Wintersong

by William Cooper

  He was half-way across the bridge, when he heard the unmistakable sound of horseman approaching to his front. To his horror he saw a group of heavy cavalry coming into view. They were Cathan knights, with the lances and the black cloaks of the personal guard of the Cathan Lords. They were riding at a trot and seemed to pay him no regard. Remus looked at the man who led the thirty or so horses. He wore an expensive high helm, and his coat of arms was of the royal family of Cathan. It was one of the infamous Raven Twins, Remus realised. One of the hard faced bastards that had planned the destruction of Perriswood’s army was riding straight towards him.

  Thinking quickly Remus scuttled to one side of the bridge and held out his filthy hand, and fixed an imbecilic grin on his face. Grunting at the knights as they passed, he doffed his forelock. Most of the Knights rode by without even looking at him. A few glanced down at what looked to them like a filthy beggar, their open faced helms showing their disgust at the foul stench that emanated from him. One, however, tossed some pennies at his feet without looking at him. He grunted loudly and laughed happily as he scooped up the coins as the riders went by. When they had crossed over the bridge and vanished out of sight, he allowed himself to relax. He looked at the coins in his hand and quickly counted the Cathan coppers. Barely enough for a drink and maybe a hot meal, yet, oddly, having the money felt like a small victory, and god knows he needed all the small victories he could get right now.

  Following the road, he eventually came to a crossroads, a mile and a half from the river. For a moment he stood, deciding his route. Some instinct made him freeze, and he listened for the subtle chance that he had sensed. For a brief moment he heard nothing, then he heard the jingle of armour, and word spoken softly.

  ‘Quiet,’ said someone in the Golden Isle tongue.

  ‘Come out, I know an Isler When I hear one,’ said Remus.

  More silence, but this time it was that peculiar silence you got when someone was trying to be quiet. Then there was a brief whispered conversation, and eventually, two men cautiously emerged from the undergrowth. They were both armed and armoured; though days hiding in the woods had taken their toll and they looked bruised and tired. One was a great big oaf of a man in his late forties. Perhaps once strong and powerful, but now fat and slow looking. The other, Remus recognised with a practiced eye, was the truly dangerous one. A young lord, by the quality of his armour and sword, perhaps twenty years of age. Remus noticed the lord had carefully cut the crest of his family off his tabard. That was interesting, he thought. There was also a hardness in the eyes that Remus recognised. Both men approached him cautiously with their sword unsheathed and ready.

  ‘Relax lads, I’m an Isler too,’ said Remus, whilst watching the two men with care. Experience had taught him that a broken army was a dangerous thing. He knew men who were once comrades would fall on each other for food and coin.

  They seemed to relax a little but the swords were still ready. The young lord spoke, ‘Who are you?’

  ‘The names Remus, fourth captain of what used to be the Honourable Company, and if truth be told we’re in the same shit together, my lord. So why don’t you both lower those blades,’ he answered.

  The lord nodded and sheathed his blade, the other reluctantly followed suit.

  ‘My name is Aran, and this Garral,’said the lord.

  ‘Are you heading for the border?’ asked Remus. ‘Have you seen any patrols?’

  The fat man shook his head. ‘Not recently,’ was his reply. Aran, glancing at Remus, said, ‘How did you get off the beach?’

  He shrugged and answered. ‘I survived.’ Nodding back the way he came Remus added, ‘I saw a patrol today, crossing the bridge. They were the King’s very own. I’m figuring they were looking for Isle soldiers, just like the rest of the Cathan scum. But I’m guessing they were looking for you, my lord. So they ain’t going to give up on you. So far you have been lucky, but I don’t know how long that will last.’

  The fat man snorted impatiently, too stubborn and stupid to listen, thought Remus. But the boy seemed to have some sense and nodded. ‘Perhaps you’re right, but what does that have to do with you. You are a mercenary, not a sworn sword; you have no reason to help us.’

  Remus smiled inwardly, the boy was sharp enough not to trust him. He must have known that he could try to trade the lord for his own life, and maybe even a reward.

  He shrugged, ‘I can get you through the woods around here. I have some skill in hiding and can forage a little. I have some food to share. If I can get you across the border, you can thank me. But you keep your medals and honours; I will want to be thanked in hard coin.’

  ‘My Lord,’ said the fat man. ‘How you can be sure to trust him. He puffed his flabby chest out and said with a pompous air. ‘If you want my opinion...’

  ‘Enough, Garral,’said Aran. The fat man scowled to hear this. ‘Very well’ Aran continued. ‘What do we do?’

  ‘First you will need to lose all that nice noisy armour,’ said Remus. ‘Keep the swords and shields, though. By myself I reckon I could just walk to the border, but with you two we will need to be more careful. The border is about a day’s march. We will move deeper into the woods that circle the mountains yonder. We wait until it’s near dark, then we will move to a pass on the border. There is an Islinor castle on the end of that pass, but we can skirt around that.’

  The fat man blustered, ‘Why don’t we go to the castle, the lord will be welcomed and we can have food and shelter.’

  Remus shook his head at the man, and said. ‘Islinor are no friends of the Isle. You may not be at war, but that doesn’t mean they won’t like to get their hands on a lord like Aran. No, we avoid all the King’s men. Once passed we will make or way to Pavil; it’s a large port town that will be easy to hide in, and I know a few men there that can sail a boat.

  Aran looked at Remus carefully, then finally he said, ‘Very well, Remus; take us home.’

  Arrivals and Bad News

  Rattling noisily across the cobbles of the harbour, the black coach of the Valnis family rocked and jostled its way through the mid-afternoon bustle of Thornsreach. Around the dock the fishing boats, returned, after an early morning start with their daily catch. The large trading ships, all being busily unloaded, rocked gently in the powerful tide of the great river Thorne. The river was the largest in the Isle and probably the nation’s most important waterway. It teemed with boats and barges bringing goods, livestock and people into the great capital city it bisected.

  Tobin watched the streets from the small window of his coach. He had always liked the West Docks. The fresh air of the sea was a pleasant change from the stench of the capital city. Out here he felt he could truly breathe, and he enjoyed watching the busyness of the vibrant docks. Everywhere life was lived at an almost break neck pace. Sailors called to one another as they unloaded cargo from all-over the world. Traders plied their wares with loud voices, and bantering wit, and numerous fish markets dotted the area. It was a busy hub of merchants and commoners. Whores called out to the men fresh off the boats, offering pleasure for a coin and syphilis for nothing. All the while the grey gulls screeched, floated and circled overhead. Normally, it would have been a wonderful distraction for him, but today he had no heart or mind to enjoy it.

  Opposite him sat Aran, a few hours returned from the continent. Despite the harsh words of their last meeting he now felt nothing but relief to see the young man alive and well, but not, he realised, unchanged. It had been a normal day for Tobin; he had just sat down to his correspondence after breaking his fast, when a messenger arrived from the docks. A simple message, hastily written, that gave such glad tidings. It was from Aran, and he had requested that Tobin attend the West Docks. to speak with him aboard a cutter called the Colthis, and to bring the family physician.

  After reading those words he called to his wife and had her make arrangements for their guest. Racing to his stables he roused his men, and the physician was sent for and the coach soon headed
through the cobbled and filth strewn streets of Thornsreach. His mind was full of fears even though he was pleased that Aran was alive, but why did he need a man of medicine? When the coach arrived at the docks Tobin jumped out hurriedly, and stilling his fears, raced up the gangplank and demanded to speak to the captain. Soon, a weasel of a man named Rengor claimed to captain the wretched hulk that had born his old friend’s son across the Grey Sea to safety. The captain took them to his own scruffy quarters, and to Tobin’s relief he saw Aran looking well and standing over a bed. A man lay in the small cot, the sheets were sweat stained, and he mumbled nonsense in his insensible state. A bandage covered his lower waist and it was blood stained. Without a word the physician went to the injured man and began to examine him.

  Tobin moved to embrace Aran, but he saw something in his stance and demeanour that stilled that desire. He seemed cold and distant as he politely thanked him for coming so quickly. Before he could say anything to Aran the captain laid down his price for transporting the two men across the sea. Without a moment’s hesitation he told the captain to fetch pen, paper and wax. Once done, he quickly wrote a promissory note for an extortionate fee. Tobin placed his family ring on the hot wax and signed it. Telling the reeking man to take the note to the treasury, if he wished paper to be turned into gold. The captain did not argue, he knew the Valnis family were old money and could easily shoulder the expense. An expense, if truth be told, Tobin was happy to bare.

  Once Aran and he left the doctor and the injured man, he had promised the young lord that a coach would be sent for his injured friend to be brought the Valnis home. With barely a word to the captain and his surly crew Aran followed him off the ship and into his waiting coach. Now they headed back home, and sat in uncomfortable silence as the coach rattled and swayed through the narrow streets. Aran had changed, Tobin noticed, watching the young man staring out at the passing city. It was something in the eyes, perhaps. Underneath the tiredness and the filth of travel he saw something else. The boyishness was gone from him and he had hardness about him. He had seen that look before, men who had gone to war as dreaming boys desperate for imagined glories, to return with a head full of memories that they would never forget, and nightmares rather than dreams in the fastness of the night.

  Aran sensed his gaze and looked back at him. Tobin could see the young lord was drawn and tired, and he needed a bath. The common sailor’s clothes he wore stunk of tar and rotten fish. The young lord nodded slightly and said. ‘It is well to see you again, Lord Tobin.’

  Tobin was not surprised by the formality of the tone, but he was, perhaps foolishly he thought, a little hurt by it. Keeping his tone neutral he answered, ‘Your father will be pleased to see you again. I will send word to him, as soon as we reach my home. We…he feared the worst when news reached us of Cathan.’

  Aran looked like he was going to say something for a brief moment. Words that fought to flee his mouth but something in him held them back, and he merely said, ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Of course you are welcome to lodge with me,’ said Tobin, ‘for as long as you wish. As is your companion.’

  Aran gaze returned to the street. ‘A bath and a change of clothing would be good. I fear that I have not had the chance to wash or shave since landing on the beach at Cathan. Three weeks is a long time to be away from the comfort of home.’

  ‘You are back now, and your father will be relieved to hear of it.’ said Tobin.

  ‘But who came back?’ said the boy, softly to himself. He looked back out into the city and Tobin wondered what it was he saw.

  They fell into silence again, long and uncomfortable, both men had so much to say but not the tongues to say it.

  ‘Who was the injured man? A friend of yours?’ said Tobin, eventually breaking the silence.

  ‘No friend, but a rescuer of sorts. His name is Remus, a mercenary with an instinct for survival,’ answered Aran.

  ‘Rescuer?’

  ‘Aye,’ continued Aran. ‘He helped another companion, and I cross the border to Islinor. The area was well known to him, and he had some skill at moving unseen through woods, and knew how to live off the land. It was he who arranged the ship. The captain knew Remus, apparently. He was willing to sail us home on promise of payment with safe arrival.’

  ‘How was he injured, and what happened to the other man you spoke of, is he know to me?’ asked Tobin.

  ‘We came across a Cathan patrol, six men,’ answered Aran. ‘Near the Islinor border. We could not go around them and we had to fight. Remus took three down before taking a wound. Garral took another before he was killed and I took the other two. Remus’s a tough whoreson and carried that wound through the rest of the journey, but on the voyage the infection grew worse and he fell into a delirium. The ships barber surgeon was more butcher than surgeon I fear. I promised to pay Remus for his help, and I would like to keep that promise.

  Tobin nodded and gave a thin smile, ‘I will see to it he gets the best care possible, he will get his payment. Tell me the sum and I will pay it.’

  Licking his lips nervously, Aran said, ‘Twenty sovereigns. You have already paid for the ship and twenty sovereigns is a lot, but I will pay you back...’

  Waving it away as if such a sum was nothing Tobin said, ‘I would pay twice that to have you back alive, lad. I owe Remus my thanks. ‘

  ‘Thank you, my lord. I am in your debt,’ Remus offered his hand and for a moment he hesitated as if about to say something else. Tobin merely shook his head and taking Aran hand said, ‘Don’t. Such things no longer matter. You’re back. ‘

  For a moment Aran’s eyes misted over and tears welled but quickly he buried his emotions and said, ‘Too many did not. I fear my friends are gone. The Cathan wanted no prisoners on that beach. They were savage. They hunted the fleeing soldiers through the countryside and murdered them all.’ He shook his head and cursed softly. Looking back at Tobin his voice trembling slightly he asked, ‘How is father?’

  ‘He feared you were dead.’ answered Tobin. ‘The Cathan refused to speak to our emissaries and would not confirm if they held any prisoners. We feared they planned to use them as hostages, but we now know the truth of it.’ His face darkened in anger as he continued. ‘A few others made it back. Burnley’s son Degus, Hendric and Lord Callaventi. They also said the same as you. Their hunters were intent on murder, not ransom. I suspect it was a message. Stay away. Do not come back.’ The carriage jolted for a moment breaking their chain of thought.

  ‘Your father is making his way to Thornsreach, he is but a day or so away,’ continued Tobin. ‘My message should reach him by tomorrow and you will soon see him.’

  Tobin saw a faint glimmer in Aran’s eyes, a mixture of relief and fear, but also a question. Aran had sensed that something else was afoot.

  Sighing inwardly Tobin saw no reason to lie. ‘Perriswoods stupidity has had far reaching consequences. Many lords, who supported the King, now have dead sons and brothers. Others that did not go to war say the defeat was a sign of the king’s foolishness. The King’s position has been weakened. The Concord has demanded that an emergency session be called. The King predictably refused. They did so anyway, under the authority of Lord Middleton, until your father arrives to take his place as commander of the Concord in a few days.’

  ‘My father has never liked the King, or his choice in marriage, but he’s no traitor,’ said Aran, ‘The Concord have a right to be called. Why will Merric not listen?’

  Tobin said, ‘The King is a good man but he is weak, and cannot be told he is wrong. Ryder is also good man, and a good friend, but he too is stubborn. At best, the King will be chastened and remember that power is granted, not a given. At worst, we may very well have blood spilled on this. Choose your own way in this, but I fear you may be forced to pick sides.’ Leaning in closer, Tobin continued, ‘Your father is going against the anointed King of this realm, and many of the great lords support him. Others do not, and already a few have called for the Concord to be disb
anded by force. If any of us misstep but a little, there will be war.’

  Aran looked stunned, ‘Have you all gone mad while I was away? The King lost a battle, not a kingdom.’

  ‘It’s more than a few angry lords, Aran.’ said Tobin. ‘Merric raised a new tax. A market tax to raise the funds for the war. Each trader had to pay for the right to sell his own goods! The commoners and middling sort were forced, without the blessing of the Concord, to pay for a war the King then lost. Now the King has announced that he will raise another tax on the shipping trade to raise more money. Things are coming to a head. A week ago there was a small riot in the Stews, some Jack o stripes, was stirring the pot. The watch dispersed the meeting, but I fear there could be worse to come.’

  Tobin watched Aran look out of the coach doors window with an expression of shock on his face. As the streets of Thornsreach passed by, it must have all seemed so normal to him. The general could see the man’s confusion written clearly on his face.

  ‘The King must see sense and call a Concord. Let the great lord’s blow off steam and stamp their feet.’ Said Aran.

  If only it were that simple, thought Tobin, but events had taken up a momentum that no one may be able to stop. He could see Aran’s turmoil as they travelled and sat in silence. He wondered if it came to it which side would the young knight would choose. And chose he must for he was the son of Lord Ryder. He could not simply hide on his estates, as some lords would.

  Aran turned from the window and looked at Tobin; his eyes piercing as he said, ‘What of you, Lord Valnis? Which side of the chessboard do you fall? The Concord, or the throne?

  Tobin looked away and with a humourless smile said, ‘I hoped you would not ask me that. Whatever happens, Aran, remember this. You are like a nephew to me, as your father is like a brother. Whatever happens, remember that.’