Wintersong

by William Cooper

  The battle raged on as the King stood behind Cavick. Blood washed the marble floor and the men slipped on the gore and entrails under their feet as they fought. It was not what Merric had imagined when he thought of war and battles. This fight had no honour or grace to it, it was a brutal, bloody brawl.

  As he watched the growing slaughter, he realised that Tobin had been right. It would be war now, a terrible war. Perhaps it wasn’t too late, he hoped. Perhaps, he could still stop it. Before his mind could furnish a solution he felt a sudden pain in his right side, and his world spun and flipped as he lost his balance and he fell to be caught by Cavick. The sergeant at arms was shouting at him as he held him in his arms but Merric could not comprehend the words. Suddenly, more of his knights surrounded him. Their armoured backs were turned to him as they faced outwards in a circle of sharp steel. How strange, he thought as the room began to fade and a freezing numbness overtook him. Had something hit him, and why didn’t he feel any pain. As his vision faded, he heard someone shouting, ‘Save the King, Save the King!’

  The Lords at the Gate

  It felt like the city of Thornsreach was mourning, thought Ryder as he stared at the closed gates of the King’s Tower. That was a sight passing strange. For the first time in nearly a hundred years, the huge wooden gates, blackened with age, were shut fast. Even the ancient portcullis had been dropped. Across the city the bells of the guilds, the churches and the great cathedral rung out in mournful peals. Rioting had broken out again in the Stews, but the skirmishes were small, and the trouble easily controlled by the watch. Though fires had been set and black smoke could be clearly seen rising out of the Stews and the docks region. Ryder could not bring himself to hate the commoners for it. Word had spread like a disease through the city that the King had been wounded. Some commoners believed that Merric had been killed. Other rumours spoke of a High Church plot, or that the Lords of the Concord had rebelled and made war against the throne. Uncertainty had spread through the city, and rumours were spreading from ear to ear. Thornsreach was on the edge of chaos. Ryder could feel the growing fear in the air. Cracks were beginning to show in the very fabric of society. Ryder knew he had to bring things to an end quickly, to avoid events getting out of control.

  But that had been the problem hadn’t it? This whole mess had happened too quickly. He still shuddered at the memory of the skirmish that had taken place in Middleton’s very home. Good men, on both sides, had died in that short space of time, and some knave had sought to wound the King. Ryder had been shocked by the news of the King’s injury: he had sought to chastise a foolish king, not to kill one. He was no regicide, nor were the lords of the Concord. He had arranged things so the King would be forced to give in to his demands. It was supposed to be a reminder of the Concords power, nothing more. His heart had soared when the King took the bait. Tallis had done his job well, but Ryder had not counted on that royal fool actually standing his ground. He had miscalculated badly, and perhaps he had underestimated Merric? Someone had given the order to attack and all hell had broken lose. It was too late now. Fate had spoken, and he was in too deep to pull back.

  After the Royal Guard had cut their way out of the hall, carrying the stricken King, they had fled to the Tower and now hid behind its high walls. Ryder had argued with the remaining lords of the Concord. Some of the Lords of the Concord had not wanted a direct fight, and the bloodshed at had dampened their tastes for more strife. Of the twelve Lords of the Concord only seven of the great families had sworn to stand by Ryder and their purpose. The others had left, undeclared for King or Concord, and only time would tell where their allegiance lay.

  The remaining Lords of the Concord had ridden out with Ryder to arrest the King at the Tower. They sought to impeach him for his illegal actions and bring him to account. If Merric was too injured to be tried, then at the very least they would set a watch to control access to him. If he died, then they would have Merric’s heir under their control. Ryder would see to it that the King’s children were brought up as true Golden Isles lords, free of the stench of the High Church. It was well the royal bastard was locked behind those gates, for there he could do the least harm. It was too risky to let the King out of his own castle. If Merric left Thornsreach, there would be war for certain. He would raise the royal standard, and lesser lords, and some of the great families, not of the Concord would answer. They had been forced, Ryder thought, to stand up to the King’s arrogance, but not all the lords of the realm would see it that way. Besides, the title king still had power and resonance in this land, and commoner and merchant would fight for the throne for that sake alone. No, it was better Merric was cornered like the rat he was.

  Ryder sat upon his warhorse before the mighty gates of the Tower, with a small army behind him. Middleton had done well and sent one of his agents to rouse a jack-o-stripes in his employ, some fool calling himself Free Jon. Fool or not the rabble-rouser had gathered together a hundred or so dockers, apprentice boys and roughs, and had marched them to the Tower. Most of them were armed crudely, knives, sticks and the odd short sword for the most part. Ryder had used his own knights to support these men. A poor start, but enough for the task at hand. Besides, he had more men at his back than garrisoned the royal castle in peace time, and many of the Royal Guard now lay dead in Middleton’s home. The castle would fall once he had enough ropes and scaling ladders. Though Ryder would have preferred to simply march through the gates to seize the King. He had hoped to scare the gate commander into raising the portcullis and opening the gates, but his shouted commands to open in the name of the Concord had been ignored. Ryder cursed again and called out to the empty grey walls, ‘Open in the name of the Concord!’

  Again he was met with silence. Not even defiance, just silence. He could not even see any guards on the walls, or hear any sounds within. What were they playing at? Turning to Lord Middleton, he said, ‘Still no answer.’

  ‘Thank you for explaining that to me, my Lord. So, do we sit here until they grow old, Lord Ryder?’ said the young knight with a slightly superior smile scarring his otherwise handsome face. Middleton was also on horseback, and now wore his ornate armour.

  ‘We will send out a small number of men to find ladders, robes and such. It will slow us down, but not by much,’ Ryder answered, swallowing his irritation at the lord’s sarcasm.

  Ryder spat over the draw bridge. The Low Bridge it was called, though no one knew why. It overlooked a deep gorge that circled the castle. An intimidating defensive line to be sure. He had become suspicious of an attempted break out when he saw the bridge was still down. They had taken care to close the portcullis and the gates, but had not raised the bridge. He suspected the watch commander knew that the bridge was slow and heavy to rise, and if they were to make a break out it would be wise to leave it down. Besides, events had happened so quickly any fool could see the Lords of the Concord did not yet have the means to storm the great keep. Though it was he who felt the fool stuck outside of the ancient castle.

  Then Ryder saw a familiar face looked down upon them from the battlements of the main gate. Ryder’s heart sunk to see the long, wolfish face of Tobin. The man wore no armour, just his customary black garb, and to any other than Ryder he seemed almost preternaturally relaxed. Middleton leaned in and whispered to him. ‘Your friend seems unconcerned that an army stand at the gates.’

  Ryder ignored the comment for the stupidity it was. What did Middleton know? He was the son of a great man, brought low by disease. He had come to the head of his house as an unseasoned creature. Though he had given a good account of himself in the hall, he still knew little enough of war. Ryder knew Tobin, and he had seen that expression on the man’s face before, and knew its meaning. It was a mask that was unemotional, unfathomable and cold.

  ‘Why have you come here?’ Tobin called down. Even his voice rumbled with a casual command, as if refusing his orders was an unthinkable act. Tobin was in command of the castle now, and that worried Ryder.

&nbs
p; ‘We have come to impeach the King for his illegal war and taxes, and no less for his assault on the Concord today,’ answered Middleton. ‘Are you his pet now, Wolfhound?’ he finished.

  ‘I’m the King’s servant,’ answered Tobin. ‘I swore an oath to him, not to you, or the Concord. An oath boy! Like the ones you swore!’

  For a split second Ryder saw a faint note of anger in the general’s voice. Tobin was talking to him, not Middleton, he knew. Tobin felt betrayed and was angry, but was loyal to that fool of a king, too loyal. He had hoped Tobin would understand, but he also knew the general had a black and white image of the world. A cold world full of Right and Wrong, with no room for shades of grey. It was a hard, inflexible position, but also a weak one that could so easily break a man, when the realities of the world crashed through his constructs and conceits.

  But, thought Ryder, it hurt, he could not lie. He had lost a brother today, and that was a pain he would be forced to endure. When he answered his old friend, his voice was rough and full of emotion.

  ‘Tobin, open the gates,’ said Ryder. ‘I swear no one inside will be harmed. You have my word. If you do not, I will set a watch, and will return with the means to get inside. We both know you do not have the numbers to stop us.’

  ‘You have rabble at the King’s gate. Nothing more. You know me Ryder. Do you think I’m concerned?’ Tobin asked.

  ‘You cannot stay there forever, Tobin,’ said Middleton. ‘Chose the wiser course.’

  ‘I don’t plan to stay behind these gates forever, Middleton,’ answered Tobin, ‘I will leave this castle soon enough to set matters aright.’ The words came out icy, a clear threat that chilled Ryder. He had fought alongside his blood brother many times and he knew he was a battlefield commander of considerable skill. His men loved him and called him the Wolfhound after his family crest. Perhaps it was best Tobin was locked in the castle, kept away from Royalist supporters, and more importantly, a Royalist army.

  ‘A sad day, brother,’ called Ryder. ‘To find myself facing a friend as an enemy. I would not have it so.’

  ‘Not a day of my making, Ryder,’ answered Tobin.

  Ryder felt he should try once more to persuade his former friend. ‘Think of your family. I would not see your wife a widow, and your children without a father.’

  ‘I have made sure they are safe, Ryder, beyond the reach of the Concord,’ he answered.

  Ryder was shocked and stung by the words. Did Tobin think him so base as to threaten his family? He had nothing else he could say; the only words that seemed to have any meaning were the simplest. ‘Goodbye, Tobin,’ said Ryder and turned his mount around.

  ‘Middleton,’ he said quietly. ‘Keep the rabble here. Make sure they are fed, but no alcohol. I will return to my lodgings. Let me know when we have enough rope and wood to construct the ladders.’

  Before Middleton could answer, Tobin shouted out, ‘My Lords of the Concord. You have forgotten something. A small thing that we found cowering in our stores.’ As the general spoke the sound of scuffling could be heard above them on the battlements. A terrified voice shouted, ‘God, no. Please!’

  ‘What madness is this?’ asked Middleton.

  Ryder looked up at the walls in mounting horror as Tallis was brought into view. The terrified lord was held by two burly knights, and lifted onto the castle battlements. Tallis, his face a bloody mess, gibbered and begged for his life as he looked down into the deep gorge below him.

  With a dismissive wave of his hand to the Lords of the Concord, Tobin said, ‘Please, take better care of your pet.’ And on those words the two guards threw the screaming nobleman off the high wall. With a desperate cry, Tallis plunged hundreds of metres to the bottom of the gorge. His life was silenced in an instant as his body was smashed and broken on the rocks below.

  In rage, Ryder screamed at Tobin, an inarticulate primal sound that echoed off the walls. Middleton shouted. ‘You callous bastard!’ but Tobin and the guards had stepped out of view.

  It was decided then, thought Ryder. Tobin had killed a Lord of the Concord in cold blood, and all but spat in his face. There would be war, and with a heart heavy with grief and anger he rode back to his lodgings. Once he was in his town house he began to write letters. It will happen quickly now, he knew. The lords that had sworn to defend the Concord had been told to return to their estates and raise their men to war and call their levies. He would hire mercenaries. Other lords would soon rise to defend the banner of the Concord, but others would do the same for the King. Less hasty heads would wait before choosing a side. For the King lay wounded, trapped in his own castle, and Tobin rotted with him. That at least was an advantage the Concord had, and Ryder would make sure they used it.

  Working feverishly through the night, he penned his letters and called his servants to have them delivered. He took no food or drink, for that would delay him. Men arrived frequently through the night giving reports of the castle and of Thornsreach. Everything was quiet in the city now, as if it held its breath, waiting to see the end of some great game. The castle too was as silent as a tomb.

  When the first rays of morning light were seen in his study window the first ambassador arrived. All morning they came, or at least their agents in the case of the Holy Empire. They all spoke of friendship with the Concord and tutted and shook their heads at the unfortunate tidings but none would help and none offered any assistance. Ryder had no doubt if the King was free these very same ambassadors would also be visiting him to tut and shake their heads with him too.

  Finally, and blessedly, at midday, one of Middleton’s men came to his home to tell him they now had the ropes they needed and had built the long scaling ladders. Quickly, he donned his armour and rode his horse back to the castle walls, but a short way from his home.

  He saw a further two hundred men at the castle gates now. Mostly watchmen and roughs from the Stews. As the scaling ladders and ropes with grapples were handed out, he gave them a rabble rousing speech. As he gave the command to charge the commoners and watchmen ran cheering at the gates with the ladders and ropes eagerly clutched in their hands. To Ryder’s amazement as the rabble charged across the bridge he saw the heavy portcullis rise up with a portentous grinding noise. Tobin meant to sally out, he realised! He meant to charge the mob! That was desperate and foolish.

  Then he saw the gates swing open. The charging assailants faltered in their confusion, and a run became a trot and then stopped altogether as men looked around in amazement. No force spewed out from the castle, no arrows or oil rained down on the attackers. Not a drum rolled or a horn sounded. Ryder watched open mouthed in surprise, had Tobin just surrendered? That seemed impossible. Middleton gaped at him, as if he expected him to the have the answers.

  At that moment, an old man in the livery of the King appeared on the battlements over the now open gates. He hawked and spat down at them in contempt. With a final baleful glare he looked down at the mob and shouted, ‘Lord Tobin has instructed me to tell you that the King and his family have left their residence. He also wishes you to know that you may have the castle, but that he will return for it soon.’

  Cawyck Castle

  Mist curled languidly across the slow running river. The still waters of the wide river Taw seemed to blend seamlessly with the mist. Immense shadowy walls loomed out of the darkness as the river boat slid gracefully towards them.

  ‘Ahoy, there!’ the captain of the Jealous Maiden, called out. The sound of his voice seemed hollow in the mist. Ahead of the river boat, a grinding sound could be heard as the heavy portcullis in the walls was pulled up out of the water. Icy cold water dripped off the ancient lichen stained iron work onto the crew of the ship as it was poled under the immense stone arch of the walls. Tobin breathed a sigh of relief; they were safe now, in Cawyck. He shivered in the cold of the night and wrapped his cloak around him. Remus stood next to him, seemingly unmoved by the cold. He still wore his chainmail and helm, his sword at his side. A cautious man, thought Tobin. />
  Remus looked out into the misty shadows of the passing city. The River Taw was wide and deep, and cut through the city. Its snaking route would take the ship right up to the very walls of the city’s castle, their destination.

  ‘What now, General?’ asked Remus. Tobin picked up the distinctive drawl of the Stews of Thornsreach in the mercenaries words. For many a high lord that would have been enough to write the man off, but in the last few weeks Tobin had come to respect Remus. He was not educated to be sure, but he was clever and pragmatic, every inch the mercenary, yet somehow he was different from the common paid thug. He had something honourable in his makeup, a value that, he was unaware of.