by A. J. Smith
The ability of men like Brom and Hasim to stay cheerful in the face of despair was a trick she’d never learned. Her mother had offered few words of wisdom on the subject. Marlena of Du Ban had not been a loving or attentive mother. She’d died when Bronwyn and her brother were barely ten years old, but she’d spoken of a woman’s duty as if she believed it was the one thing she had to offer her daughter.
The place of the noblewomen of Ro is to support the noblemen and to remain silent, she’d said. They must show their emotions and never forget that they are the gentle counterpoint to the warrior men of Tor Funweir.
Bronwyn had disliked this advice and had never really accepted that her place was dictated by birth and gender. However, despite her sword and crossbow, she felt alone and vulnerable.
As the sky began to darken, Bronwyn let her eyelids droop and she suddenly felt exhausted. The adrenalin that had kept her going since she left her home had steadily dwindled away and now all she felt was tired. Her horse was whinnying quietly and directed a glare at Bronwyn, as if to remind her how much he disliked the wet weather. She’d fed him some of the bale of straw she’d recovered from the wagon and hoped he’d allow her a few hours’ sleep.
As she settled back against the trunk of a tree and tried to achieve a degree of comfort, the horse reared his head and made a loud wheezing sound, spraying spittle from his mouth. His nostrils were twitching and the way his hooves pawed at the muddy earth made Bronwyn sit up. The horse had caught the whiff of something on the wind and, though Bronwyn was not an experienced tracker, she knew enough not to ignore the keener senses of her mount.
She pulled her hood up over her head and scanned the horizon to the south. The Grass Sea was a vast, open plain, dotted with small farmsteads, woods and hills. She’d been careful to stay off the main route north and had avoided settlements and the better-travelled areas. The southern plains seemed to stretch forever, with only the city of Ro Canarn and the sea to end the emptiness.
The horse became more agitated. Bronwyn picked up her crossbow with shivering hands, carefully placed a bolt, and pulled back on the drawstring. She glanced to the west and hoped that Ro Hail was nearby as Al-Hasim had led her to believe, though it offered no guarantee of safety.
Then she heard a sound. It was distant and indistinct, but it made Bronwyn stand and start to pack up her things, ready to move if need be. Somewhere along the southern horizon, beneath a rapidly darkening sky and relentless rain clouds, she was sure she could hear the movement of horses. There was a low accompaniment to the noise, reminiscent of the sound of armoured men. She knew that the farmers of the duchy would not be so attired and began to feel apprehension.
She wrapped up her bedroll and fastened it to her saddle. Her short sword was at her side as she placed the straw and dried rations back in the saddlebag and took a firm hold on the reins.
She waited, standing behind the animal, with her crossbow pointing south, resting across the saddle. A few tense moments passed with the sound of approaching horses growing in volume until a small company of men came into view. They rode slowly and looked to be finding the going difficult, weaving left and right to avoid the boggy ground underfoot.
Bronwyn began breathing heavily as she saw the dark red cloaks the riders wore, the sound of metal on metal now indicating that the men were heavily armoured. They were knights of the Red, some twenty of them, although she was too far away to make out their faces. She clenched her fists and tried to calm herself as she backed away from the tree line. They were still far off, moving slowly, and had probably not seen her. She placed a hand across the horse’s nose, gently encouraging him to remain silent as she began to lead him back into the trees. The horse complied and they made their way into the small wood. Bronwyn thought the men were most probably looking for her, but, given that they were moving slowly and making no effort to remain hidden, she guessed that they did not think she was so close.
Leading the horse through the trees, she glanced back to the south and was gratified that she could no longer see the knights through the wood. The rain was now heavier and made the ground treacherous as she tried to lead the horse down a steep incline. He bucked at her sharply, nearly causing her to lose her footing and slide down the small hill, but she held the reins firmly and slowly coaxed the animal down the slope.
A shallow stream ran along the base and the sound of rain hitting the water covered the stubborn complaining sounds of her mount. She pulled him down into the stream and, stepping on rocks and the narrow muddy banks, turned to the west and moved through the wood as quickly as possible. She hoped the western tree line was out of sight of the direction from which the knights were approaching; she could no longer hear them, but knew they’d be moving directly towards her position. If they hadn’t captured Hasim, she thought they might not know where she was heading and there might be a chance of escape.
Bronwyn nearly fell several times as she led the horse through the narrow stream and, after a few minutes, she could see the western edge of the small wood. The horse was still complaining, and now that there was no real tree cover to keep them out of the rain, both horse and rider were soaking wet.
She could distantly hear the sound of armoured men moving slowly across boggy ground, but was shielded from them by black, leafless tree trunks and the shallow incline she’d descended to reach the stream. Beyond the wood to the west, Bronwyn could see little save for a sheet of rain and the endless Grass Sea.
The stream continued past the trees and the steep bank turned into a low rocky hillside within a few feet. If she broke cover, the knights would probably not be able to see her provided she remained behind the hill, and she was hopeful that Ro Hail was nearby, perhaps obscured by the rain, the hills and the approaching darkness. Bronwyn breathed in deeply, took a firm grip of the reins and walked slowly towards the tree line. She was tentative as she exited the wood, resting one hand on the horse’s nose to keep it from making a sound. She proceeded close to the rocky bank, walking to the west as the rain grew even harder.
Bronwyn squinted to see through the gloom, wiping rainwater from her face and keeping a comforting hand on the horse. The animal was grumpy and his dark brown eyes conveyed worlds of anger. She decided, almost absent-mindedly, to give him a name, calling him Moody under her breath as she gently stroked his nose.
The rain made a considerable noise and she could no longer hear the knights. She hoped she could simply slip away, leaving her pursuers behind, though her optimism was tempered with the fear of being caught and branded a Black Guard.
The rain made it difficult to see far ahead, but as she left the wood behind and moved across the Grass Sea she thought she saw a break in the cloud and beneath it, perhaps, shadows indicating a structure of some kind. If the ruins of Ro Hail were close by, Bronwyn could perhaps hide and maybe even find shelter from the rain. She paused briefly to look back and saw no signs of the knights. Placing a foot in the stirrup she decided it would be wise to ride away from the wood, figuring that she could move faster and that it might even improve Moody’s disposition. He would at least have something else to think about as she pulled herself up into the saddle and dug in her heels. She moved forward, slowly at first, letting the horse find his feet on the uneven ground. At the height she sat, Bronwyn could see over the bank and was gratified that she could see no knights of the Red.
Suddenly a sound from above made her look up. A shape appeared through the gloom. The man’s metal armour made a distinctive sound but the rain had masked his presence until he was virtually on top of Bronwyn. Moody reared up and snorted, causing the man to pull back on his own reins and peer down into the darkness.
Bronwyn froze, the rain flowing down over her face as she looked up at the knight. She couldn’t be sure if he was looking back at her, but he gestured over his shoulder and shouted, ‘Captain, I believe there is a rain-soaked girl hiding under the bank.’
The words were spoken with amusement and Bronwyn didn’t know how to
react for a moment as she heard other armoured men approaching.
A sound from behind caused her to turn and she saw two knights of the Red moving swiftly down the rocky bank behind her.
‘Bronwyn of Canarn…’ The voice came from behind. ‘You’ll be coming with us.’ Bronwyn thought she recognized the speaker as Sir William of Verellian.
More knights appeared at the top of the bank and Moody reared up again, his snort loud enough to be heard over the rain. Bronwyn didn’t wait for more than a second before she rammed her heels into the horse’s flanks. Moody began to run forward with Bronwyn clinging on to his neck as hard as she could.
The knights shouted after her and she could clearly hear armoured men moving down the bank in pursuit.
‘Run, you miserable old horse,’ she shouted to Moody, as she pulled him away from the bank and let him stretch his legs across the muddy ground.
Sparing a glance behind, she saw shapes moving quickly to assemble at the bottom of the bank. She had stolen a march on them and Moody was a big horse, with a long stride, enabling him to move quickly away from her pursuers. The ground was boggy, but Moody was unconcerned and Bronwyn even thought he was cheering up at the opportunity to run. Holding on tight, she looked up through the rain and saw nothing but a dark, featureless plain. Behind, the sound of the knights suggested they had all made it down the incline and were now in full pursuit.
Ahead, a dark shape loomed through the sheet of rain and Bronwyn thought she could make out a stone structure a little way ahead of her. Pulling back on Moody’s reins, she rode hard towards the building, hoping it was more than just a lone structure. She almost smiled as she saw other buildings appearing through the gloom. The horse’s hooves struck stone and Bronwyn looked down to see the remnants of a road, partially obscured by mud and grass. Moody put on a burst of speed across this more even ground and they plunged into the rain-soaked ruins of Ro Hail.
Bronwyn looked up and saw dark, moss-covered brickwork. She was riding towards a low gateway with a long-broken wooden gate hanging from rusted hinges. Crumbling buildings stretched out from the gatehouse and the remnants of battlements could be seen above.
Bronwyn had never been this far north and had only heard about Ro Hail in stories. As her horse ran through the gateway, she remembered her father telling her tales of the men of Ro who had held the town long after the Ranen had defeated the knights of the Red. Hail was the last town to fall when the Free Companies rose up against the knights and the defenders had fought with such ferocity that Wraith Company had allowed them to return to Canarn under truce.
To her perception, as she rode hard over the uneven cobbled streets, it was nothing but a mound of rocks shaped roughly like a town. The buildings had long ago fallen into ruin and few complete structures could be seen. Bronwyn scanned the rain-soaked courtyard for a place to hide amidst the ruins. Moody had his own ideas about their destination and didn’t stop running, heading towards a half-destroyed building with an intact roof. The horse shook his head, spraying water over the moss-covered ground, and Bronwyn quickly dismounted. She pulled Moody further into the building and found a dark recess beyond a collapsed wall to hide in.
The sound of armoured men and horses was now loud on the cobbles as Verellian and his knights reached the gatehouse. They slowed as they entered the courtyard, and Bronwyn peered through a gap in the crumbled brickwork to see them fan out and stop. She counted twenty knights and a man who looked to be a prisoner, bound and gagged, his horse led by a knight. As they came closer, she gasped to see that the prisoner was Al-Hasim. She noted a few wounds on his face and neck. They were mostly healed, though the Karesian looked as if he would have a couple of new scars. She was glad to see him alive, but thought it likely that he had been tortured to reveal her location.
‘Lady Bronwyn, you will not be harmed,’ shouted Sir Verellian, ‘but you will be coming with us.’ He nodded to the man at his left. ‘Fallon, to the left. Callis, take the right. The sooner we find her, the sooner we can get out of the rain.’
‘So it’s come to this,’ said the man called Fallon, ‘searching for a woman in a fucking pile of rocks.’
‘Enough,’ shouted Verellian. ‘Let’s just get it done.’
‘Captain, sir, she could be anywhere,’ said another man, moving slowly to the right side of the courtyard.
‘Maybe, but that horse she was riding would struggle to hide around here.’ Verellian kicked the flanks of his own mount and advanced into the ruins at a walk.
Bronwyn stroked her hand over Moody’s nose to quieten him. They hid within a building that might once have been a house, though now it was little more than a wall with two horizontal platforms to show that it had been a three-storey building. The inside wall was mostly debris and Bronwyn knew that if a knight were to look closely he would see Moody no matter how quiet he was.
As she hugged the wall, and tried to get herself and her horse as deep into the ruined building as she could, a sound from the battlements above alerted her. The knights clearly heard it too, and all of them were looking warily at the broken city walls. From several hidden locations among the ruins men appeared, carrying weapons and wearing chain mail.
These were Ranen men, of Wraith Company, protectors of the Grass Sea. All wore dark blue cloaks and they came on slowly, clearly not intending summarily to kill the knights of the Red. One man stepped forward and separated himself from the other Ranen, walking decisively towards Knight Captain William of Verellian. The man motioned to the twenty or so Ranen who had appeared around the knights to hold their positions, as if assessing the knights’ strength. Verellian remained calm; though he, too, looked as if he was counting the Ranen men before him and taking note of their weapons.
The man approaching Verellian was on foot and appeared unconcerned that the knight was mounted. Several others were emerging from the broken buildings, guard towers and the battlements of Ro Hail. Bronwyn thought the Ranen must have seen the Red knights approaching and waited until they were within the courtyard. They hefted axes of various sizes and a few of the larger men carried massive war-hammers. Above where Lieutenant Fallon sat on his horse, a small group of Ranen appeared from the gatehouse and held small throwing-axes at the ready.
‘Knights, to me,’ ordered Verellian calmly, causing his men to re-form behind him.
None of the knights had drawn their swords, but the atmosphere was tense.
The Ranen who approached the knight captain was a large man, over six foot in height, and carried a two-headed axe loosely in both hands. Piercing blue eyes peered out from a matted brown beard and wavy hair fell over his shoulders. He was perhaps forty years old and wore the dark blue cloak of Wraith Company. Bronwyn thought that she had maybe seen him before, as a companion of Magnus when he’d first come to Ro Canarn to talk to her father.
The rain still fell heavily and the sky was black, though the men of Wraith appeared less concerned with the weather than the knights, who shifted uncomfortably in their saddles.
The Ranen didn’t appear to be in any rush as his deep blue eyes slowly took in the twenty knights before him. He took an interest in Al-Hasim, narrowing his eyes at the sight of a Karesian prisoner accompanying knights of the Red.
Verellian and the Ranen before him looked at each other for several moments, before the man of Wraith spoke.
‘That’s a nice horse, Red man,’ he said, with only a slight accent.
‘It is a very fine animal, yes. But it’s my animal,’ replied Verellian.
The Ranen smiled and waved a hand over his shoulder, signalling to some more of his men who had emerged from a ruined building behind him. Bronwyn had lost count of the men of Wraith, but they now outnumbered the knights by at least three to one.
‘You’re not in Tor Fuck-weir any more, sir… or whatever I’m supposed to call you,’ he responded with venom.
Another man of Wraith, carrying a large war-hammer and wearing heavy chain mail, stepped forward from the gatehouse to s
tand behind Fallon. He had four men with him, each holding a pair of throwing-axes. The lieutenant wheeled his horse round and saw that he was surrounded.
The man with the hammer was older than his fellows and had one white eye with a deep scar across the socket.
‘No man in the Grass Sea is foolish enough to come here unannounced, Red man. Are you eager to die?’ he asked with a broad grin, causing a dozen of the men of Wraith to laugh.
Fallon drew his sword. ‘Watch your mouth, white-eye,’ he barked.
‘Fallon, sheathe that weapon now,’ ordered Verellian.
Fallon did as he was told but kept a hard stare directed through the rain at the man with the hammer. The rest of the knights formed up in a rough circle, facing outwards towards the men of Wraith. A few un-slung shields from their saddles and held them defensively, taking heed of the numerous throwing-axes held by the Ranen.
‘To whom am I speaking?’ asked Verellian, still maintaining his calm.
‘My name is Horrock. I’m called Green Blade. This is my land and these are my people,’ he said loudly, evoking a muted cheer from the rest of Wraith Company. ‘You are not welcome here, Red man. These are the Freelands of Ranen and your god has no power here.’
The men of Wraith were evidently ready for a fight. Bronwyn crouched down in her place of concealment, not wanting to become involved if blood were to be spilt. She knew that the knights would not back down, as it was the way of the Red to answer a challenge and not to yield, even when faced with overwhelming odds.