamie and Kieran helped her mount Nevenna’s horse, a chestnut called Tuva. Alyda looked over to Lyco, still lying where he fell. She threw her cloak over her leg before riding out with Kieran and Jamie. She was pleased to see defenders stagger up to the wall and defiantly brandish weapons as though they were ready to fight again.

Thorgulsen and the two mercenaries were waiting in the middle of the field surrounded by bloating bodies, clouds of flies, and bickering troupes of carrion birds. The Thane looked well rested, his armour unsullied. Trenham and Telvier at least looked like they’d been in a fight. She swallowed hard and pretended sitting on a horse didn’t hurt, pretended she didn’t want to rip the Guthani’s heart out.

“I have decided to agree to the terms you have requested,” Thorgulsen said when they pulled up. “I will allow your garrison to leave under escort and command of Captain Trenham. I shall take the Queen and her sons with me.”

“Thank you, Thane,” said Alyda. Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure they’d hear it.

“I’ll have the terms drawn up,” Trenham offered unprompted.

She nodded and turned for the Arth.

“One more thing, Captain Stenna,” said Thorgulsen. She halted, tried to look bored rather than panicked.

“You want the Free Companies to draw up and administer these
‘articles of surrender’
. As I said, I will agree to this, but I also need assurances.”

“What do you want?” she asked.

“I want it written in these
articles
that if any part of it is not held to by the Antians—and that includes the Queen cutting her throat to thwart me—that you will bear the responsibility
personally,
and forego any protection granted by the articles of surrender. Do you agree?”

“Can he do that?” Alyda heard Telvier whisper to Trenham. The mercenary nodded.

“Of course, Thane. We’ll need three hours to prepare the wounded to travel.”

“You have an hour,” said Thorgulsen before heading back to his camp.

Telvier flipped Alyda a salute and trotting after the Thane. Trenham was slower to follow. He looked like he wanted to say something. She didn’t wait to find out what it might be and rode back to the Arth.
That’s the first part done.
It didn’t go exactly to plan, but nothing ever did.

It took less than an hour for the garrison to gather their meagre belongings and assemble in the bailey. Thanks to Gedthis’s ointment, Alyda was able to stand on her injured leg.
Not long now.
She told herself. Just a few more moves and then the game would be over and she would be able to rest. It stopped raining; shafts of sunlight pierced the clouds.

The survivors milled in the bailey, hardly daring to whisper while they waited nervously for the Guthlanders. Alyda swallowed hard and ordered the gates to be opened. So much blood had been spilled to keep them closed, opening them felt like a betrayal of all those who’d died.

A flock of geese arrowed over the barbican, wings flashing black and silver against the grey. She ordered the knights to lay down their arms and stand with the civilians, she limped over to Lyco to wait for the Guthlanders.

Smith peeled away from the group and came over. He had a bag of tools slung across his back. “They’ll kill us all when they find out she’s gone.”

So much for keeping it a secret.
She sighed. “Didn’t we already have the conversation about you not telling me how to do my job? Don’t worry, Smith, it’s taken care of. How did you find out?” she asked, for want of something to pass the time while she waited for the Guthani.

He shrugged. “Only one guard on the tower this morn, no faces at the windows and mystery visitors in the night. You did at least remember to keep a candle burning in the Queen’s room, but you didn’t open the shutters. What can I say? I sleep poorly and I keep my eyes open.”

“I’ll remember to open the shutters next time.”

“There won’t be a next time, will there?”

Alyda shrugged. The last thing she needed right now was an argument with the Peoples’ Champion. “You’ll get out of here alive, Smith—you all will.”

“Playing the hero to the end, eh? What about all those who are dead because your fucking pride wouldn’t let you surrender?”

Alyda laughed. It was either that or punch him. “Come now, Smith, don’t get all soft and sentimental, you’ll make me cry.”

“This isn’t funny. People have died here, ordinary folk in the main, but do you know who’ll be remembered?”

She looked him in the eye, tried to span the gulf between their worlds with a glance. Luckily for his sake, it was an impossible task; she wouldn’t wish her nightmares on anybody. “I can’t help that, Smith, and neither will I pretend to be meek and humble just to satisfy your fantasy of what a knight should be.”

Smith flushed. “I don’t want you to be anything. Why should I care?”

“I’ve no idea, as odd as this may seem to you, fathoming the workings of your peasant brain isn’t high on my list of priorities. But you
do
care, and given the chance, you’d swap places with me in a heartbeat. Only life didn’t give you that chance and that’s why you’re so damn bitter. You get to live out your days in whatever nameless dump you call home, mending pots and pans until you drop dead, or get too old and feeble to do anything other than beg for scraps in the street. Me? I get to die here, playing the fucking hero. It’s not fair, in more ways than you’ve considered, but that’s just the way it is.”

Smith snorted and paced before her, caught somewhere between fury and embarrassment. “You’ve got me wrong. I despise your kind, and do you know why?”

“I could hazard a guess, but why don’t you tell me anyway?”

“As long as there’s stories told to bairns about heroic idiots, there’ll always be fresh meat willing and eager to die to fill the storyteller’s songbooks and keep kings and queens on thrones.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of being wrong, Smith? Has nothing ever moved you enough to risk your precious hide? Tell me I’m wrong; tell me you think there’s something, anything—any
one
worth dying for. I’ll wager the only important person in your life, Smith, is you.”

The colour bled for his face. He clenched his fists. For a moment she thought he might hit her.
Just try it.

“You make me sick.” He growled and stormed back to the others.

“Goodbye, Smith.”

The Irregulars were the first in. Alyda wondered whether they were impressed with their handiwork or horrified. She didn’t give a damn which it was; they just had to help her with this last, most vital part of her plan to save the garrison and then they could all rot in the Void.

Trenham came over with his company accountant in tow. She was carrying a bundle of parchments and a writing slope. Alyda remembered her from Suvia. She was a singer and had a nice voice, but nothing compared to Nev. She could do with Nevenna’s strength right now, her insight.

Alyda took her time reading the articles and provisions of the surrender. When she was sure every detail was as it should be and identical on all three copies, she added her signature to those of Thorgulsen, Telvier and Trenham.

Trenham gave two of the copies to his messengers. From her days in her father’s Free Company she knew that they’d ride with all haste to the Free Company headquarters on Careth to register the contracts. They wouldn’t take the same route or stop, save to change mounts. It was a reassuring, and often necessary precaution.

“Herick,” she called after Trenham. He stopped. “Do me a favour?”

He smiled. “Certainly, if I can. You know when the dust settles, I’d like—”

“Kieran has my sword, but he’s bound to be searched. Could you return it to my family? You know where they live.”

He narrowed his eyes, gave her an appraising look. “What have you done, Ali?”

“It’s a simple enough question, Herick. Yes or no?”

“There’s no need to be like that.”

“There’s every need.”

“Alright,” he said quietly. “I’ll do it.”

Too late to feel bad now you greedy bastard,
she thought, but kept her opinion to herself.

“Is there anything you want me to tell them?”

“Aye. Tell my father not to sell you any more fucking trebuchets and…tell them I love them.”

“I will, and I’ll look after this lot too. You have my word.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Trenham immediately ordered the Irregulars to take up casually defensive positions around the survivors, bows at the ready, arrows nocked. Telvier’s company rolled in soon after. The Suvian tipped his brocade and feather-festooned hat to Alyda. Last to enter were the Guthani.

A Talespinner announced Thorgulsen, who rode proudly through an avenue of cheering hirths, basking in their applause. He dismounted near Alyda, but his eyes searched the knot of survivors.

He turned to Alyda. “Where is the Queen?”

This is it.
The moment she had been dreading and anticipating in equal measure had finally arrived. Her plan hadn’t gone exactly how she’d wanted it to, but as her mother said when she taught her and Karl to play stones;
“Every good player understands the meaning of sacrifice.”

She smiled as Thorgulsen’s grin faded. “I’m afraid Queen Thea will not be joining us.”

Before the last word had died on her lips, the Thane slammed his fist into her face. Her leg gave out and she crashed to the ground.

“Search that fucking rabble and find the Queen!” Thorgulsen bellowed at Telvier and Trenham.

“As for you,” he snarled at Alyda, “we have been remiss; we must do this properly, no? You should hand over your sword? Isn’t that how
honourable
knights do things?” He kicked her in the stomach. She barely felt it through her armour, but she was struggling to see past the little points of light exploding before her watering eyes. She spat a mouthful of blood into the dirt.