“What? Of course not. Ye gods! D’you think I’d commit the same crime as that turd Corvinius? No. The King signed it… He just doesn’t know that he did.”
Garian gave a curt nod. “I’d better get going before the weather turns.” When he reached the door, he paused. “Happy Midwinter.”
Surprised, Hyram looked up, the season’s greeting on his lips. But Garian had already gone.
Slowly and carefully, Flea copied the letters on the chalkboard. Sitting by the fire, the boy was the picture of contentment.
Alyda tried to sit up again, but the strength in her good arm failed and she sagged back against the pile of pillows, drained by the effort. She would have cursed, but Flea had learnt far too many soldiers’ oaths from her over the last few months, or was it years? Time had no meaning when every day was the same as the last.
She would be glad to be home, in her own rooms at Trelanlith, even if it would only be for a short time. The thought of choosing her replacement made her stomach churn. It would be Kieran, that wasn’t her issue. What was hard, what was impossible, to reconcile was that she would no longer be Captain of the Hammer.
As happened often of late, her thoughts plunged her into a deep pit of despair. Tears pearled on her lashes. She scrubbed them away, and angrily dashed the small vase of winter greens off the bedside table. It smashed, spraying the whitewashed walls and red tiled floor with glass, water and greenery.
Flea looked up briefly, before returning to his chalkboard, completely unperturbed by Alyda’s latest fit of temper. He was another unasked-for burden, as if she didn’t have enough. She had no idea what she was going to do with him. She couldn’t even look after herself, let alone a child. Dear gods, a child.
She wondered how Talin was—if he was well, if he ever thought of her. It had been such a long time since she’d seen or heard from anyone other than the sisters and brothers of the Order. She was glad that nobody had visited and seen her like this; she couldn’t stand the thought of being pitied, but it hurt that no one had written.
The door opened, Sister Mirrin peeped inside and smiled nervously. “You have a visitor, Captain,” the girl squeaked.
“Who is it?” She dared to hope it was Talin.
“A Master Garian Tain, Royal Cartographer, no less. Shall I show him in?”
Alyda hid her bitter disappointment with feigned indifference. “If you must.”
“Oh, I thought…I’ll come and clean up after he’s gone. Shall I bring you something to eat? You need to eat something.”
“Why? To keep my strength up?” Alyda laughed. “No food. I’ve told you, the very thought of it makes me ill.”
“I’m sorry, Captain, maybe later.” The sister ducked round the door.
“Flea,” said Alyda. The boy looked up. “Go play somewhere.”
Without comment or complaint, he tucked his chalkboard under his arm and wandered out. A short while later there was a knock at the door.
He was a master at hiding his feelings and knew he didn’t look as shocked as he was when he saw her. Her hair was short and hanging loose about her face, which was thin to the point of gauntness. Her skin was sallow, except for a livid scar that ran across the right side of her face from her mouth to her ear. Her throat was bruised, and bore the tell-tale burn marks of a rope. Her right hand was bandaged, and her left leg was strapped in a splint from ankle to thigh.
With considerable effort Captain Stenna dragged herself into a sitting position. She’d paid a terrible price for her loyalty, which made it doubly hard for him to do what he’d been ordered, for the good of the kingdom.
“Yes, I look terrible,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “Stop gawking and come in, Master Tain.”
He hesitated. He wasn’t sure he could do this. If Suli found out she’d never forgive him.
“Please come in, Garian. I couldn’t bite you even if I wanted to.”
Garian went in. “I’ve brought some letters, Captain. I’ve been ordered to wait until you’ve read them, if you don’t mind.” He handed her the document signed by the King.
With some difficulty she broke the seal. He watched her eyes scan across the flowing lines of script. These documents were always very elaborate, written by the most skilled scribes on the finest vellum. They took a long time to write, particularly those for high-ranking officers, so they were prepared in advance and a space left blank for the name of the recipient, to be filled in as required. The document was only binding when it had been signed by the King.
Garian could imagine how Hyram must have slipped it in with several others, half hidden under something else. He would have been chatting, making pleasant conversation to distract his Majesty from what he was signing. Hyram was a clever bastard, and completely heartless. No surprise that his own daughter hated him.
She must have been devastated, but the knight hid her feelings well. At least Hyram had been kind enough to make it an honourable discharge, but that was a small mercy.
“I knew I’d failed,” she said quietly. “I shouldn’t have surrendered the garrison, but I feel no guilt over saving those people. If anything, I should have found a way to do it sooner. That I broke does shame me. I didn’t think it was in me to break. I told them everything, would have told them more if I’d known more.” She shook her head. “So weak.”
Garian didn’t say anything, sure that if he opened his mouth, he’d blurt out the truth. He stood there and listened to her blame herself for something that he knew from personal experience, nobody could resist—no matter how strong they were.
“The King has been very generous; an honourable discharge is more than I deserve.” She turned her face to the window.
“I have another letter, Captain, and this.” He set the heavy pouch on the bed.
She ignored the pouch, but took the letter. Her hand was shaking, he pretended not to notice.
When she finished reading it, she tossed it on the bed. A hint of fire had returned to her eyes. “It’s from Lord Hyram. Please thank him for me. At least now I know why no one’s been. I don’t blame them; they’ve every right to be angry. I let them down…all of them. Do you mind if I don’t write a reply? I’m not very fast with my left hand, and you’ll need to get going before the weather turns.” She picked up the discharge letter again; perhaps to make sure that she’d read it correctly.
“I’d be happy to scribe for you.”
She sighed. “Very well.”
Garian asked one of the lay brothers to fetch some ink; he had his own quill and parchment. When the brother returned, Garian quietly whispered for Gustav to stay away from the door or he’d cut his balls off. Harsh, but the informant enjoyed his work too much for Garian’s liking. After a drink of water, Stenna began.
“Lord Hyram, thank you for your kind words and sensible direction. Living with this is indeed going to be a heavy burden and yes, you’re right; not only for me, but also for my family. You have considered matters that I have not, and I am grateful for your insight. Thank you, but I have my own means, and shall therefore decline your generous offer of assistance. With regards to leaving the country: you may assure my…” She paused, her jaw tightened. “You may assure the Royal Guards that I will not disgrace them further, and that I’ll be leaving Antia as soon as I am able.” She drew a long shuddering breath. “That’s all. Goodbye, Master Tain.”
Garian blotted the letter and slipped it into his satchel. After an awkward farewell he left. Disgusted by his cowardice he told himself what he’d done was for the good of the kingdom and if he said it enough, he might even start to believe it.
As he was leading his horse to the gate, Garian saw the boy they called Flea playing in the snowy courtyard. Gustav dismissed the child as a halfwit, but Garian very much doubted that was the case. Not many adults, let alone a child, could have kept their wits about them the way he had back at Gallen Arth.
Garian hitched his horse and took a small packet out of his belt pouch. He’d carried it around with him f
or weeks, too afraid to leave it anywhere, and unwilling to hand it over to Hyram. It was a Midwinter gift from Prince Talin to Captain Stenna. Like everything else it had been intercepted by Gustav and passed to Garian.
The package contained a pendant in the form of a golden hart. It was stunning piece, and bore the maker’s mark of the most renowned jeweller in Antia. According to the note Talin had sent with it, the token was given with love—and an offer of marriage.
Dangerous as a snake though it was, Garian couldn’t bring himself to hand it over to Hyram. His master would have disposed of it without a second thought. Not only that, he might also have deemed it necessary to ensure Stenna could never say yes, despite Garian’s threats. If Hyram thought it was for the good of the kingdom, he’d risk death.
If there was one good deed he could perform, one small act of kindness he could do for someone who’d been treated so badly by those she’d served so well, there it was, gleaming in the palm of his hand. The small, anonymously-given gift could in no way offset the pain he’d helped cause, but it might at least bring her some small pleasure, wherever in the world she went. He had a quick look round to make sure they were alone and unobserved before approaching the boy.
“Good day, young sir. I wonder, d’you think you can do something for me, something very important?”
The child narrowed his eyes and drew his lips together in a thoughtful pout. Garian tried to encourage his cooperation with a friendly smile. It seemed to work; after what looked like serious consideration, the boy nodded decisively.
“Good lad. Now, what I want you to do is very important, and must be kept very secret…”
When Flea returned, he clambered on the bed to show Alyda a particularly interesting stone he’d found, and to give her the very secret thing.
“Where did you get this?” she asked, as he hung the pendant around her neck, small fingers cold as ice against her skin.
He shrugged, yawned, and curled up beside her. “‘It’s yours and a very secret thing,” his said.
She watched his eyelids drift together, heard his breathing slow. Within minutes he was fast asleep. Alyda stared out of the window and watched the snow fall, the letter from the King clutched tightly in her hand.
Epilogue
Mist spat out the half-chewed rabbit bone and watched Lon’s shadowy outline weave towards her through the gusting flurries of snow. She pushed herself off her haunches and changed back into her skin as he started the last, short climb up to the caves.
It was cold without fur, cold with fur these days; her blood was as thin as water. She quickly threw on her clothes and retreated inside the cave. It wasn’t warm, but at least there was no snow, only the pool of stagnant green sludge that dominated the cavern. The thick fungus that covered the surface gave off a dull, green luminescence, but the walls shone brighter. Purple, pink, blue, gold, and yellow—a beautiful, mottled tapestry tattooed onto the walls by millions of tiny creatures, each no bigger than a pin head.
She turned from the pool when Lon ducked inside. He shook the snow off; his hair and beard were matted with ice. She waited impatiently while he dug himself out of layers of fur until he got down to his gleaming mail. She didn’t need to ask if he had it. She could smell the Yorl, smell the blood and silver. He pulled off his gloves, took it out of his belt pouch, and handed it to her. It was in the shape of a spur, etched with vines and flowers; a thing of beauty—to some. She took it over to the pool. Lon watched. She didn’t ask how he’d got hold of it, and he wouldn’t offer to tell her.
“That’s what I like about him.”
“What?” Lon asked.
When he spoke she realised she’d voiced a thought. Too much time spent talking to herself. Too long up here, with only ghosts for company.
“Nothing. Now hush or you’ll make me do this wrong.” She held the spur over the pool. Her wrist ached with the rheumatics, but this was how it had to be done—probably.
“Asura’ta’ai. Lo’t’an, Dwereneth,” she said and felt the tension grow within the Yorl. Her palm tingled, grew hot, and then the spur melted. She jumped as the cold, silvery metal crawled between her fingers and slowly dripped onto the pool. It collected on the surface; a bright mirror of liquid reflecting the concern written across her age-carved face. It sat there a moment before sinking through the slime.
“Is it done?” Lon asked.
“Aye, I think…I’ve not done this before—not sure anyone has.” She laughed.
“So what happens now?”
“What happens now? Fucked if I know. Ask the wind; ask the mountains. I’m going home. I’ve got some bread in the oven.”
The End.
Thank you for reading The Red Knight
To learn more about K.T. Davies
visit www.kdavies.net
And for more great books visit
www.anachronpress.com/books/
All Rights Reserved
This edition published in 2012 by
Anachron Press - United Kingdom
www.anachronpress.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this work are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication maybe reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the publisher.
The rights of the author of this work has been asserted by him/her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
ISBN: 978-0-9572615-1-8 - Print
ISBN: 978-0-9572615-2-5 - Kindle
ISBN: 978-0-9572615-3-2 - EPub
First Edition
Table of Contents
The Red Knight
Other Anachron Press Titles
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Thank you for reading The Red Knight
All Rights Reserved
The Red Knight Page 43