The Red Knight

by Davies, K. T.

  Telvier leaned across to him, gold teeth shining amid the black. “Alas, Prince Talin will not be taking part in the tourney.”

  Thorgulsen wasn’t surprised. “These Ants are as soft as horse shit. If a Guthani princeling didn’t take the chance to prove his worth it would bring shame on his entire house.”

  The Suvian quirked an eyebrow. “Perhaps, Thane, but not three months ago, these particular knights taught my countrymen a hard lesson in fighting that they will not soon forget. There are many Suvian families in mourning because of these ‘soft’ knights. Even the Brotherhood of the Redemption has declared them demonically possessed, which is high praise in some circles. Don’t make the same mistake as my fellow Suvians, Thane. Do not underestimate them.”

  “They may have plucked a few peacocks, but they’ll find Guthani hirths more than a match.”

  The mercenary stiffened. Thorgulsen took a swig of ale, content for now to watch the cattle.

  Jamie wasn’t sure how he’d ended up dancing with her. One minute he was making his way through the crowd, the next he was been dragged off by the Guthani. As pleasurable as it was having her lithe body pressed against him, he was relieved when the musicians took a break and he was able to disengage himself.

  As he made his escape, a weighty arm fell across his shoulders. Startled, he looked round expecting to see an angry cuckold. It wasn’t, it was the Prince’s lover; Lady Iris Berwick. She clamped her arm around his shoulders and steered him over to an empty table where she pushed him into a chair against the wall and sat down beside him, trapping him behind her huge skirts.

  “Here you go,” she said and pushed a flagon of ale towards him. “You look like you’ve worked up quite a thirst.”

  “Er, thank you.” He took a long drink, confused by the sudden interest he was receiving from the most unexpected quarters. Confused, but not complaining. Lady Berwick wasn’t as pretty as the Guthani, she was perhaps a little square in the jaw and broad in the back for his tastes, but her breasts were magnificent. After a moment he realised he was staring at them and forced himself to look up at her face. Her eyes were light brown, almost golden, not that he could see much of them; her pupils were huge. When she breathed he caught a strong whiff of Pel.

  She coughed. “I said: I know your brothers.”

  “Er…yes. Me too.”

  “While our parents argued about taxes and the state of the kingdom we court brats were sent for lessons together—etiquette, fencing, history and gods help us, dancing. I’m not sure who had the least fun, our parents or us. How are your brothers doing? I haven’t seen them in years?”

  “They’re well, but I don’t see them much either. Thom is in Suvia—with the ambassador in Toresta.”

  She smiled. “Ah, that sounds like him. How’s your Captain? You must see more of her than you do your family.”

  The ale was beginning to take its toll and he let his gaze drift down to her breasts.

  “She’s well—and yes, I suppose I do.”

  “Is she still seeing that handsome bastard, Rufus Corvinius?” Lady Berwick beckoned to a page who was weaving through the crowd with a jug of ale.

  Jamie had to catch himself before the ale made an honest man of him. He was a squire and had to show respect for all senior knights, even a piece of dog shit like Corvinius.

  “I don’t believe …I mean, I don’t know, my Lady.”

  Lady Berwick smiled and took the jug from the page. Despite his weak protestations, she re-filled Jamie’s mug.

  “They are nice aren’t they?” She flicked her gaze down to her chest. Jamie almost choked on his drink.

  She laughed. “Don’t be embarrassed, if I didn’t want people to look at them I’d cover them up.”

  He was about to mumble an apology when someone put their hand on his shoulder.

  “I see now why you ran away, sir knight.”

  He immediately recognised the voice and the musky perfume. They both sent a thrill of excitement running down his neck, straight to his groin. Lady Berwick’s lips parted in a languid smile.

  “I cannot imagine what possessed him to leave such a delightful companion. Please, join us. I’m Iris by the way, but my friends call me Bear.”

  The Guthlander slid onto Jamie’s knee as light as a whisper, quite the opposite of the solid presence of Lady Berwick. He was either in a really good situation with two attractive women flirting with him, or a really bad situation for the same reason. He took another drink and decided not to think about it.

  “Bear? How appropriate. My name is Bethanglyn.”

  Lady Berwick looked surprised, but then she laughed. “It’s awfully hot in here, don’t you think? I wonder—would you like to go for a walk? Perhaps, Squire Turlowe could be our guide, show us a thing or two?”

  “I’d like that very much,” the Guthani purred. She slipped her arm around Jamie’s shoulder. “What say you, sir knight?”

  If this was a dream Jamie did not want to wake up. He got up and sketched a slightly unsteady bow. “I’d be delighted.”

  A tented city surrounded the Arth, and the hall was thronged with happy guests. Despite the revelry, Alyda could taste the steel in the air. It was going to be a hard tournament.

  Nevenna passed her a mug of ale. “Good thing we enlarged those stands.

  “Aye, success in Suvia has brought a few more challengers—all keen to make their names.

  “Let ‘em try. Have you seen how many Guthlanders there are? There’s even a Thane.”

  “I’ve seen him.” Alyda had marked the Thane the moment he’d walked in. He was as tall as her, but twice as wide, and as cold-eyed as they came. He was sitting next to someone who, by his dress, had to be Suvian. She could just make out his rat-thin face and bright, little eyes peering from beneath an extravagant wig.

  “They’re an odd couple aren’t they,” said Nevenna as they surreptitiously eyed the outsiders.

  Alyda shrugged. “That’s what happens at tournaments, Nev. People come together who’d never meet otherwise.” Logical as that sounded; there was something odd about their association.

  “Aye. Warriors come together; share food and drink, swap tales and then try to smash each other’s brains in.” Nev laughed.

  “Captain Stenna, there you are.” The crowd parted and the Prince stepped forward. He inclined his head to Alyda and Nevenna.

  What was I thinking? The realisation that she had been a fool struck her the moment she laid eyes on him. She’d allowed herself to think of him as just another knight, an ordinary man, but he wasn’t, and right then the illusion was shattered.

  It had been easy to forget he was the heir to the throne when he was out on the practice fields, covered in mud. Tonight he was wearing a fine fillet of gold and his doublet and hose were blood red velvet, embroidered with gold and studded with rubies. He was also wearing the company surcoat, but a single scale does not a dragon make. It wasn’t only his attire that marked him out, it was his whole bearing. This was the real Talin, Prince Talin, and far beyond the reach of a mere knight.

  “Good evening, Highness,” she said. Every word felt like lead in her mouth. “Would you care to watch tonight’s entertainment?”

  “It would be my pleasure, Captain Stenna. Other than Bear’s disappearing act, what is the entertainment?”

  “We have an earth mage, Highness.”

  When they were seated, Alyda gave a nod to the robed and hooded mage who was standing in the middle of the hall, waiting for her signal. He raised his hand. The huge candelabras flickered and dimmed to nothing. At the same time, the roaring fires died back to barely glowing embers. An excited murmur rippled through the hall as pages cleared a space around the mysterious figure. Time passed, a few nervous coughs echoed in the darkness.

  Alyda thought she saw a light, smaller than a candle flame, appear next to the mage. Fascinated, she watched the light slowly float around him. Before long, dozens, then hundreds, and then what seemed like thousands of tiny, pin prick
s of light were swirling around the mage and bathing the hall in a radiant glow.

  Alyda had always imagined mages to be imposing individuals who exuded power, and then she’d met Kilner. He was short, and fat; quite a homely fellow, but his skills were undeniably impressive.

  The crowd gasped as the lights swirled around him. He flicked his wrist, and a twisted hazel wand appeared in his hand and he began to weave intricate patterns in the air.

  The lights were now shining so brightly that people were forced to shield their eyes or look away. The flickering motes flew apart and formed into a half dozen, roughly head-sized spheres that floated above the awed crowd for a few seconds before silently exploding into millions of tiny, gem-like points of light. The mage waved the wand and the lights flew together and formed into giant, shimmering butterflies, glittering dragonflies and exotic birds that flew up to the rafters, before diving down and scattering the thrilled audience.

  For the next half hour the magician dazzled them with a myriad of conjured animals, flowers, and mythical beasts, all created out of light and fire. Then, as suddenly as they appeared, they vanished, surprising everyone.

  The room was once again plunged into darkness. For a moment there was silence, then the fires roared back to life and the candles sprouted flames. The hall erupted into rapturous applause, only there was no one there to receive it. Like all good magicians, Kilner had vanished.

  Alyda was ready for her bed hours before the watch bell rang midnight. When it chimed the twelfth hour, she sighed and poured herself another glass of water. The diehards would carouse into the small hours, particularly those who weren’t fighting on the morrow. She on the other hand, had a long day ahead and had completely run out of small talk and the stamina to be talked at. Unfortunately, she couldn’t escape. Protocol forbade her to leave before the Prince, and he and his friends showed no signs of retiring.

  At least when he was pretending to be a knight she could go to bed when she pleased. As soon as she had the uncharitable thought she regretted it. He’d worked hard to fit in with the Company, walking a narrow path between being a prince and an ordinary knight. He’d done so well that she’d almost forgotten he was the heir to the throne. Tonight, when she saw him with a gold circlet on his brow, surrounded by adoring subjects, she remembered, and now she longed to be elsewhere, away from the laughter and the crowds, and most of all from him.

  “The Captain looks bored, wouldn’t you say?” Talin asked Nevenna.

  Alyda was with one of the local dignitaries. She was nodding in all the right places, but was obviously bored rigid. He empathised.

  “Oh no, Highness. That’s the Captain’s thoughtful face; she’s having a wonderful time entertaining your Highness and our other guests.” The Lieutenant smiled.

  He wasn’t convinced. Talin recognised from personal experience the practiced face of diplomatic politeness. He also noticed that Alyda kept stealing furtive glances towards the door.

  “Oh, please don’t mistake me, Nev. Captain Stenna has been a most polite and attentive host, but I know just what a chore it can be, being pleasant to dozens of strangers who are all desperate to talk to you. It’s a particular torture if they also happened to be dull.” He laughed; the knight smiled awkwardly, unsure how to respond.

  His humour had soured as the evening had worn on and what he’d meant to be a joke had come out sounding sharper than he’d intended. Before the feast he’d resolved to confess how he felt to Alyda. But the moment she’d laid eyes on him, her smile had vanished and she’d spent the rest of the night avoiding him, or being so coldly polite he could have yelled. He caught her eye and beckoned her over, she complied with little enthusiasm.

  She saluted stiffly. This is maddening. He could smell her perfume, delicate and sweet—the distinct fragrance of Suvian lavender.

  “Captain, I must thank you,” he gave a nod to Nevenna, “and your Company, for a most splendid evening.”

  Alyda inclined her head. “I’m pleased you’ve enjoyed yourself, Highness.”

  He wanted to take her away somewhere they could be alone, where he could speak honestly and openly, without a bloody audience. Looking at the press of people still waiting to meet him and bore him with their petty anecdotes, he knew that would be impossible. So be it. If he couldn’t play the part of suitor, he’d be the chivalrous knight and give Alyda the opportunity to escape.

  Talin feigned a yawn. “As enjoyable as tonight has been, I fear I must retire.”

  Her face brightened. “So soon, Highness?”

  That hurt, but he stayed in character. “I’m afraid so, but I’ve had a wonderful evening.”

  She bowed respectfully. “Goodnight, Highness.”

  He saluted Company style. “Goodnight…” He almost said ‘Ali’ but caught himself. “Captain Stenna.”

  When the Prince and his entourage had gone, Alyda waited a polite length of time before excusing herself.

  Hours later she lay in bed, watching the inky darkness lighten to gloomy grey. Muttering curses, she got up. Damn the man for invading her thoughts and stealing unbidden into her dreams. And damn her stupid self for enjoying it.

  Chapter Seven

  A cold wind whistled through the shutters but it was warm in the hay, lying between the two naked women…

  Morning. Tourney. Jamie sat bolt upright, his heart hammering out of his chest. With a sickening jolt he remembered how one thing had led to another. What had seemed like a fine idea last night could have him thrown in the guardhouse today. He jumped up and began to search through the pile of discarding stockings, petticoats and gowns for his clothes. He shouldn’t have drunk the wine they’d found, he shouldn’t have brought them here. Sweet Asha! He should have thought with the big head, and not the small, but it was too late now. He heard a giggle and looked round to see both women were awake and grinning at him.

  “Good morning, Jamie,” Bear yawned.

  Jamie hid his modesty behind his shirt and backed towards the ladder.

  She laughed, “Don’t you think it’s a bit late to come over all shy?”

  “I, er… I have to go. I—” He tripped over the ladder, but managed to grab hold of it as he fell and slow his descent. He landed on his arse with a bump. Cursing, he scooped up his clothes just as the barn door was thrown open.

  The Guthlanders didn’t wait to be invited; they strode in and began searching the stalls. Jamie struggled into his hose, and made to leave. A grey beard with a face like a badly patched quilt stepped in his way.

  “Can I help you?” Jamie asked his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach.

  “Depends on who you’ve been fucking up there.” The Guthlander thrust his chin in the direction of the loft where a light drizzle of hay was falling from between the boards. “Best hope it’s not who we’re looking for, runt,” Greybeard drawled, “or your little pig pizzle will be coming off, yes?” His two companions moved up either side of him, blocking the way out.

  Jamie reached for his sword, and then remembered it was still up in the loft. He cast a glance around the barn. There were a couple of pitchforks leaning against one of the stalls, but he doubted he’d be able to reach them before the Guthlanders were on him.

  “It’s none of your damn business what I’ve been doing or with whom,” he said with more confidence than he felt, “now get out of my way.”

  Greybeard gave a throaty chuckle, and took a step towards him. Jamie stood his ground, weight on the balls of his feet. The hay rustled. He turned, praying that he wouldn’t see Bethanglyn. It was Bear; she was clutching his sword against her bare chest.

  “I can assure you, he’s no runt.” She grinned and tossed the sword to Jamie.

  The Guthlanders laughed. Greybeard said something in their guttural tongue and slapped him on the back before leaving. Jamie was stunned and set for a fight that hadn’t happened. Bear let out a filthy laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “Apparently they think you must b
e stronger than you look.” A slender arm wrapped around Bear’s shoulder. “If only they knew the whole of it, eh?” She grinned and rolled back into the hay.

  “Dear gods. I pray they never do,” Jamie muttered before charging off to find the Captain.

  “Where have you been?” Alyda couldn’t wait to hear his explanation.

  Jamie looked as tired as she felt. She shook her head at Polyn who was helping her on with her cloak. Polyn did the same; obviously enjoying seeing her senior squirm. Alyda looked him over. He was armed and armoured, ready for the junior’s competition but his surcoat was rumpled, his belt twisted, and he had straw in his hair. She should throw the book at him, and by the look on his face that’s what he expected.

  “I overslept, Captain, too much wine. May I report to the parade ground? The squires’ melee is about to start.”

  Alyda was caught somewhere between amused and annoyed. “You’ve got a brass neck, Squire Turlowe.”

  “Yes, Captain. Sorry, Captain.”

  “Don’t worry, Jamie; it’s nothing we can’t cure. You may not head over to the parade ground—you may head over to the stables and help muck out for the rest of the day.”

  He snapped to attention and saluted, but she could see he was devastated. As he should be.

  “If you’re late tomorrow, you’ll be cleaning out the privies on your own—with a spoon.”

  “Yes, Captain…shall I report here tomorrow, Captain, or to the stables?”

  “Neither. Go straight to the parade ground and sign in for the melee. You’re too old to compete with the juniors, and I can think of no better punishment than letting you get a good beating at the hands of the senior knights. Dismissed, Squire Turlowe.”