The Red Knight (54 page)

“Yes it is a little chilly down here, isn’t it? Forgive my terrible manners, Captain Stenna. My name is Alden Barziner, you might have heard of me? No? No matter. Some people call me Priest, perhaps you’ve…No? Ah, well, never mind. You know, I’ve been following your exploits for quite some time, ever since his Eminence asked me to…
redeem
you. I’m only a lay brother of the Order, but, and I do not wish to sound boastful…” He gave an empty chuckle. “I have a gift, a way of helping sinners unburden themselves. I tried to lighten your mortal load in Weyhithe when you returned from Suvia. Alas, my agent failed me. So I was forced to come myself, do the job properly.” He brushed a strand of hair from her face; let his fingers trail across her cheek.

She refused to flinch. He smiled, evidently conscious of her effort.

“This has been quite a trial for me. I have a weak chest and the damp Antian climate does me no good at all. But now that we’ve finally met, in the flesh as it were, I cannot tell you how glad I am that I made the journey. Oh, listen to me! Chattering away and you’re shivering like a newborn lamb. Don’t worry,
Alyda
; I’ll soon warm you up.” The smile vanished like it was never there. He walked over to the fire and thrust the poker into the growing coals.

Alyda fixed her gaze on the wall above the fireplace and ignored the clank and scrape of metal. She forced herself to explore the landscape of cracks and fissures, the mottled patches of multi-hued damp that had colonized the dripping walls. There were a dozen shades of green, pale yellows and shining black. Barziner drew a blade from his sleeve.

Her gut reaction was to fight the ropes. He made a satisfied noise in his throat. She took a breath, stopped struggling.
Hard as iron, cold as stone. You are the Captain of the Hammer. You will not give in to fear!
The Priest came over, leaned against the grill beside her, so close she could smell the vinegary tang of wine on his breath.
Don’t look at him
. She fixed her gaze on the wall above the fireplace, caught the gleam of steel out of the corner of her eye
. Do not fucking look!

“Captain, you and your knights were very brave; no one could have fought harder for their people. It was a truly heroic effort—given how these things are measured. But you’ve done enough.” He leaned closer, his hot breath washed against the inflamed skin of her neck.
Don’t look…

“If you tell me where Queen Thea and her sons are, I give you my word—I’ll send you back to your company, alive, and intact. There is a small matter of confessing that you’re a witch, but all that I require for that is a signature. I’ll even take care of that rather painful looking knee for you. I must say, you show remarkable strength even to be standing on it.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “A good
and
bad thing,—being strong. Trust me; no one knows this better than I. Now, what say you?”

Her throat was raw and swollen. Just breathing was an effort, but she managed to find breath enough to hiss,

“Never.”

He laughed; it was a hard, ugly sound. “That’s exactly what I thought you’d say! I’m in the wrong business. I should have been a fucking seer. Oh, this simply won’t work. There you are, a little battered and bruised, but still a very handsome woman. I have to confess, ‘tis quite a distraction.”

Without warning, he slashed her across the face. It was such a casual act of violence, little more than a reflex that it took a moment for the pain to register. When it did—when the blood began to flow—it burned. She roared an animal cry of agony.

“That’s better.” Barziner wiped the blade on his robe. “Now, if you would excuse me for a little while, Alyda. I must speak with Thane Kasper. While I’m away, I’d like you to consider what else I can take from you, as I have your beauty. Hopefully it will encourage you to be sensible and tell me where the Queen is.”

For the first time in her adult life Alyda felt helpless. She fought the ropes, wild with pain and impotent rage. Time passed and her anger ebbed with her strength, leaving her drained. Her cheek throbbed and she desperately wanted to shift position and take the weight off her injured leg, but she couldn’t move an inch.

The bar of light in the narrow window turned black. The hirths were talking quietly by the fire. For the most part they’d ignored her after Barziner left, so it came as a surprise when one of them came over and tipped a water skin to her mouth and gestured for her to drink. The cold water stung her ravaged lip, but quenched her raging thirst. Speaking was too painful, so she nodded her thanks. The Guthani said something she didn’t understand before re-joining his companion by the fire.

Alyda would have fallen asleep had she not heard Barziner’s steady footfall on the steps. He came in carrying the handle of a woodsman’s axe. His affable smile twisted into a grimace when he saw a splash of water on the floor in front of her.

“Which one of you did this?” he snarled.

“I did,” growled the Guthani who’d given her the water.

“I ordered you not to even fucking look at her, let alone give her a fucking drink! What next?” He gestured grandly. “A comfy bed and a feather quilt? Go, get out! And send someone who can follow simple orders.”

The hirth strolled from the dungeon. Seeing him lose his composure was a small victory, but she’d take what she could get. Barziner forced a tight smile, but the flint in his eyes betrayed his anger. Perhaps he was angry enough to kill her? She hoped so—her dead were waiting and she was eager to join them.

“Please, forgive my outburst, Captain. It was most unseemly, but as you can see, these are less than ideal circumstances, and I do not thrive in chaos.” The remaining hirth muttered something under her breath, earning a sidelong glare from Barziner. “Now, where were we, Alyda?”

She gathered her strength; she just needed to push him a little more. “I was about to tell you…to go fuck yourself.” Was that enough?

“Bravado! How delightful.” He wagged his finger and shook his head. “You’re trying to provoke me, but I’m afraid it won’t work. Only incompetence riles me to murderous levels of fury and you’re playing the part of ‘helpless prisoner’ with consummate skill. Now, where is the Queen?” He flexed his fingers, took a firmer grip on the axe handle.

Alyda stared over Barziner’s head, and fixed her gaze on the wall. A cluster of mould had spread across the old stone mantle; it looked like branching antlers, grey as old bone. Barziner rested the axe shaft on his shoulder.

“I imagine that strong legs are very important for a captain of cavalry. Now, where is the Queen, Captain Stenna?”

No, not just grey. The tips of the antlers were tinged with yellow…

Barziner drew the shaft back.

Above the antlers was a sky of shining black…

There was a soft whoosh of air.

The icy water shocked Alyda back to consciousness. She spluttered, coughed, every ragged breath was agony. She had no idea how much time had passed since Barziner had shattered her leg. That it was still dark outside was all she knew.

The pain was breath-taking, worse than anything she’d ever experienced and she couldn’t escape it. Not unless she gave him what he wanted, but as much as it hurt, she wasn’t remotely inclined to tell him where the Queen was. If anything, every blow he’d landed had only hardened her resolve. She just lacked the strength to tell him.

She watched Barziner dip a strip of cloth into a bucket of water and wrap it around his hand. He made a fist. Humming tunelessly, he went over to the fire and pulled the glowing poker from the coals. Steam hissed.

He came over, waved the poker in front of her face. Heat washed over her. “Those tattoos are very interesting; are they Hadami or Clan? No answer? I know you have a voice, you screamed loud enough earlier.” He sighed dramatically. “Very well. Now: where is the fucking Queen?”

The captured weapons and armour had been piled in the bailey. Thorgulsen’s hirths had first pick of the spoils. After much grumbling at the poor quality and worthlessness of everything, Skani chose a heavy flanged mace and a plate gauntlet for his share. A silver cloak clasp had caught Snowfoot’s eye. It was in the Antian style, quite plain but well made. On the back it bore the inscription, ‘
To Hedden, our beloved son.’
He thumbed the blood off and dropped it in his pouch. He’d also dug a scarlet surcoat out of the pile of plunder. The velvet was torn and filthy, but it was edged in thick gold braid. The Talespinner started to strip it from the velvet, but changed his mind and stuffed the whole thing in his pack.

“I’m not sleeping in here tonight,” Skani declared as another agonizing scream ripped through the Arth, “not with that going on, bed or no bed. “‘Tis enough to give you nightmares.”

Snowfoot raised an eyebrow. “Unlike cleaving skulls with an axe from dawn to dusk?”

“That’s different and I use a sword, not an axe. So come on—what have you heard, Garuld Big Ears?” The hirth grinned at his shield brother.

“I suppose it’s better than ‘
fatty’
. As to your question; I think this little adventure is drawing to a conclusion. It’s going badly in Cathlan.”

“Oh,” said Felar as he tested the balance of the mace with a few practice swings.

“Don’t get too excited will you?”

“You haven’t told me anything yet.
Badly
could mean anything. Stop building it up and just tell me. I’m not getting any younger.”

“Isn’t that the truth…” The Talespinner grinned, and put his back to a huge chunk of wall that had crashed into the bailey. “The Antians have blockaded the ports. Well,
the Iceheart
has blocked the ports. The Steelskins couldn’t out-sail a dead cat, let alone a Guthlander. The long and the short is that Redbear’s trapped in Cathlan. My guess is we’ll be moving out in the next day or so, either to Pridmore, the ships and home, or gods forbid—marching to Cathlan. Try to keep it quiet will you?”

Skani’s laughter was cut short by another scream, swiftly followed by another. Snowfoot thanked his ancestors that he wasn’t the one being tormented by the Void-hearted Priest.

“That fucking screaming’s giving me a headache.” Skani shoved a dented tankard into his bag before shouldering it. “I’m off back to camp, are you coming?” He set off towards the gate.

Another scream shattered the silence.

“Aye, wait up,” said the Talespinner, and hurried after his friend.

Trenham didn’t dare slow the pace until he saw the lights of the monastery shining in the darkness. He’d let the garrison survivors rest long enough to stop anyone collapsing. The wounded, the old and the bairns had been put on carts. He didn’t care if they sprouted wings and flew, so long as they kept moving. He wasn’t being cruel; he just didn’t want to be attacked in the open by a vengeful Guthani warband or that bastard dragon. He had to get them to the monastery as quickly as he could; he wanted to be rid of his burden. He was tired of looking at faces full of sorrow and eyes full of hate. If Lorhine didn’t get himself killed before journey’s end, then Jamie would. Why couldn’t they understand? It was just business.
So why do I feel so bad?

They arrived at the monastery in the small hours of the morning. As soon as they were within hailing distance the gates swung open and a group of priests and priestesses rushed out, their pale robes glowing in the moonlight.

Trenham approached the woman who looked like she was in charge. “Lady, these people have been travelling for hours, they’re tired and—”

The priestess waved him to silence. “Later. Let’s get everyone inside where there’s food and warm beds waiting—quickly now.”

Trenham was suddenly on his guard, acutely aware that he was in enemy territory. “You knew we were coming?”

“Bad news travels swiftly my son,” she said before shepherding the weary travellers within.

The brothers and sisters of the Order of Ashania quickly and efficiently tended to the wounded. Everyone else was ushered into the refectory where cot beds had been set out and pots of hot stew bubbled in the hearth. Trenham had to go in to explain the situation and make sure the Antian’s were settled, but he ordered the Irregulars to wait outside the monastery. He didn’t think it wise to mix with people they’d been trying to kill.

The company set up camp on the road. When he was done, Trenham headed to his tent with a bottle of brandy, Void-bent on getting drunk. Tomorrow Kiri would set off south with the company and his report, such as it was. If nothing else it would give the Council a laugh.
Fucking dragon
. How had Ali Stenna had managed to get a dragon? All that shit about honour, did she make a deal with a demon? Sell her spirit to Old Horny? He wished he’d asked her. “Too late now,” he said aloud, the booze loosening his tongue.

Kiri was sitting just outside, smoking her pipe; she flipped back the tent flap, her head haloed in smoke. “Too late for what?”

“Nothing.”

She drew on the pipe. “Tell me more about this nothin’.”

“I was just thinking that it was too late to ask Ali Stenna where she got the fucking dragon.” It felt odd, saying her name aloud.