by A. J. Smith
‘Boy, tend to the knight when you’re finished over there,’ he said reluctantly.
Horrock ushered away the woman behind him and stepped closer to Hasim and Bronwyn. The captain of Wraith Company was not wounded and his piercing blue eyes regarded the two outsiders with interest. Bronwyn found his face inscrutable and could not read his intentions.
‘I suppose we need to have a conversation. Would you agree, your ladyship?’ he asked her.
She glanced at Hasim and was surprised that Horrock had addressed her first. The Karesian smiled reassuringly and nodded.
‘Of course, Captain Horrock,’ she replied, ‘though, I would like to see the knight tended to first. He will die if someone doesn’t look after him.’
It had occurred to Bronwyn that she was still technically a noblewoman of Tor Funweir and she had a certain obligation to see that William of Verellian was cared for properly.
Horrock grunted a sound that might have been one of amusement or of annoyance. ‘Soft hearts don’t last long around here,’ he said, with a shallow nod of his head, making his words even more ambiguous.
‘Neither do men with axe wounds to their back and chest,’ Bronwyn shot back, eliciting a good-natured laugh from Hasim, which made several of the nearby Ranen glare at him.
‘Sorry,’ the Karesian said with an awkward smile, ‘I can’t help myself.’
‘No need to apologize, Karesian,’ said Horrock, ‘but you must understand that many of my people have lost brothers, husbands, sons and friends. Humour is not easily found at such times.’
Bronwyn looked over the faces of the people of Wraith and, for a moment, she thought her insistence on proper care for the knight was petty. She could see many tearful faces. These people were not nobles, knights or soldiers. They were common men and women who had chosen to fight to protect the Freelands.
‘Stone Dog,’ ordered Horrock, ‘care for the knight. See that he doesn’t die.’
The young Ranen grumbled but he didn’t argue as he moved to grab a wet towel and several bandages from the boy.
‘He’ll need those wounds sewn, Horrock.’ Stone Dog knelt down next to the unconscious knight.
‘You can handle a needle, boy. Get to it,’ replied the captain of Wraith Company.
‘You two,’ he pointed at Hasim and Bronwyn, ‘come with me.’
‘Dispossessed minor nobles first,’ Hasim said to Bronwyn, as he motioned for her to follow Horrock.
Bronwyn shot him a narrow glare, letting him know that she didn’t appreciate his attempt at humour, and then walked after the Ranen. The two of them followed Horrock through the large entrance room, past wounded men lying on makeshift bedrolls and hastily erected tables. Many of the wounds were minor – thin cuts and shallow thrusts from the Red knights’ longswords. A few looked more serious – severed limbs and wounds deep enough to be life-threatening. The women of Wraith were responsible for the care of the wounded and Bronwyn was impressed with their manner. Orders were barked almost in military fashion, and the uninjured men who remained in the basement were quickly made to help tend their fellows. Concoctions and poultices, producing strange earthy smells, were being prepared by several of the older women. Bronwyn realized the absence of a priest to heal the wounded was a major problem for the people of Wraith.
The Ranen barely registered the presence of Bronwyn and Hasim, standing only to nod to Horrock before returning to their bloody work. The Ranen captain led them through the main area and down a narrow stone corridor lit by globed candles and adorned with all manner of trophies. The Free Companies were renowned for taking items from fallen foes to remind them of their need to be ever vigilant, and the corridor was a grim sight for a woman of Ro.
Multiple broken longswords, some incredibly old, hung from the walls. Several flattened suits of armour had been riveted to the stone and Bronwyn was a little taken aback by the colours on display. It was clear that in their time Wraith Company had killed churchmen of multiple orders. Though red was the most common colour, Bronwyn could also identify purple armour, the brown robes and even a single suit of black armour, indicating that a cleric of death had fallen beneath a Ranen axe at some point in the past.
Horrock stopped at a heavy stone door, clearly more recent than the rest of the basement complex, and reached inside his tunic for a large iron key. He opened the door and Bronwyn could instantly smell the rain again as she saw a stone staircase leading back up towards the ruined town of Ro Hail.
‘Things always look different when observed from higher up,’ Horrock said without turning, as he began to ascend the stairs.
Bronwyn and Hasim followed and found themselves standing on the shattered balcony of a large stone building looking out towards what had once been the northern wall of the town. It was still raining, though a cleverly built awning protected them from the weather. The balcony was large enough comfortably to seat a dozen or more people and it held several chairs, a large stone table and an open cupboard containing bottles of dark liquid.
‘Do you south folk drink ale, wine or something stronger?’ asked Horrock, sitting down in the largest chair and gently nudging the cupboard with his foot.
Hasim crouched down in front of the bottles and began looking through the various kinds of liquor. He picked up a large bottle, which looked to Bronwyn to be made of stone rather than glass, and held it up towards Horrock.
‘This is Volk frost beer. It’s worth a small fortune in Ro Tiris,’ he said with a twinkle in his eye.
‘I’d better finish it before you steal it, then,’ said Horrock, grabbing the bottle from Hasim’s hand and removing the stopper.
Bronwyn sat opposite him and suddenly felt exhausted. She rubbed her eyes and breathed in and out heavily. Hasim put a comforting hand on her shoulder before taking a seat himself.
‘I think you’re safer than you’ve been for a few weeks, your ladyship,’ he said gently. ‘A drink couldn’t hurt. There’s some good Darkwald red in here.’
‘That’s the only bottle I have that was legally obtained,’ Horrock interjected, and Bronwyn again found it difficult to tell whether the Ranen chieftain was joking or not.
Each of them selected a drink and within minutes the rain changed from a persistent annoyance to a relaxing accompaniment to a well-deserved rest. Bronwyn sipped on a glass of full-bodied red wine, Hasim drank some Karesian desert nectar straight from the bottle and Horrock took small mouthfuls of the fiery Volk frost beer.
‘Now, am I expected to ask you questions?’ Horrock suddenly asked. ‘Or can we just assume I’ve asked them all and the two of you just tell me the whole story?’
Bronwyn nodded at Hasim, signifying that he should begin.
‘Well, it’s quite simple really, Algenon Teardrop sent me to find out why a Karesian enchantress was in Canarn.’ He looked down at the floor and continued. ‘It seems she was there to orchestrate the sacking of the city and the murder and imprisonment of its people.’ There was regret in his voice. ‘I found this out a bit late, though… around the same time I found out that the bitch had a company of Red knights suckling on her tits.’
Horrock narrowed his eyes. In Bronwyn’s estimation, the man of Wraith would have known about the assault on her home, but not about the Seven Sisters’ involvement. The Ranen considered the enchantresses their enemies and their presence was not tolerated as it was in Tor Funweir. The One God, it seemed, was less quick to anger than Rowanoco. Long ago, the Order of the Hammer had forbidden the Sisters from entering the Freelands.
‘And you’ve told Teardrop this?’ Horrock asked.
Hasim nodded. ‘He gave me a cloud stone. I used it after the battle, so he knows roughly what happened.’
Ranen cloud stones were made from the deep ice of Fjorlan and the northern lords often used them to communicate across great distances. Bronwyn had seen a few in her time, and Magnus had explained that they allowed words to travel through the void of the Giants to reach anyone the speaker desired. He had evidently
thought that was an adequate explanation. Suffice to say, they were powerful and much-coveted items.
‘I’m more concerned with the balls it takes for a company of Red knights to march into Ro Hail and start throwing their weight around. Whether they accept it or not, this is not Tor Funweir.’ Horrock had clearly taken offence at the idea of men of Ro being in the realm of Wraith. ‘How many of them took the city?’ he asked.
‘A knight called Rillion led the assault with a couple of hundred Red men. It was the mercenaries that cleaned up though – a bastard called Pevain and his sadistic hired swords.’
Horrock shot an interested look at the Karesian. ‘I’ve heard of this Pevain. He lent his sword to Rulag Ursa when he seized Jarvik… the man’s a troll cunt.’ Horrock took a large gulp of frost beer and looked out over the ruined town of Ro Hail, deep in thought.
Bronwyn took the break in conversation as a cue to relax into her chair. The wine she drank was full and rich and made the tiredness she already felt flow over her more acutely. Hasim looked equally tired, but he was also alert in a way that Bronwyn was not. This was all new to her – the riding, the sleeping rough, the brutal battle – and all she really wanted to do was sleep.
She looked at the captain of Wraith Company sitting opposite her. He was a hard-looking man, tall and broad-shouldered, with many scars, but Bronwyn thought his eyes betrayed a thoughtfulness that struck her as out of place. He’d ordered Verellian kept alive, something that many Ranen warriors would have found unthinkable, and she guessed that Captain Horrock Green Blade of Wraith Company had achieved his position through brains as well as brawn.
‘So, all my men who stayed behind are dead… and Father Magnus?’ he asked, without turning back to Hasim and Bronwyn.
‘I suspect that’s why Verellian attacked. He knew that all your Ranen in Canarn had been killed by Pevain’s men. Magnus was being kept alive for some reason – I think at the urging of the enchantress – but he was well when I left,’ Hasim replied.
‘Hopefully, the pile of red meat downstairs can tell us what the bastards are up to when… if… he wakes up.’ Horrock drank deeply again and looked as if he had finished speaking for now.
CHAPTER 2
SIR WILLIAM OF VERELLIAN IN THE RUINS OF RO HAIL
William woke up slowly, his head pounding, his legs weak and his vision black and cloudy. He could taste blood on his lips and his right hand felt numb and painful. He was cold and couldn’t feel his armour or greaves against his skin. Above him there was a light and crouching next to him was a young Ranen man, looking intently at a large white dressing across William’s chest.
Another figure stood nearby and, through his blurry vision, William thought that this was a woman and that she was carrying something. He tried to speak but the sound came out as a barely audible grunt and William was hit by a wave of extreme fatigue. The woman hefted the object she was carrying and a bucket of freezing-cold water flooded over the injured Red knight.
‘Well, I do believe our Red man is still alive,’ said the man crouching next to him.
William spluttered through the water and panted heavily as his vision began to clear. He was in a stone basement, surrounded by other injured men, and people wearing the blue cloak of Wraith were feverishly running around tending to the wounded. As far as he could tell, William was the only knight there and a sinking feeling filled him as he realized his men were all dead.
‘Don’t try to move,’ said the woman, ‘you’ve been leaking blood all over the floor.’
She was an older Ranen woman, perhaps fifty years old, and her hands were gnarled and bloodstained. She bore a slight resemblance to the young man of Wraith crouching next to him and William thought they were probably related.
He’d been positioned away from the majority of the injured Ranen and could see no few pairs of eyes glaring at him.
‘I need a drink,’ he said weakly. ‘In a cup rather than a bucket, if that’s possible.’
The young Ranen chuckled at this. ‘Get him some water, Freya. Maybe in a golden goblet or something else suited to a knight of Tor Funweir.’
The woman smiled and William lost sight of her amidst the press of Ranen in the stone basement.
‘Don’t get delusions, Red man. I only saved your life because the captain asked me to. I’d happily cleave your head in.’ The young Ranen punctuated this statement with an aggressive growl.
William shifted his weight and tried to raise himself up on his hands. He noticed that his right hand was bandaged and vaguely remembered losing some fingers to a thrown axe. The pain was dull and easy enough to ignore for a true fighting man, but William was concerned that his sword hand was badly impaired.
He managed to pull himself into a seated position and shuffled against the wall. The Ranen lent him a helping hand, which William felt was strange given the attitude he’d shown so far, but he clearly had no intention of disobeying his captain’s orders.
‘What’s your name, man of Wraith?’ William asked, trying to show gratitude for having his wounds treated.
‘I’m Micah, called Stone Dog. And you’re… somebody of Verellian?’ he asked, making a slight mess of the pronunciation.
‘Sir William of Verellian, knight captain of the Red.’ He spoke his title with little grandeur, knowing it meant little among the Free Companies. ‘Will I live?’
‘Unfortunately, yes. It seems I’m actually quite a good healer. It’s a shame really. Your back wound is minor, but Horrock split your breastplate with his axe and you had steel shards in the wound.’
William began to play the fight through in his mind, from Fallon’s initial attack to the axe blow that ended the encounter. He remembered seeing Sergeant Bracha pulled from his horse and beheaded in the stone courtyard, and Callis take a throwing-axe to the back of the head. He had left Ro Arnon with twenty-five men, all of whom were probably now dead, although he still hoped that Fallon had somehow managed to escape. His lieutenant was a cunning bastard and William suspected he’d be okay.
‘Why am I being kept alive when all my men are dead?’ he asked in a low, tired voice.
Stone Dog considered, while he looked at William’s bandaged right hand. ‘You’re in charge, right? That means you can tell the captain why you decided to break a truce that has lasted two hundred years.’
William tried to reply quickly, but coughed involuntarily instead, and again felt deeply fatigued.
After a minute of laboured coughing, he said, ‘I didn’t break any truce. We came here looking for a fugitive and your men were going to kill us. The only chance of survival we had was to strike first.’
Stone Dog chuckled again. ‘Turned out well for you, striking first,’ he said plainly, reminding William that his men were all dead.
The older woman returned with a small clay cup and passed it to William. He could grasp it, but his hand felt weak and the water only just reached his lips. He looked at his intact left hand and wished he’d paid more attention to using both hands when he was on the training grounds of Ro Arnon. Learning to fight left-handed would be difficult for a seasoned knight like William. He was set in his ways and he wondered whether he’d ever be the same fearsome swordsman he’d once been.
‘You’re lucky, Red man,’ said the woman. ‘My boy here is well schooled in the healing arts and, since your man killed our priest, it was touch and go whether we could stop the bleeding.’ She glanced around the stone basement. ‘Plenty of our men weren’t so lucky. We used valuable supplies to keep you alive.’
William leant back and took another drink of water, feeling strength return to his limbs. ‘Do you really feel the need to remind me that I’m an outsider here? And that I’m lucky to be cared for? And that you’d both rather see me dead?’
Stone Dog and Freya looked at each other before they shared a laugh at William’s words. The Free Companies were known for their boisterous sense of humour and cavalier attitude to death. In fact, their ability to laugh in the face of blood and sl
aughter was infamous.
‘Of course, it’s possible Horrock will still kill you… if he doesn’t like what you have to say,’ said Stone Dog.
‘I don’t know what he expects me to say. He’s surely not an idiot and he was there. He saw what happened as much as I did.’
William had a certain instinct for survival and, like all knights of the Red, he would never give his life away easily. The thought of being summarily executed bothered him and he began thinking of ways to escape. However, his various wounds made it unlikely he’d be able to walk unaided, let alone run, any time soon. He resigned himself to his predicament and tried to relax. For now at least, he wasn’t going anywhere.
The basement was becoming progressively emptier as the dead were removed and those who had been healed were taken to beds and rooms elsewhere within the underground complex. William had no hatred for the people of Wraith and he disliked it that he’d been forced into a position where confronting them was the only option. Tough as the men of Wraith Company were, he knew they couldn’t stand up to a focused assault and, given the situation in Ro Canarn, he was sure they’d have to run if faced with an army of Red knights. An invasion of Ranen, which had been vaguely suggested by Knight Commander Rillion, was clearly not suspected by these people. William considered whether or not he should tell them. In his estimation, that would not be a betrayal because ultimately it would result in fewer deaths and a swift resolution to the campaign. Wraith Company would not be able to hold the Grass Sea against the kind of army the king would bring with him. To stay and fight would result in a massacre.
As he thought, William began to feel his eyelids droop and his fatigue turn into a desperate need for sleep. The floor was cold and he was dressed only in woollen leggings with a Wraith cloak wrapped around his shoulders, but he was tired enough to sleep regardless.
Stone Dog and Freya took a last look at his dressings and then returned to their business elsewhere in the ruins of Ro Hail. William was left more or less alone, though the heavy wooden door that led up from the basement was securely locked, making escape impossible for the time being. All things considered, Sir William of Verellian decided he would be best served by sleeping and trying to recover his strength.