The Long War 01 - The Black Guard

by A. J. Smith

  William was silent for a moment as the others threw comments back and forth, arguing over how and why the king of Tor Funweir could be so reckless. William could tell from the way Hasim sat, mostly in silence, with a troubled look on his dark features, that, besides himself, he alone realized that Ameira the Lady of Spiders was behind this.

  Horrock stayed in his chair as Haffen Red Face growled out oaths of violence and challenges directed at King Sebastian Tiris. The captain of Wraith Company let his man swear for a few minutes before he silenced him with a sharp motion of his hand.

  ‘Haffen, that’s enough. We all have work to do and defences to prepare,’ he said, his mind clearly racing.

  As William had feared, it looked as if Wraith Company would not be retreating to the safety of the eastern Freelands, or north to Hammerfall and Fjorlan. Horrock evidently had no intention of leaving the ruins of Ro Hail or the realm of Wraith to be overrun by knights of the Red.

  ‘You could fall back,’ said William hesitantly, causing the three Ranen men to stop talking and turn to him.

  ‘Silence, Red man,’ roared Haffen. ‘You’ve said all you need to say.’ He turned back to Horrock. ‘Shall I chain him up downstairs again, captain, or maybe cleave in his head?’

  To William’s surprise, Horrock stood and slapped Haffen sharply across the face, causing blood to appear at the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Calm down,’ said Horrock quietly, maintaining a serene demeanour as he reprimanded his axe-master.

  The big Ranen shook his head and then looked apologetically at the floor. ‘I’m sorry, Horrock. I’m angry and I let it show in my words. It won’t happen again.’ With his head bowed, Haffen looked like a scolded child.

  ‘Don’t worry, just keep your head together and do as I say. Do you understand?’

  He nodded. The respect the men of Wraith had for their captain was evident in their faces whenever they spoke to him, but William was still a little taken aback at the way the Free Company operated. They had no ranks, save captain, and clearly functioned on the basis of mutual need and respect. It was a far cry from the enforced servitude of the Ro church and the austere life of salutes and bowed heads that the knights of the Red had to endure.

  Horrock turned to William and said softly, ‘Yes, Sir Verellian, we could fall back. But until I know more than I do at this moment, we’re not going to.’

  He clearly didn’t feel the need to explain himself further to William, as he turned back to Haffen and said, ‘Send a fast rider to Johan Long Shadow at South Warden. He needs to muster Scarlet Company and ride west. Tell him what has happened here. I’ll wait for him to talk to me through his cloud stone.’

  Haffen stood listening to his captain speak. When he had understood everything, he nodded and quickly left the balcony, deliberately not looking at William as he did so.

  Horrock then spoke to the other man, just as calmly. ‘It’ll take over a month, but ride hard for Ranen Gar and Greywood Company. Stop in the Deep Cross and have them get word to Fjorlan. Go, now.’

  The second Ranen left with his instructions and Horrock slowly resumed his seat. Hasim was still deep in thought and Lady Bronwyn just looked upset, as if her world was collapsing around her.

  William did not interrupt the silence, but merely looked out over the balcony towards the broken town beyond. Ro Hail was a meagre and unattractive prize, but an important one. It was the only staging point north of Canarn from which an invasion of Ranen would stand a chance, and its capture would have huge symbolic value to either side.

  Wraith Company could do huge damage if an army simply rode into the ruins, but the Ranen could not possibly win if a large force of knights were to encircle the town, intent on its capture. If the Ro took the ruined position and fortified it, they would be very hard to shift, even if the men of Fjorlan came south as they had done two hundred years before when Ro Hail last changed hands. It had been attacked and defended numerous times since then but, for nearly fifty years now, it had been safe in Ranen hands. Duke Hector of Canarn and his father had both been moderate rulers, fostering friendly relations with the Free Companies and strengthening the truce.

  ‘And what to do with you,’ Horrock said suddenly, looking up to focus his piercing eyes on William, who was absently rubbing his shaven head.

  ‘I ask for nothing, unless you’d consider letting me go,’ the knight said with a thin smile.

  The inscrutable Ranen showed no sign that he was amused by this comment and, after a moment, turned to Lady Bronwyn. ‘He was your pursuer. Perhaps you should have the final say on his fate.’

  Bronwyn looked uncomfortable with the responsibility for a man’s life and involuntarily turned to Al-Hasim, who merely held his hands wide, indicating that he wasn’t going to be much help.

  ‘I don’t want to see anyone else dead,’ she said quietly, ‘but we can’t let him go. He’d just resume his command and you’d have to capture or kill him again.’

  ‘Wise words,’ said Horrock.

  ‘So, we keep him as a captive?’ she asked, clearly unsure of herself.

  Hasim leant in and said, in a slightly patronizing tone, ‘He gave you the right to decide, my lady. You don’t need to ask permission.’

  ‘And I don’t need your commentary, Karesian,’ she shot back with authority.

  Horrock let out a slight laugh at this. ‘She does have a noble streak, after all,’ he said casually, before turning back to William. ‘Lady Bronwyn of Canarn has spoken and you are now a captive of Wraith Company.’

  William shook his head at the exchange. ‘I knew that already, but thank you for the clarification.’

  ‘But now, Sir Verellian, you don’t need to worry about me or any of my men killing you on a whim,’ Horrock said, as if it made all the difference in the world.

  ‘And if I give you my word that I won’t try to escape, will you allow me to take off this chain and… maybe put on some proper clothing?’ William asked.

  ‘No, I will not,’ Horrock replied, with no hint of humour.

  ‘Good, I’m so glad.’ William was, to some degree, resigned to his fate, but he would still have liked to be treated with the respect due to his rank. ‘I’m not sure you realize how cold it is in the north and this cloak is little protection against the weather.’

  Hasim interjected, ‘I can find you a tunic or something downstairs, but no armour… but you’d have guessed that already,’ he added with a broad smile.

  Horrock sized up the knight of the Red, noting his shaven head and lack of facial hair. ‘You should grow a man’s beard, it’ll help with the cold.’ Again, he spoke in such a way that William couldn’t tell if he was joking.

  ‘Well, assuming you don’t have a razor or soap for me to use, that decision may well be taken out of my hands,’ he responded with a wry grin.

  ‘You’d look less like a hawk and my men would be less wary around you. Most of them were raised never to trust a Ro or a man with no beard, so you are doubly distrusted,’ Horrock said, reaching for a glass of something resting on a low table next to him. ‘Hasim, if you’d take an instruction from me, go and see the knight properly attired. I need a word in private with her ladyship.’

  Hasim nodded and placed a reassuring hand on Bronwyn’s shoulder before standing and picking up the length of chain still attached to William’s ankle.

  As he was led back down into the ruined building, the knight captain thought he should pray. He’d been taught always to retreat into the ordered embrace of the One at times of stress; but he couldn’t. He’d seen things in the last few hours that a knight of the Red is not supposed to see, and it had weakened his faith.

  CHAPTER 3

  MAGNUS FORKBEARD RAGNARSSON IN THE CITY OF RO CANARN

  Magnus had lost track of the days he’d spent in the filthy cell, but it was probably at least two weeks. William of Verellian had made sure that he had water to wash himself, before the knight of the Red had journeyed north in pursuit of Bronwyn, and the luxur
y of clean water each day made Magnus’s incarceration more bearable.

  Castus, the gaoler, was less bothered about Magnus’s desire for cleanliness, but the black eye he’d worn for several days after Verellian’s lieutenant had struck him was enough motivation for him at least to follow orders. The gaoler had even begun feeding the prisoner properly, rather than simply throwing the food on the floor.

  Magnus was tired and weak from languishing in a cell too small for exercise and too bare to sleep in comfortably. His shoulders ached and his throat felt scratchy and raw from breathing in the dust and debris from the funeral pyres that burned constantly in the square beyond his cell window. Sir Rillion had secured the town with brutality and the promise of a painful death for anyone who resisted his occupation. Now, weeks after the assault, Ro Canarn was a shadow of the town it had once been.

  The Brown chapel had remained untouched and Brother Lanry had been allowed to return to the town to assist the populace. Those who had hidden in their homes during the assault were beginning to emerge and food was in short supply, with all the shops and businesses shut down, destroyed or pillaged clean by the mercenaries. The cleric was a good man and had quickly begun organizing the people to make sure everyone was fed. He’d probably butted heads with the mercenaries, but even they wouldn’t think to kill a cleric of the One God.

  Magnus had seen much from his cell window and had pieced together a picture of Rillion’s actions. He had left the worst atrocities to Sir Hallam Pevain’s mercenaries and Magnus thought the blind eye the commander turned to Pevain’s actions cowardly and vile. The knights wouldn’t torture, kill and rape the defeated populace themselves, but they openly allowed such behaviour on the part of their allies.

  The level of dungeons in which Magnus was imprisoned had become progressively emptier over the weeks. With no fight left in the town, the mercenaries had begun to question, torture and then kill the duke’s guard, leaving Magnus almost alone with dozens of empty cells around him. The commanders had been taken first, dragged from their cells by Pevain’s men and tied alive to wooden stakes in the square. The last one had been burned several days ago – for no reason other than to amuse the mercenaries, thought Magnus. The rank and file soldiers of Canarn had met a similar fate, though they had been burned in groups of three or four, and the noise of their deaths had pained Magnus greatly. He knew that without Verellian’s men in the keep, Pevain and his mercenaries had little to fear. Even the other knights of the Red had slowly disappeared from the town. Magnus thought Rillion must be pulling them back to the great hall for some reason, leaving the town to the ravages of the mercenaries, with only the old Brown cleric to stand up for the populace.

  Magnus’s thoughts were interrupted by sounds from the end of the cell block and he could hear armoured men moving with purpose along the hall. There were more feet than just those of Castus and his men approaching Magnus’s cell, and he was filled with foreboding. With no one else left to interrogate, he thought his time had finally come and he would welcome the opportunity to stand before Rowanoco in his ice halls beyond the world.

  The first knight to appear was Nathan of Du Ban, a worm of a man about whom Verellian had warned him. Behind him was Rashabald the executioner and trailing along at the back were Castus and his men.

  ‘Magnus Forkbeard of Fredericksand, brother to Algenon Teardrop and priestly pain in the One’s holy arse,’ Nathan began, his blonde hair ruffled by the wind that perpetually blew along the prison corridor. ‘You have been summoned by Lord Commander Rillion.’

  Magnus stepped forward and regarded the knight. He was undoubtedly a true fighting man, as was the executioner, but both had the smug expressions of men who had never truly known hardship or had their roles in life questioned. These were high-born men, of the noble warrior class of the knights, each with a number of personal insignia and individual heraldic devices displayed on their armour. They were not clerics of the Purple, but among lesser men they wielded almost as much power, and Magnus knew that they had come to collect him personally for more reason than just the Ranen’s fearsome martial prowess.

  ‘So, I am to die today?’ Magnus asked grimly.

  Nathan smiled and Rashabald laughed. Castus began to join in the laughter, but a hard glare from the two knights shut him up. Magnus was again gratified that the bound man was not held in high regard by his superiors.

  ‘I don’t believe so, Ranen. Though Lord Rillion does not divulge his mind to me, so it is possible,’ Nathan responded. ‘You are to be a trophy of conquest, a symbol of our great victory over the traitorous men of Canarn.’

  Magnus snarled and lunged forward, clamping his huge hands on to the cell bars and casting baleful eyes over Nathan’s face. The knight did not react with anything more than an amused smile, but Rashabald and Castus both jumped at the sudden movement.

  ‘Why am I tormented by petty men? Have I not done enough to warrant a clean and honourable death?’ Magnus addressed the query skywards and almost shouted each word in anger and frustration.

  Nathan turned to Rashabald. ‘You see, brother, the instincts of a caged animal are common among the barbarian north men. I’m frequently amazed that they have proven such a thorn in our side for so long.’

  The executioner responded with a nervous smile. To Magnus he appeared nothing more than an old man doing a coward’s job. He was living on borrowed time, in Magnus’s estimation, for his beheading of Duke Hector and numerous other honourable men. Magnus was ignorant of what had happened over the last two weeks, aside from the fact that Bronwyn had not yet been found and Hasim had been taken north with Verellian, but he could barely tolerate another moment in his cell and his mind was filled with thoughts of blood and vengeance.

  ‘Step back, Ranen,’ said Nathan, with scorn, as he drew his longsword.

  Magnus didn’t move; instead, he gripped the cell bars even harder, turning his knuckles red and growling down at the men of Ro. Nathan smiled viciously and stepped forward, coming to a stop within a few inches of the huge Ranen.

  Nathan was a large man, though still small compared with Magnus, but his bearing and evident confidence rendered him a man to be taken seriously.

  ‘I am not afraid of you, Father Magnus. If you try anything I don’t like – and I do mean anything – I will gladly kill you, and Lord Rillion can parade lesser men before the king,’ he said menacingly.

  Magnus had suspected that King Sebastian Tiris would be arriving in Canarn at some point, so this was not a surprise. Rillion’s order that the knights should pull back from the town and leave it in the care of Pevain’s men was most likely in preparation for their monarch’s arrival.

  ‘Your king is here?’ asked the Ranen priest, letting his growl die down and his hands relax slightly on the bars.

  ‘He’ll be arriving within the hour, at the head of a Red fleet, and you are to be brought before him as a sign of our victory,’ Rashabald said, with a note of pride in his old, croaky voice.

  ‘If your king has as little honour as you, I would rather spit in his face,’ Magnus said in defiance.

  Nathan didn’t react to the insult and told Rashabald to be silent when the executioner began to splutter. Castus took a step forwards and half drew his longsword.

  ‘My lord, shall I cut his filthy tongue out?’ the gaoler asked, braver now that he had the backup of the knights.

  ‘I don’t think that would be wise,’ Nathan replied, maintaining his calm. ‘Rillion wants him unspoiled when he’s presented to the king.’

  Magnus was led from his cell, along the empty corridor and up into the keep. It was early morning and the air, though crisp and clear, still held the odour of death that hung across the courtyard. The knights were now in full dress uniform and arrayed in shallow columns lining the path from the drawbridge up to the great hall, though the city itself had been left in the charge of Hallam Pevain and his mercenaries.

  All the knights sported freshly cleaned red cloaks and their armour had been mended
and polished to a burnished shine, with the tabard of crossed longswords over a clenched fist visible on every chest. Magnus estimated that the knights were preparing for further action.

  Dark thoughts again entered his mind, much as they had when he had been led to witness Duke Hector’s execution several weeks ago, though what he now suspected was a potential invasion of the Grass Sea. Magnus couldn’t think of any other reason for the knights’ continued presence in the broken remains of Ro Canarn and for the arrival of King Sebastian Tiris.

  The courtyard had been left much as it was the last time Magnus had seen it, and its lack of order and cleanliness spoke volumes about the knights’ intentions. They had not made any particular effort to occupy the city, beyond subjugating its populace, and the ruined wooden buildings visible beyond the keep had been left where they had fallen. If Rillion and the king had truly cared about Canarn, they would not have allowed its rape and pillage at the hands of Pevain.

  ‘Why have your knights not tried to repair the city?’ Magnus asked of Captain Nathan as the small group moved down the line of knights and across the courtyard to the drawbridge leading into the town.

  ‘Why should we? We’re knights of the Red, not carpenters and masons,’ Nathan replied with arrogance.

  ‘It’ll teach ’em a lesson to see their homes burning,’ supplied Castus, with a vile grin.

  Nathan again shot the gaoler a questioning look, but it turned to a smile of agreement.

  ‘I still plan to kill you, gaoler,’ said Magnus, without turning to look at the unpleasant little man.

  ‘Stop!’ ordered Nathan as he stepped in front of the chained Ranen and glared up into his eyes.

  Rashabald tugged on the chain, causing Magnus to halt in front of the knight captain. ‘Look around you, priest.’ He gestured at the hundred or more armoured knights lining the courtyard. ‘You are a man to be feared, no doubt, but this is not a fight for you. Castus is a man bound to the Red church and is accorded privilege as such. One more word of that kind and I will have to punish you.’