Again I looked at the bodies of the dead Knights, lying there in their black tabards, trying to work out what I was missing – and only then did I realise what it was – or rather, whom. ‘The Knight-Captain!’ I said. ‘I saw him flee – did you kill him?’
As Dariana shook her head I swore and started, ‘Go and find Kest. Tell him to look for—’
‘Cowards!’ a voice bellowed.
At first I thought the shout had come from the crowd, then I heard a woman scream and as I turned to trace the sound something fell from the top of the two-storey barn at the far end of the square. Only when it hit the hard ground below did I see it was a young woman. The sound of her neck snapping reverberated through the square.
Oh Gods, let it not be her – I told her not to go there . . . But as I ran towards the woman I saw with a relief that made me ashamed that it wasn’t Valiana. The Knight-Captain stood on the roof of the two-storey building. He had hastily tied ropes around his arms, his torso and even legs, and the other end of each rope was attached to a child. Young boys and girls – the littles, I realised – sobbed as they tried to pull away, but the Knight-Captain yanked their ropes and drew them back to him. He’s turned the children into a shield – no, I thought, into armour. He’s using them as armour.
‘Cowards!’ the Knight-Captain yelled, and now it was clear he was screaming at his two men. ‘Put your armour back on and fight! Knights do not retreat!’
The younger of the two Knights called out, ‘Sir Learis, stop! This isn’t—’
‘Silence! We came to pacify this village, and pacify it we will. We must show them our resolve, Sir Vezier.’ His voice rose as if he were giving a lesson to a group of wayward students. ‘The peasants need to see this doesn’t end until they kneel before us.’
Brasti aimed an arrow. ‘You’re a dead man.’
‘Am I?’ The Knight-Captain stepped forward, the children pulled close to him. ‘Which of these will feel the bite of your arrow as you try to reach me?’ He yanked hard on one of the ropes and a small girl slipped and started swinging over the corner edge of the building.
‘Eila!’ a man yelled. ‘Please! No!’
‘Come on, then!’ the Knight-Captain shouted. He hauled the girl back onto the roof next to him. ‘Fire, archer: maybe you can hit me without hitting the children. Come on. Show your skill.’
Brasti’s arm pulled back, but I stopped him. ‘Don’t. He’s got the children tied to him and he’s standing on the corner of the roof on purpose. If you shoot, even if he falls backwards, there’s a good chance he’ll go over the edge and drag the children with him to their deaths.’
‘Clever little brown bird – smart enough to know these little ducklings won’t fly.’ The Knight-Captain’s gaze went across the crowd. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘kneel.’
‘Do it,’ I said.
The men and women of Garniol dropped to their knees, and those few who tried to remain defiant, mostly young men, were pulled down. Brasti and I knelt as well, and Dariana hesitated but finally joined us.
‘Good,’ the Knight-Captain said, ‘very good. Obedient hounds. You see that, Sir Vezier? Sir Orn? This is the power of true command. More than a hundred of them and they bow before one righteous Knight.’
‘What do you want?’ I asked.
The Knight-Captain ignored me. Instead, he spoke once again to his men. ‘Sir Vezier. Sir Orn. You will take up your swords. You will go from dog to dog in this whining pack of mongrels, and you will strike their heads from their bodies.’
The man was grinning from ear to ear as if he truly believed these people would simply kneel and give up their lives, even knowing that those of their children would surely follow.
The older of the two Knights looked around uncertainly but began to rise. The younger – Sir Vezier – grabbed him by the shoulder and held him down. ‘No, Knight-Captain,’ he said. ‘This isn’t what we . . . This isn’t worthy of a Knight.’
‘No? Feckless boy. Are you afraid they’ll rise up against you? A Knight? Then you don’t deserve the title. Sir Orn, you will take up your sword and do as I’ve commanded. You will begin with Sir Vezier.’
This time the older man stayed where he was, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground in front of him.
‘We seem to be at an impasse, Knight-Captain,’ I called out.
‘Are we? Very well then, let us see how long this impasse holds. Watch and wait and you will see what true courage looks like: you will see that a true son of War does not flinch when the fire comes.’
‘What’s his game?’ Brasti asked.
‘I don’t know.’
Knights don’t do well with losing a battle at the best of times, but this man was clearly out of his mind with rage. If he’d planned to throw the children off the roof, he could have done it by now, but that didn’t feel like it would be enough for him. He was going to make a point, and he wanted us to watch—
Damn all the Gods, I thought, and I looked at the barn beneath his feet. Sure enough, smoke was beginning to emerge from the wood-slat windows. ‘He’s lit a fire in the barn,’ I said. ‘He’s going to immolate himself with the children.’
A woman rose from her knees and tried to run through the crowd, but a man cried out ‘No!’ and others grabbed her before she could run into the burning building.
‘Come,’ the Knight-Captain shouted, roaring with laughter, ‘who will join me?’
Shit. We couldn’t kill him and we couldn’t wait for the fire to reach them. ‘Me,’ I said softly.
‘Are you mad?’ Dariana asked. ‘You can’t run in there. You’ll burn alive.’
I flipped up the collar of my coat and tied the straps tight, imagining I looked like a highwayman coming to rob a carriage. ‘The leather and bone of the coat will protect me from the heat and the silk in the collar will block out some of the smoke,’ I muttered hopefully.
‘And what the hells do you do when you get to the top?’ Brasti asked. ‘If you try to rush him he’ll just jump – and besides, even if you do make it to the roof, there’s no way you’ll get back down through the fire.’
‘There’s a ladder attached to the water tower,’ I said. ‘You and Dariana, go and get it.’
‘Falcio, you don’t have a plan! You’re going to die for nothing!’
I smiled. Always smile when you’re terrified. ‘I always have a plan, Brasti. It’s just that sometimes it’s not a very good one.’ I rose to my feet. ‘On the other hand, I wouldn’t be averse to a miracle, so you’d better have that ladder ready just in case.’
*
The first floor of the barn felt oddly peaceful. The flames were still small enough that it looked as if someone had lit braziers to set the scene for a romantic dinner. But I could see the smouldering bales of hay were beginning to catch alight, and the smoke was starting to hang heavy in the air.
I ran up the stairs to the second floor, but the smoke was rising and now it was almost impossible to see more than two feet in front of me. If it hadn’t been for the sound of her crying, I never would have known the girl was there.
All I could really see of her as she sat huddled in a corner was her dark brown hair for her head was buried in her knees.
‘Run downstairs and out of the barn,’ I said, my voice low. ‘Go on!’
The girl sobbed and held her arms out to me.
‘I can’t go with you – I’ve got to go up. Please, just run down the stairs and get out now!’
She shook her head and her crying grew louder as her arms kept reaching for me. I started coughing uncontrollably. Damn it all . . . as if this wasn’t difficult enough already. I put one arm around the child and lifted her to me. ‘It’s time to be very brave,’ I said to her. ‘You can stay with me, but you’re not going to cry, all right?’
I started up the second set of stairs that led to the roof.
I felt the girl’s face nuzzle into my hair. ‘’m scared,’ she said.
‘I know that, sweetheart, but it’s not the tim
e to be scared right now.’
‘What’s your name?’ I asked as we were halfway up the stairs.
The girl hesitated, then said, ‘’m not telling. Da says don’t trust no strangers.’
‘Good plan,’ I said.
We reached the top and I stepped quietly onto the wooden rooftop. I didn’t want to risk startling the madman so I said, ‘I’m here.’
He turned, pulling the children with him. ‘Ah, my little brown bird – and I see you’ve brought my wayward duckling. How gracious of you.’
I set the girl down and she grabbed at my leg. I gently pried her fingers apart and moved away. ‘Time to be brave now,’ I reminded her.
The Knight-Captain scoffed. ‘Bravery? Without honour what is bravery but the impulses of a dog? The animal has no honour. Whether scared or angry, it simply does as its base instincts command.’
‘I am getting seriously tired of men who murder children preaching to me about honour,’ I said.
The Knight-Captain’s face grew grim. ‘And I am weary of watching this country fall to the lesser nature of those who lack honour. The King was a tyrant, the Dukes have failed in their commitment to their own Knights and the peasants and townsfolk fail to obey us as is our Gods-given right. Only we precious few remain to maintain the strength of this country.’
‘So you act in defiance of the law, in defiance even of your own Dukes?’
‘Some of us have come to the conclusion that the Dukes are false rulers,’ he said. ‘It is time for a change.’
Well, at least there was one thing we agreed on. The Knight-Captain was looking at me as if he was daring me to debate him. Saints, he thinks I will! He actually believes we’re going to stand here and talk about the will of the Gods and Saints and the nature of honour. Well, sorry, Sir Knight, but I have more pressing concerns.
I looked at the children tied to the Knight-Captain, all sobbing and wailing, so full of fear that some were even clutching at him as if he were a stout tree. Ducklings, he called them, as if he’s calling out the game we all played as children – or no . . . not all of us, I suddenly realised. Only poor children ever played that game, a wealthy Knight would never have learned it. You didn’t need toys or balls or anything to play Ducklings, just a group of children.
‘Well now,’ I said, my voice light, ‘what a fine looking flock of ducks we have here today! Shall we play then, and see who is the finest duckling of all?’ The children barely noticed my presence, let alone heard my question. ‘Come on,’ I said, trying my best to make it sound as if they risked missing out on the best thing ever, ‘when I get scared, I always fancy a game of Ducklings.’
‘Do you mock me?’ the Knight-Captain said, yanking on one of the ropes and setting the little boy on the end screaming.
‘I’ll be with you in a moment, Sir Knight.’ I turned my gaze back down to the boys and girls. There were seven in all: that would be enough, I hoped. Just enough.
‘Come now, you all remember the rules, don’t you?’
‘I want to play Ducklings.’ It was the little girl I’d brought up from the second floor. I looked at her face and saw the wide eyes, the eyebrows pinched up at the centre. She was terrified, but she was doing her best to be brave.
‘Well then, good Ducklings always follow their mama, don’t they? When Mama says, “flock”, they “flock” – remember? And when she says “slumber”, they get down on their bellies and close their eyes, don’t they? Now, you never want to be the last duckling to flock or slumber, because if you are, you lose the game, right? Are you ready to play?’
The Knight-Captain looked at me and laughed, sounding so menacing that the children renewed their frantic sobbing. ‘You seek to calm them? To take away their fear before they die? You are soft, Trattari, just like the rest of this country. What good—?’
‘Flock!’ I shouted.
All at once the children all ran towards me, and almost instantly, the ropes pulled taut. ‘Flock!’ I repeated, doing my level best to keep my voice cheery and calm, as if we really were just playing. ‘The last one to flock loses the game,’ I called.
It was only as the children rushed towards me the second time that the Knight-Captain started to understand. He tried in vain to release some of the ropes he’d tied to himself; one came free, then another, but it was too late to stop the children’s momentum and he toppled forward onto his belly.
‘Slumber!’ I shouted and the children instantly dropped to the floor and closed their eyes. ‘Now stay sleeping, my ducklings!’ I slipped a hand into my coat and withdrew one of my daggers, leapt over their small bodies and landed on the Knight-Captain’s back even as he struggled to push himself up. With all my strength I drove the blade of my short knife into the back of his neck, right up into his skull, all the way to the hilt, and then I twisted it viciously, although there was no need by that time – the madman was dead.
For a moment, there was blissful silence, then I heard the soft sound of the breeze and then the crackling of the flames below and I had to accept that the world had not frozen in place. My right hand was trembling and I dimly realised I was still pushing the knife into the back of the Knight-Captain’s skull. With more effort than I would have thought possible I managed to stop myself pushing. Slowly I withdrew the blade, then quickly pulled the back of the Knight’s tabard up to cover the wound and the blood already flowing from it. I cut each of the ropes tethering the children to his body and then walked over to the edge of the roof.
Brasti and Dariana were waiting below with the ladder.
‘Flock,’ I said, and the children rose up and ran to me, hugging me so fiercely I had to brace myself to keep them from bowling me over the edge of the roof. That would be a terrible end to this story, I thought to myself.
‘Come on,’ I said as Brasti’s head appeared over the roof, ‘we have a new mama duck here and he’s going to carry you down one at a time.’
‘Mama duck?’ Brasti asked as I handed him one of the girls.
A little boy of maybe five years old walked over to the body of the Knight-Captain. ‘You’re not supposed to still be sleeping,’ he said firmly. ‘You didn’t flock. You lose the game.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
The Departure
Minutes after we got the last of the children down from the roof, the barn went up like a pyre. Villagers ran to dig trenches and pour water to keep the fire from spreading, though I didn’t hold out much hope that they’d be able to save the buildings on either side. Bodies were lying in the streets and the square, most dead, but there were a few alive and needing treatment from those with the skills to help them. And, of course, there was still a monumental anger that risked blazing out of control at any moment.
‘Back!’ a young voice screamed from behind me, and I turned to see the commotion at the centre of the village square: Sir Orn, the elder of the two remaining Knights, was on the ground, his throat slit, and two burly young men, one holding a bloody sword, were attempting to get to Sir Vezier past a small figure brandishing a single arrow like a dagger to keep them at bay. It was the boy who’d held Brasti’s quiver for him.
‘He gets a trial,’ the boy shouted. ‘The Archer said so. He gets a trial.’
‘Get out of the way,’ one of the men said, reaching out to grab at the boy, and a second later pulled his now-bleeding hand back. ‘You little bastard!’ he shouted and lifted up his sword.
I started running, but I already knew I was moving too damn slowly.
I’m not going to make it—
But Sir Vezier had risen from the ground and now he stepped in front of the boy. Most of his armour was gone, but he still had on his metal gauntlets and he could have caught the clumsy thrust. Instead he spread his arms wide and closed his eyes as the blade drove into his belly.
The Knight stood like that for a moment, his body held up by the sword inside him. The eyes of the burly young man holding the weapon went wide, and then Sir Vezier’s body began tipping towards him. Disgu
sted, he pushed the Knight away and he slipped backwards, the blade withdrawing from his body as it hit the ground.
I ran to Sir Vezier and knelt down to examine his wound. The young boy who’d tried to protect him said, ‘I’ll go and get the healer – she’ll fix him. There has to be a trial, the Archer said so.’
I knew the healer wouldn’t come; there were others in need and she’d have little time for a man who’d come here to kill her people.
‘It’s all right,’ Sir Vezier said. There was a trickle of blood leaking from the side of his mouth.
‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Why did you come here?’
‘Orders. A Knight follows orders. We thought . . .’ He grabbed my arm and pulled me close. ‘There are more of us. Hundreds.’
‘To what purpose? Who leads the black tabards? Is it Trin?’
‘No,’ Sir Vezier said. ‘The Dukes have failed us – all of them. They treat us like servants . . . and the country gets worse and worse each year. There has to be order. We have to show people that there could be order.’
A terrible thought occurred to me. ‘Sir Vezier, where were you going next?’ I asked. ‘What was your next target?’ His eyes closed, so I squeezed hard on his shoulders to bring him back to me. ‘What was the next target?’ I repeated urgently. ‘Another village like Garniol? Like Carefal?’
He tried to speak, but instead he started spitting up more blood. At last he managed, ‘Rijou. The Knight-Captain said we would go to Rijou next.’
‘What village?’ I asked.
‘Rijou itself,’ he said. ‘The capital.’
How in all the hells could they ever hope to take the capital city? Duke Jillard had the most secure seat in the world – his own palace was a fortress better protected even than Castle Aramor.
Sir Vezier lifted a hand towards me as if he expected me to take it. I didn’t. ‘What were we supposed to do?’ he asked. ‘There has to be order, doesn’t there?’ His grip slackened and his hand slid down the arm of my coat. Blood flowed both from the wound in his belly and from his mouth, and Sir Vezier died.
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