The Red Knight

by Davies, K. T.

  The shapeshifter gave a lazy smile, displaying the over-long canines. “Forgive me Garian. ‘Tis an elemental whose essence has been woven into the pattern of what you think of as a dragon.”

  Garian still wasn’t sure he understood. “And it just flew off? Did you see where it went?” He pressed. He’d work out what it was later; all that mattered right now was that something with a taste for Guthani was loose in Antia.

  Pytre smiled, obviously amused. “It went up, quite high.”

  They were hiding in a copse on the west side of Gallen Arth. Before them, the Galerun flowed unsullied by the filth and debris that clogged the moat on the other side of the huge outcrop of rock. Suli finished coiling the rope, and handed it to Garian. Now that night had fallen it was time for him to scale the curtain wall.

  “Suli, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but are you sure this, ‘secret place’ of yours is safe enough to take the Queen?”

  She smiled, but something was troubling her. He knew how to read people and it was obvious that she was keeping something from him, and that was worrying. In the short time they’d known each other neither had kept anything from the other, at least, he hadn’t kept anything from her. She smiled nervously and flicked a strand of sun-kissed hair over her shoulder.

  “Oh, it’s very safe, but I fear I might be endangering my own people by helping yours.”

  “You know I’d never betray your secret,” he said. “The Queen and her sons don’t need to know where we’re taking them—in fact it’s probably better if they don’t know.”

  She shook her head. “You might not be so sure when I tell you where it is, but promise me you’ll give me chance to explain?”

  He nodded. “Of course, my love.”

  She took a deep breath. “Our sanctuary is in the Void.”

  “You’d better explain.”

  It was fully dark by the time she finished telling him about the place she called the Valley of the Moon.

  “So, if this place is part of the Fey realm, does that make you…?”

  She smiled. “Fey? It’s such a poor description, like ‘the Void’—and it will take much longer than we have right now to explain it to you. I’ll tell you everything I know when this is over, I promise.”

  “Very well, but it’s a lot to take in. You said there are sanctuaries like this all over the world, so how is it they haven’t been found?”

  “People have found them; they just keep quiet so that they don’t get burnt for being sorcerers or demons. Which is why you must keep our secret.”

  Garian gave her a reassuring hug. “I’d rather tear out my tongue than betray you, love. Trust me; I’m very good at keeping secrets, it’s what I do.”

  Lhazinia returned from scouting the Arth. She told them there were only two groups of six patrolling this side of the keep.

  “I doubt they’d hear an angry bear crossing the meadow, given the noise they’re making themselves,” said the shapeshifter.

  “That’s something, but there’s every chance they’ll see me when I’m climbing.”

  Lhazinia and Pytre exchanged a knowing look.

  “Leave it to us,” said Pytre, and they slipped into the darkness.

  About half an hour later, they returned.

  “It is done,” said Lhazinia. “We’ll keep watch in case more turn up, but you’d better get going now.”

  Suli squeezed his arm. “Are you sure you’re going to go in alone? They might kill you before you get the chance to tell them who you are. Let my cousins go with you.”

  Garian shook his head. “No. If Pytre or Zia come with me, they’ll set the Ward off.”

  “I can climb, let me come.”

  “No. I don’t know what’s happened in there, which is why I need to go alone. You and your cousins have led us safely to the King and back, already more than I could ask, but sneaking in and out of places like this is what I’m good at. I’ll be alright, I promise.” He smiled and flicked a strand of hair from her eyes. “Wait here, I’ll be back before you know it.”

  “You’d better be, or we’ll come looking,” she said, and kissed him goodbye.

  The icy waters of the Galerun froze the marrow in his bones, but he warmed up quickly once he got out and started climbing. The stone at the base of the wall was smooth and tightly jointed, but higher up, where wind and rain had nibbled at the edges of the blocks there were abundant points of purchase.

  Being short had its advantages and disadvantages when climbing. He had less weight to carry, but sometimes he had to overreach to find a decent hand or foot hold. He only slipped once, after mistaking a bird’s nest for a handhold in the poor light. Hanging from one hand gave him an excellent view of the surrounding countryside, but it wasn’t something he wanted to make a habit of.

  A huge hall had been built directly against the curtain wall. Once he was over the parapet he was on the roof, or what was left of it. The slates on the northwest end were almost intact, but nearer the south end there was more hole than roof, which forced him to pick his route carefully across the bones of what remained.

  The stench emanating from the Arth made his stomach lurch—and he’d waded through the sewers of Weyhithe. He stopped breathing through his nose and crawled to the edge of the roof.

  Lime dusted grave pits shone in the darkness, and dozens of horses roamed loose amongst the rubble. Most of the buildings at the south end of the Arth had suffered heavy damage. Great bites had been taken out of the curtain wall on the south and east sides of the keep. The outer gatehouse was little more than rubble, but the inner barbican looked surprisingly intact.

  Beyond the Arth was the pyre that the shapeshifters had mentioned. It was surrounded by flickering torches, but was as yet unlit. The unlikely sound of singing floated across the black gulf between the Guthani camp and the Arth. Garian had read about the elaborate funeral rites of the Guthlanders, he’d just never imagined they’d perform them in the middle of a battle. Whoever they were, they must have been important.

  He’d seen all he could from the roof. He had to go down and find Stenna or the Queen, or whoever was in charge if Stenna was dead and hope they gave him the chance to explain who he was before they killed him. Hyram’s ring and the letter he carried should be enough to convince her Majesty he was who he said he was, if he could get to her.

  He climbed down the side of the building furthest from the barbican. When he heard the tell-tale sound of people clanking towards him in armour, he flattened himself against the curtain wall. He stayed in the shadows, partly from habit, and partly because he didn’t want to be killed by a nervous sentry before he had chance to explain himself.

  He recognised Stenna straightaway, she was limping heavily. The knights halted by a well. Garian sheathed the knife that had found its way into his hand. As he did, one of them looked in his direction and drew his sword.

  “Who goes there?” the knight demanded.

  Garian raised his hands and stepped from the shadows. “Captain Stenna—it’s me, Garian Tain. I have a message for the Queen.”

  The spy was less than forthcoming, if not exactly evasive, but Alyda let it pass. She was anxious to find out what was in the damn letter Tain had given to the Queen, desperate to know if reinforcements were on their way.

  “So how did you get past the patrols on the other side of the river?” she asked, while they waited for Thea to finish reading.

  “They were dealt with,” he said.

  “I know you!” Olin piped up. “You’re the librarian.”

  Garian bowed to the Prince. “Upon occasion, Highness. More often I’m a cartographer or herbalist.”

  Thea folded the letter. “Captain Stenna, I would speak with you alone.”

  The Queen waited until everyone else had left before handing her the letter. “You must read this.”

  She read it quickly and then again, more slowly, in case she’d misread it. She hadn’t. The brief hope that had sparked to life when Tain arrived was cruelly
extinguished with a few drops of ink. There would be no reinforcements. The King’s army was engaged with a larger force and he couldn’t spare anyone to raise the siege at Gallen Arth. She snapped to attention and handed the letter back to the Queen.

  “Everything has been prepared, Majesty. With respect, I think it would be right to take Lady Vorsten and her son with you.”

  “I agree, Captain. Please send her over.”

  Thea paused, bit her lip. Surely there wasn’t anything else? Alyda waited, but the Queen didn’t add anything, so she made to leave.

  “Captain—”

  Here it comes. “Majesty?”

  “There’s something I must ask you, Captain Stenna. Something I have no right to do, but I know you’ll understand why I must.”

  The small group gathered in the cellar of the tower. The Queen was with her youngest son, a reluctant Beria Vorsten and her baby. Garian hadn’t expected to be taking anyone other than the Queen and her sons; the extras were an added inconvenience, but with his travelling companions he doubted they’d encounter any trouble they couldn’t handle or avoid.

  He’d made a point of telling Stenna he was taking them north towards Cathlan. It was a necessary deception in case she was taken alive; she’d understand. They were actually going south to meet Suli and her cousins before heading off to the Vodoni’s secret valley. That was a whole other pain in the arse he could have lived without. He loved Suli, trusted her with his life, but he’d feel a damn sight happier when he’d seen the place for himself. Right now, he’d settle for getting away from here. The place was a tomb.

  When Lady Beria refused to leave, Alyda asked Talin to try and convince her to go. He failed and in the end had to order her to come with him. Even then, he had to just about drag the grief stricken widow to the cellar where his mother and Oli were waiting. Although that was hard, telling his mother that he wasn’t going with them proved to be much easier than he’d anticipated. She accepted it with surprisingly good grace and bid him farewell without any of the fuss he’d been expecting.

  Alyda was waiting for him in his mother’s quarters while he said goodbye to his family. When he got back he found her sitting by the shuttered window, a single candle spluttered on the book strewn table. She looked tired, which was hardly surprising, but at least they’d be together for however long they had left. He went to kiss her, but she pulled away.

  “What is it?” he asked, confused by her coldness. “What’s wrong?”

  “You have to leave the Arth, Highness,” she said flatly.

  “I told you, I’m not going. Please, let’s not argue about this. I said I’m not leaving you again no matter what, and I meant it.” He reached out to her, but she shrugged his hand away.

  “Highness, Talin. You don’t have a choice. Your father has ordered it. Please don’t make this difficult; time is against us.”

  He chuckled. “You’re wasting your breath, Captain Stenna, and if you think giving me the cold shoulder is going to make me go, you’re wrong I’m—”

  “I don’t love you,” she blurted. “I’ve been trying to tell you for days, but…well; I never got the chance to speak with you about it.”

  He laughed. “You are such a bad liar; promise me you’ll never gamble—you’ll lose your shirt. Not that it would be such a bad thing…you being shirtless.” He probably shouldn’t joke, but her clumsy attempt at lying only confirmed that she loved him, and that made him happier than he had a right to be given the trouble they were in.

  “No, Highness, it’s true. We had fun, but it was a dalliance, nothing more.”

  Talin folded his arms.

  “It’s true, damn you.” She stood up. “I’m telling you now because I want to part with you honestly. I don’t have to convince you to leave—I can have you tied in a fucking sack and dragged out of here, and I damn-well will if I have to.”

  What power to intimidate she had was lost on him. He’d take a knife in the heart from her hand. She loves me. It was wonderful, not least because he loved her too. He knew he was grinning like a fool, but he couldn’t help it.

  “Tell me again that you don’t love me.”

  She locked eyes with him and held his gaze, willing him not to turn around. Willing herself not to glance at Bear, who was sneaking up behind him. When Talin went to say goodbye to his mother, she suggested that Bear hide behind the bed curtains, like Tain had done in Weyhithe. Unsurprisingly the shapeshifter moved quietly. Which was a blessing; Alyda didn’t want to have to fight Talin to get him out, not unless she had to.

  “Well, Captain, I’m waiting. Tell me you don’t love me,” he said. He was still smiling.

  “I’m sorry, my love,” Alyda whispered.

  Before he had chance to answer, Bear hit him across the head with the cosh. He fell into Alyda’s arms; she kissed him, before Bear hoisted him over her shoulder.

  “If I’d known you’d have me beating up my best friend I’d have stayed outside with the Guthani. He’s going to be very angry with me for doing this. I shall have to grovel for months.”

  Alyda didn’t have the heart to laugh. “Tell the Queen I tried, but I’m just not a very good liar. She’ll know what you mean.”

  The smile faded from Bear’s face. “Of course. Is there anything else I can tell anyone?”

  Alyda shook her head. “No, he already knows.”

  Bear headed to the door. She paused before leaving, her unconscious burden groaned. “It was an honour knowing you, Alyda Stenna. For what it’s worth, I think you’re the best thing that ever happened to Talin.”

  “Goodbye, Iris. Take care of him for me.”

  When Bear had gone Alyda slumped against the wall, numb to her core. The Queen had been right about one thing—she had no right to ask her to perjure her heart and tell Talin she didn’t love him. She’d never seen it before, but there was a line between duty to one’s sovereign and duty to oneself. The Queen had asked her to sacrifice one for the other. She’d tried; she was a Royal Guard; duty and honour always came first, except this time.

  She’d been right to send him away with the truth instead of a lie. He’d be furious when he came round, but at least he’d know she loved him, and that was important; it was all they would ever have, and that hurt more that she’d thought possible.

  She flexed her neck, cracked the small bones with a quick, right left twist and rolled her shoulders. It did little to untie the knots in her tired muscles, and nothing to ease the pain in her leg. She sighed a laugh. She was as broken and battered as the Arth, but like the old keep, she was still just about standing and would damn well stay that way until the job was done.

  When dawn came, Alyda and Lorhine watched from the barbican as a Talespinner went and stood before the unlit pyre. He began to recite something that could have been a prayer or a long winded poem for all Alyda knew. The warrior laid out atop the pyre was dressed in gleaming scale armour, shield beneath his head, shining spear clutched in his hand. A slaughtered horse lay at his feet. It was depressing to see the hundreds of warriors lined up on the field, but also grimly satisfying to see the gaps in their ranks.

  “Shame about the pony,” she said to Kieran.

  He grunted in agreement. “Shame the Thane they’re fixing to burn isn’t that pig-fucker Thorgulsen.”

  “Aye, but it’s given us more time to plan and…” She stopped herself saying, “For Talin to get away.” She’d have to be careful; she couldn’t afford to let tiredness trip her.

  Alyda told Jamie to round up the survivors and bring them to the Great Hall. She waited impatiently as a hundred and twenty children, old people, and injured, crept or were carried from the cellars to join the sixty or so remaining able-bodied fighters.

  It hurt that there were only a handful of the Hammer amongst them, but it wasn’t unexpected. They’d led the defence, standing front and centre on the wall, they’d borne the brunt of the attacks, and carried the fight to the enemy. And gods, I miss every one of them.

 
She’d never felt like this before, her hands were trembling. She stamped her foot, sending shockwaves of pain through her knee. Anything was better than surrendering to the wave of sorrow that was threatening to engulf her. She couldn’t dwell on her loses, she had to stay focused on saving the living; the dead could wait a little longer.

  Lurking at the back of the gathering, still grumbling, still with a sneer nailed to his face, was Smith. Alyda was glad the ornery bastard had survived, but it would be a cold day in the Void before she told him.

  She cleared her throat. “I’ll keep this short: you must be sick of hearing my voice by now. I know I am.” A ripple of weary laughter passed through the crowd. “The Queen has commanded that I ask for terms of surrender. I have no doubt they will be accepted,” she said, knowing full well it was more of a hope than a certainty. “You have endured hardships that few Antians ever have, that few even could. Your strength and your courage will be long-held as shining examples of those virtues, and I am humbled and honoured to have fought beside you.”

  When she finished, her knights snapped to attention and saluted. Alyda felt a lump rise in her throat as the rest of the garrison did likewise. She returned the gesture.

  In contrast to the bleak mood of earlier, an excited murmur followed the weary survivors from the hall. Jamie stayed behind, his face set in an angry frown.

  “What’s on your mind, Jamie?” she asked.

  “When the Guthani find out that the Queen isn’t here they’ll kill everyone: the old, the children—and it will not be swift.”

  That he of all people doubted her was another blow. Understandable perhaps, but it still felt like a kick in the gut. “You need to trust me, Jamie. I won’t let you or the others down.”

  He nodded solemnly, but for the first time since she’d known him, she could see that he didn’t believe her.

  The Guthani lit the pyre when the setting sun kissed the horizon. There had been no further attacks. Alyda found a bottle of wine and took it up onto the roof of the barbican. She drowned a few sorrows and watched the Pyre burn deep into the night.