The Red Knight

by Davies, K. T.

  “It’s alright, Lal. It would be a waste of the Goddess’s gift if I only treated people who were going to live, don’t you think? Although, it would make me look good.” She gave Lalin a friendly wink.

  “Well, yes, but I fear this warrior is beyond even your reach, Mother. She was as good as dead when they brought her in.”

  “There’s nothing good about dead in my book. She’s survived this long; perhaps it is Ashania’s will that she lives. Ah, here we are.” Jeneri knocked on the door and entered.

  A red haired lad was sitting by the bedside. He looked up when she came in. His eyes were empty, his face bereft of emotion. Not cold, but utterly drained, everything was shutting down, even the muscles in his face. All of the survivors looked the same; they always did.

  “I’m Jeneri. You must be Jamie, and this must be Alyda,” she said, looking at the bruised and bandaged woman lying on the bed.

  “They said she wouldn’t last the night, but she has and I need you to…”

  “It’s alright, I’m here now.”

  The boy watched Jeneri closely, studied every flicker of expression that crossed her face, as she drew back the sheet and looked beneath the bandages. She made sure not to grimace.

  She was born a healer, possessed of a Goddess-given gift, and if Ashania willed it, she could sometimes treat diseases and injuries that were beyond mortal skill. The girl’s injuries were ugly, but not the worst she’d seen. The capacity to maim and torture was sadly not as rare as the ability to heal. The priestess took a deep breath and touched the girl’s forehead.

  She had to force herself not to recoil when she was assaulted by the fresh memories of violence trapped in her pain-ravaged flesh. She smiled at the boy and hoped he didn’t notice that her hands were shaking. “She’s hot, but not burning—that’s good. There’s no fever or sign of infection which is also, very good.”

  “But her injuries are bad?”

  “They’re crippling, to greater and lesser degrees. Goddess willing, I can lessen their severity.” The lad looked crushed that she hadn’t promised him the miracle he so desperately wanted, but she couldn’t lie. She drew the blanket back over Alyda and paused. There was something else, something wholly unexpected. She ran her hands over the woman’s body.

  “Are you her lover?” she asked Jamie.

  “Me? Gods! No. I’m her squire. I mean, I…no.” He blushed as scarlet as his hair.

  “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Do you know who is?” Jeneri asked.

  “Aye, but it’s not common knowledge. Why do you ask?”

  Jeneri wondered if she should tell him. Stick to healing Jen, and keep your own council. “No reason. As for your Captain; some of her injuries may prove difficult to heal completely. She may not be as she was before.”

  “So you can you save her?”

  The honest answer was that she didn’t know, but he’d heard enough honesty for one day. “Goddess willing, Jamie.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “What have you done to me?” Bethanglyn tore aside the curtain of bronze hair to get a better look at her reflection in the grey puddle of what might have been water. Inhuman, scarlet eyes stared up at her. She rocked back on her heels, unnerved and excited by her appearance and the power she could feel coursing through her veins.

  “I’ve replaced what you gave me, filled the hole I made in your essence with fabric of a richer weave.”

  “Sorcery then.”

  “Aye, sweetling—sorcery. I unlocked your pattern and re-wove it. Do you like it? I can change it if not.”

  He came up behind her pressed his naked body against hers and cupped a full pale breast in his rejuvenated hand. Her nipple hardened between his fingers, her barbed spine arched against him.

  “I’m not sure. What am I now? Am I still human?”

  “Does it matter? You wanted to learn, and I needed to be healed. You’ve fulfilled your half of the bargain, and I shall fulfil mine. Although you will find that I am a hard task master.” He kissed her neck, trying to re-connect the act to the feeling of pleasure it had once given him. There was a distant stirring, not quite an erection, but closer than he’d come to one for several centuries. All in good time.

  “So, what do you want to learn, sweetling? How to summon the Shadewalkers? Call lightning?”

  “Everything.” she leaned into him, hot against his cold flesh. “Teach me everything.”

  Feathery snow swept across the ward in a great white wave and drifted against the half built wall that enclosed the new inner bailey. It had grown at an incredible rate, but the harsh winter weather had forced work to stop for the present.

  Hyram couldn’t believe it would be Midwinter’s Day in less than two weeks. Time passed so quickly these days. The two and a half months since the Arth had been razed had flown by in a frenzy of rebuilding and setting the kingdom back on its feet. There was still a long way to go, and much to do, but they had turned the corner. People could now look to the future in the certain knowledge that the worst was finally behind them.

  Midwinter would not be an indulgent celebration this year, more a time of contemplation and remembrance. Many people had lost loved ones and were struggling with shortages and the other hardships gifted by war. Everything was set to improve once winter was behind them. Now that Herulth, the new Guthland Dragon King, had made peace with Daris, all that was left was to seal the alliance with a marriage. He wondered if he would see Merrin at Midwinter, but quickly brushed the thought aside. Why would this year be any different to the last ten?

  He shivered and closed the shutters against the biting cold and drew the curtains. His new offices were more to his liking now that the walls were lined with bookshelves. Alas, they were quite bare. The bastards had burnt everything; his room, the tower, all gone. It would be years before the tower’s more imposing replacement was finished, but already Thea’s designs for a larger, and more importantly, stronger Arth were beginning to take shape.

  Thea had bold plans for the new castle and the flinty determination to see them through. She had thrown herself into rebuilding the Arth and the city; to the extent that Hyram worried she was doing too much. He understood why. It was a distraction from the less than honourable, if totally necessary, plan she had caused him to set in motion.

  He looked at the empty bookshelves and felt acutely the loss of years—centuries—of knowledge. It was nothing compared to the loss of human life…probably, but it saddened him greatly, those books were old friends.

  There was a familiar knock at the door. He didn’t bother to say, “Come in”, the boy no longer waited to be invited.

  Garian dropped his snow-dusted cloak on the floor and pulled a bundle of letters from his jerkin. He tossed them on the desk. As usual, he was scowling. Hyram snatched them up. Several were written in Prince Talin’s hand and were addressed to the same person; Captain Alyda Stenna. The others were written by her, addressed to various people, the Prince among them. He noted that her handwriting was still little better than a child’s scrawl.

  Hyram swept the letters into the drawer, he’d read them later, when he wasn’t under scrutiny. “What did our lay priest have to report? And he’d better not have been drunk this time.”

  Garian poured a glass of wine and went over to the fire. “No. He’d wisely taken heed of my previous warning and was sober when I arrived.”

  “Good. What did he have to say?”

  His apprentice took a sip of wine and looked at him with an accusing stare. “That there wasn’t much change. She’s still bedridden, sick…isolated. He and the other little shit in your employ have intercepted every letter and every visitor since the First were ordered to Cathlan. Well done, My Lord.” Garian raised his glass in mock salute.

  “Don’t you dare take that tone with me. This was necessary!” Hyram slammed his fist on the table, noting with some regret that his apprentice no longer flinched. Garian merely continued to sip his wine, and give him the lizard eye. The boy had alrea
dy made it quite clear that he thought the Captain and the Prince were being treated poorly. Hyram took a deep breath, the pain in his chest a sharp reminder that he shouldn’t lose his temper, not unless he wanted to spend another week confined to his bed. It also reminded him to drink the mixture of willow bark and water that had been sitting on his desk for over an hour. He swilled the milky liquid round the glass, and threw it down his throat, but still managed to taste the awful bitterness. The vile brew was almost worse than the pain.

  “I’m only doing what’s in the best interests of the kingdom,” said Hyram, shuddering from the ghastly aftertaste of the medicine. “Thea was right to tell me. Their relationship had to be stopped. The treaty with Herulth will only hold if Talin marries one of his fucking daughters. Or do you want yearly visits from Guthani warbands?”

  The boy glowered at him. “Have you tried explaining that to him?”

  Ignorant pup. “No, no, no! What fool in love—even a prince, especially this one, would give up his heart’s desire for the sake of a mere kingdom? Daris didn’t, and look at the bloody trouble that’s caused. No. I will not let it happen again.”

  “You would destroy anyone else who questioned the King’s decisions.”

  “I am not just anyone. I am the King’s Councillor!” He slapped his face into his hands. “Oh, why didn’t she just die? It would have been so much easier for everyone—even her.”

  “Well she didn’t. But you’re right, her life is ruined. Even without you hammering nails into her coffin.”

  “So she is crippled?”

  “Aye. Gustav said that Mother Jeneri’s done all she can for her. He’s heard that she’ll probably be leaving the monastery within the month, weather permitting.” Garian drained his glass. “I’m curious; what will you do then? When she’s back at Trelanlith you won’t be able to control what she reads and who she sees.”

  “Why would she go back there? What good is a knight who can’t ride or hold a sword?” Hyram felt a stab in his withered conscience. When did I become so callous?

  “She’s still the Captain of the Hammer, and a hero or have you forgotten what happened at Gallen Arth? She has to resign her commission, but only after she’s chosen her successor. That’s how they do things.”

  Hyram steepled his fingers and considered the problem. He found it much harder to concentrate since his illness. His mind refused to focus like it used to; his best weapon had been blunted. Better to have lost an eye, a leg, two… “Damn it! Why can’t she just disappear? Do you think she might have a relapse?” Hyram looked hopefully at his apprentice.

  “No!” he gasped.

  Oh, here we go. His apprentice was obviously outraged by the suggestion. When did he become so moral? The boy who’s rifled through guts before today.

  “Definitely not, and let me tell you this, my Lord; if she does have a ‘relapse’ as you put it, our working relationship will be over, and you and I will no longer be friends. Now before you start calculating how that will affect your schemes, let me help you out because I’ve already considered what you are about to. If you conclude that I need to have an ‘accident’ to keep me quiet, you will answer to my wife and her family, and you really don’t want that, do you?”

  Rigid jaw line, level gaze. The little shit means it. It was gone, he no longer feared him. The game had changed.

  Hyram narrowed his eyes. “Are you threatening me, boy?” He was furious, and proud of his apprentice. The contempt was hard to take, but he couldn’t pretend that he hadn’t made him what he was.

  “Just don’t kill her, Sest’s balls! I can’t believe you’re even thinking about it. Who are you trying to save the kingdom for if you kill the best of its people when they get in the way of your schemes? Why not take this to the ultimate conclusion? Why not drown all newborns! After all, some of them are bound to grow up to be traitors or get in your way. Slay them all! For the good of the kingdom, of course.” The slender glass stem snapped in his fingers.

  Hyram threw up his hands. “Alright, enough! It was just a thought. The relationship must die; I’ll not be moved on that. The security of the kingdom comes above all else. This mess can never be allowed to happen again. Talin must marry a Guthlander.”

  Hyram sat back. He would have left it there but the sanctimonious sneer plastered across the boy’s face was too provoking.

  “Don’t judge me, boy! Standing there, heart full of love’s first flush, and a head full of idealistic nonsense. You think me unfair? Well let me tell you, the kingdom doesn’t exist that was built on fairness. D’you think the Clan Lords were fair, or the Fey?” Hyram’s temper roared back to life with a vengeance, it felt good. “Do not forget, Captain Tain; we both have blood on our hands.”

  “I couldn’t if I tried.” Garian wiped his bloody hand against his breeches. “Some blood won’t wash off.”

  “What does he say?” Daris asked, adjusting the sling on his injured arm.

  “He says, it’s cold, but that the people are much less hostile now that food supplies have been restored. As a gesture of goodwill he’s lifted the curfew. He also says he has a Sea Drake tooth for Oli, and that he hopes we have a happy Midwinter.” Thea folded the letter without reading out the last part where Talin had written that Alyda was still too ill to write to him, or even receive visitors and that he missed her more each day.

  “I know you miss him terribly,” said Daris as he signed another of the documents Lord Hyram was feeding him from an alarmingly large pile cradled in his arms, “so do I—the wine cellar’s never been so full.”

  Thea cast a furtive glance at the King’s Councillor while her husband’s head was down. He nodded his encouragement.

  “I miss him very much. It’s going to be strange not having him here for Midwinter and… I’m a little tired.” She smiled at her husband. Hyram slid another document in front of him. Daris signed it without reading it and waited, quill poised, for the next.

  “If this is your idea of “a few things to sign”, I’d hate to see what your idea of “quite a lot” is. I’m supposed to be recuperating. Lorstadt will have your guts if he finds out how hard you’re working me.”

  “‘Tis your other hand that’s injured, Majesty,” Hyram replied. “The one you write with is perfectly able. But I know when to take a hint—subtle though you are. I’ll come back later. Here, let me take those.” Hyram scooped up the signed papers.

  “Has the messenger gone back to Guthland yet?” Daris asked before Hyram reached the door.

  “Yes, I believe the Iceheart’s vessel sailed this morning.”

  “Good. I want the treaty ratified at the Spring Council. Herulth’s daughter is a beauty, isn’t she?” Daris picked up the miniature on his desk. It bore the likeness of a golden-haired girl, painted in exquisite detail on the polished oval of ivory.

  “Yes, Majesty. If the likeness is accurate. I’m quite sure Talin will not balk when you show him that, but as I suggested; I’d leave it a month or so before you do. Give him time to get to grips with governorship before you tell him he is to be betrothed. One big step at a time and all that.”

  “Wise words, Councillor.” Daris smiled.

  Hyram bowed to the King, and gave Thea another reassuring nod. She looked away and slipped her son’s letter into her sleeve. When Hyram had gone, Daris limped over and kissed her neck.

  “What is it, my love? What’s bothering you?”

  She felt sick; there was no way she could tell him, not now. She had made so many terrible mistakes; one more would destroy her. The first had been asking Captain Stenna to lie to Talin. She was glad she hadn’t obeyed, and deeply ashamed that she’d asked her. The second had been confiding in Hyram about their son and the Captain’s relationship.

  If only she’d let nature take its course, but she had been so desperate that they should avoid making the same mistakes she and Daris had made. Her arrogance appalled her. She had become just like the scheming courtiers who’d made her life so miserable when she�
�d come to court. By the time she’d realised what she was doing, it was too late. She couldn’t undo what she had begun, not now. She was far too tangled in Hyram’s webs, and had no choice but to continue with the deception or risk losing the love of her husband, and her son. She accepted her punishment, although it wasn’t nearly as harsh as she deserved. Every day she woke up terrified that today would be the day Daris or Talin would find out what she had done and despise her for it. Anxiety had become her constant companion, and it was excruciating.

  “Just hold me,” she said and laid her head on Daris’s shoulder for comfort—and so that he couldn’t see the guilt in her eyes.

  “When did you get him to sign this?” Garian was as impressed as he was disgusted by his master’s cunning. Three days had passed since their last meeting. In that time, they’d separately concluded to pretend neither had said what they had said. Civil though they were, the ghost of their previous exchange still hung in the air.

  “The day after we last spoke. I know you’ve only just got back, but I need you to return today and take that with you, and this.” Hyram shoved a heavy pouch across the table. Gold glinted through the bulging thonging holding it closed.

  “And how much is a guilty conscience going for these days?” Garian picked up the bag and weighed it in his hand. “Hmm, quite a lot it seems.”

  Hyram didn’t answer, Garian didn’t push. He put the pouch into the saddle bag, and slipped the documents inside his jerkin.

  “No one must know,” said Hyram, “not even your wife—and especially not the King.”

  Garian fastened his cloak, and threw the saddlebags over his shoulder. “Surely the King already knows? Unless…You didn’t forge his signature…did you?”