The Long War 01 - The Black Guard

by A. J. Smith

  ‘Now, your highness,’ said Halla, ‘we need you to call off your attack.’ She tried to convey as much menace as possible, despite the increasing pain in her shoulder. ‘If you don’t do exactly as I say… this man,’ she gestured to the hulking form of Wulfrick, ‘is going to start cutting things off.’

  Wulfrick smiled and tightened his grip around King Sebastian’s neck. ‘I’ll start with your fingers… then your hands… and by the time they get to identify your body, there won’t be much left.’

  The king was shaking violently in the axe-master’s grasp and he nodded at Halla. He was utterly broken, and the men of Fjorlan were looking at her with silent admiration. Her plan had worked thus far, with only a handful of Ranen dead.

  The company of men sheathed their weapons and made their way quickly through the tents to the north. Falling Cloud joined them after a moment and looked with concern at Wulfrick’s side and Halla’s shoulder.

  ‘You two need healing,’ he said.

  ‘That can wait,’ replied Halla. ‘Rexel Falling Cloud, may I present King Sebastian Tiris.’

  Wulfrick shoved the monarch forward and Falling Cloud looked at him, raising his eyebrows before smiling. ‘Not very noble-looking, is he?’

  ‘Rexel, don’t be mean,’ said Wulfrick. ‘The little lamb is covered in his own piss… that would ruin anyone’s day.’

  A laugh erupted from several of the nearby Fjorlanders.

  ‘There are still a lot of things that can go wrong with this,’ said Halla, more nervously than she intended, ‘so let’s keep alert until it’s done.’

  Once they emerged through the last line of deserted tents and past the bodies of those killed by Falling Cloud and his men, Halla saw the wide vista of knights and catapults arrayed across the plain before them. The encircling troops were still distant, but Halla nevertheless gasped at the enormous numbers of troops laying siege to Ro Hail.

  Immediately in front of them were ten catapults – tall wooden engines designed to throw boulders a great distance – and Oleff Hard Head grinned viciously as Halla arrived.

  ‘Lady Summer Wolf, artillery at the ready,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Who’s your friend, Wulfrick?’

  ‘This? Oh, don’t you worry about him, he’s just a king I found cowering in a tent and begging for his life,’ replied the huge axe-master.

  Oleff took a step towards the captive monarch and paused, nose to nose with the king. ‘Good evening, you cowardly troll cunt,’ he grunted, showering the king with spit.

  ‘Please,’ King Sebastian pleaded, ‘my life is worth much… you will be rich if you leave me unharmed.’

  Oleff erupted into anger and said loudly, ‘Look around you, shit-stain, do we look like money means anything to us?’

  ‘Enough, Oleff,’ ordered Halla. ‘Are the catapults ready?’

  The chain-master brought his anger under control and turned back to Halla. ‘Sorry, my lady, it’s rare I get to look into the face of a man responsible for so much needless death… killing Ro makes me lose my manners.’ He breathed in deeply and continued, ‘Ten catapults sighted and ready. They’re pointed at the nearest company of knights and should get their attention.’

  ‘Very well. Falling Cloud, assemble the men in columns behind us. Look mean, but don’t start anything.’

  Rexel nodded and turned to issue orders to the men of Fjorlan, who quickly responded by forming into loosely packed lines behind the catapults.

  ‘Wulfrick, I imagine they’ll charge us as soon as they realize what’s going on,’ she said to the axe-master, who was now holding the king off the ground with an enormous arm round his waist. ‘As soon as they get close enough, show them our captive.’

  ‘Let’s just hope they stop,’ Oleff joked.

  ‘They will… they will,’ spluttered the king from his undignified position under Wulfrick’s arm. ‘I’ll order them to stop and they wouldn’t risk my safety.’ King Sebastian was less a king and more of a sheltered noble – a far cry from the rulers Halla Summer Wolf had been used to. Algenon Teardrop would have given his life rather than be captured and the axe-maiden momentarily pitied the men of Ro for having to live under the rule of such a man.

  She crouched down next to King Sebastian and let her single eye stare into his face. ‘You’d better scream your orders at the top of your lungs, your highness,’ she said quietly. ‘We wouldn’t want the knights not to hear you now, would we? If they don’t, I promise you, you’ll be the first to die.’

  Her men showed pride on their faces and she heard whispered words of triumph behind her. The survivors of the Kraken sea had had little to be happy about for weeks, but as they looked at their commanders and at the broken king, each battle-brother wore an expression of elation at the overwhelming odds they had overcome.

  ‘Oleff, send the knights my warmest regards,’ Halla ordered.

  ‘A pleasure, my lady,’ he responded, giving her a respectful salute.

  A simple downward wave of his arm and the Ranen at the base of each catapult levered the engine into life. Each artillery piece gave out a loud noise as the wood of the arm struck the padded bracer at the top, and the catapults jumped forwards as ten huge boulders were launched high into the air. Halla smiled to herself and followed their trajectory as they flew into the dark sky, before arcing sharply down.

  The first impact was loud and could be heard clearly, even at their distant position. Halla saw armoured men fly in all directions as the boulders smashed into the knights of the Red. She couldn’t see their faces, of course, and could only guess at the confusion caused by the unexpected bombardment, but those companies that had been hit lost their formations instantly and others, not yet hit, began to move away from the city walls to regroup. She heard trumpets sound – no doubt an alarm call – and within moments a good quarter of the encircling troops were making their way quickly back towards the camp.

  The knights were mounted and drew long lances as they plunged across the muddy ground. It was unlikely that they could see who had fired on them, but the fact that the shots had come from the king’s position had clearly caused well-founded alarm.

  ‘Hold your ground, lads,’ ordered Wulfrick, still firmly holding the king. ‘It looks scary, but they’ll pull up soon enough.’

  ‘Show them the prisoner,’ Halla ordered quietly.

  ‘Get ready to shout, your highness.’

  Wulfrick pulled the smaller man round and held him up effortlessly. King Sebastian was not especially diminutive, but in Wulfrick’s grasp he looked little more than a child as he was held aloft.

  The knights charged towards the line of catapults at an alarming speed, and the assembled Fjorlanders stood their ground nervously, fervently hoping the charge would stop once the men of Ro saw their captured monarch. Halla could identify a Purple cleric among the riders and a decorated older man who she guessed was a knight commander.

  ‘Halt,’ shouted the king through a filter of tears and fear.

  ‘Louder,’ prompted Wulfrick, punching him lightly in the ribs.

  ‘My knights, halt,’ the king repeated loudly, genuinely shouting as loud as he could.

  The Purple cleric was at the head of the knights and squinted to see who was shouting. Halla saw the realization only gradually dawn on his determined face, as he raised his lance and forcefully pulled up on his horse’s reins. The knight commander looked with a mix of anger and surprise as he saw the line of Fjorlanders standing in ranks behind the captured king, and the knights that followed began to pull back on their reins too. Several horses buckled and threw their riders, and several others rode at full tilt into the men in front as the order to halt only gradually reached the back ranks.

  Around a thousand mounted men of Ro stopped on the dark plain in front of the line of catapults. At least a hundred of them had been thrown and some of those had been trampled to death by the heavy warhorses.

  ‘I think we got their attention,’ quipped Oleff nervously, as he looked at the large compa
ny of knights.

  The Purple cleric, a young man with an elaborately crested helmet, rode past the bulk of the riders and was joined by the older knight commander. They broke off from the knights and rode at a trot towards Halla’s position. The other men of Ro followed only slowly, many of them still confused at what was going on.

  ‘Release the king, Ranen heretic,’ ordered the cleric, drawing his longsword.

  ‘Brother Jakan,’ said King Sebastian in a trembling voice, ‘sheathe your sword immediately.’

  Wulfrick slowly lowered the king to the ground and held him roughly with an axe blade across his throat.

  The knight commander, less impetuous than the cleric, kicked his horse a little further forwards and looked at the Ranen warriors before him. His eye was drawn to the dead guardsmen littering the ground behind them and the unconscious body of Cardinal Mobius, casually thrown over a man’s shoulder.

  The knight of the Red was older than the cleric and bore numerous scars, including one that ran the length of his left cheek.

  ‘Knight Commander Tristram,’ the king said, addressing him, ‘you are to lift the siege and stand down.’ His voice was panicked and his eyes had not moved from the bloodstained axe that rested against his neck.

  ‘We’re a long way from Fjorlan,’ the knight stated calmly, addressing Wulfrick. ‘And that’s barely a company… you have no army and no hope of survival.’

  ‘I would listen to your king, red man,’ growled Halla from her position next to Wulfrick. ‘Lift the siege and no one else need die.’

  ‘Silence, one-eye,’ barked the cleric, causing every Fjorlander present to heft his axe and stand at the ready.

  The churchman was clearly taken aback by this show of solidarity and his horse reared as two hundred axe-men growled at him with anger in their eyes.

  ‘Talk to her like that again,’ shouted Oleff, ‘and my friend here will cut something off your king.’

  To emphasize the point, Wulfrick grabbed one of the king’s hands and bent back the fingers, with a vicious grin on his face. The king howled in pain and the men of Ro baulked at the sight.

  ‘Enough,’ shouted Brother Jakan. ‘Release the King… now!’ He still held his sword, despite the command to sheathe it, and Halla thought him likely to do something foolish.

  She stepped close to the knight commander’s horse and spoke quietly. ‘This is what is going to happen, Sir Tristram, you are going to call all of your men back to this camp. We are going to take your king and enter Ro Hail – and you are going to let us.’

  Halla glared at the Ro as she spoke and saw a serious look, tinged with confusion, staring back at her. Tristram was assessing his options as he listened to the axe-maiden, and he appeared to her much more level-headed than the Purple cleric, who was still holding his sword nearby.

  ‘Very well,’ he said plainly and with obvious reluctance. ‘If the king is hurt in any way, I will hunt you to the ends of the earth, axe-bitch.’

  Halla smiled. ‘I’d expect no less. We will release him when Wraith Company is a week’s travel to the east and we are a similar distance north. Understood?’

  Tristram gritted his teeth and nodded, trying to keep his anger in check.

  ‘This is heresy against the One,’ roared the Purple cleric. ‘You will release him now.’

  The front line of Fjorlanders took a step forward at Falling Cloud’s instruction, and Wulfrick grabbed the king’s head, pulling it back to expose his neck.

  ‘This is Rowanoco’s land, boy,’ said the axe-master. ‘Your god doesn’t like the cold.’

  Halla stepped away from the knight and turned to address Brother Jakan as he glared at Wulfrick.

  ‘If I see anyone leaving this camp while we are in the city, the king loses a hand. If you try to follow, he loses an arm,’ she said loudly enough for all present to hear. ‘I expect you to send someone to collect him in a week – no more than five men.’ She smiled. ‘We’ll tie him to a tree and you’d better get to him before the trolls do.’

  Brother Jakan was about to say something, but his words were cut off by Sir Tristram grabbing his sword arm and pulling him back. The knights of the Red looked dejected and Halla breathed a little more easily.

  ‘Do what she says,’ cried King Sebastian in the manner of a frightened child.

  CHAPTER 11

  MAGNUS FORKBEARD RAGNARSSON IN THE CITY OF RO CANARN

  Magnus looked up through the feeding trough and saw the back of the guard silhouetted against the moon. Sir Nathan had insisted that a bound man be stationed there at all times, following Al-Hasim’s appearance, and for almost a month he had been the only regular figure, aside from Castus, in Magnus’s life.

  If escape or rescue were still a possibility, the Ranen priest had largely stopped thinking about it. Instead, his head had been filled with concern for the fate of his people since he had seen the king’s army ride north into the Grass Sea. Captain Horrock was an excellent commander, but he was still a common man leading other common men. If the Fjorlanders were unable to help, as the witch insisted, Magnus knew that Wraith Company would either be wiped out or driven north into the mountains. Added to this was his concern for the fate of Al-Hasim and Bronwyn. He had heard nothing of them since Verellian left almost a month ago, and their fate would now be tied to that of Horrock and the men of Wraith.

  The world was changing and he hated it that he was stuck in a cell while wheels turned and games were played. He wanted to feel the sun on his face and Skeld in his hand. There was much combat and glory to be had and the Order of the Hammer were not animals to be ignored, but rather men to be on the front line, displaying the might of Rowanoco to the enemies of the Ranen people.

  He could see the dark sky of Canarn over the shoulder of his guard and the smell of salt water had returned after weeks of nothing but the scent of death. Things in the town were moderately stable with Pevain and his bastards based in the old lord marshal’s office on the waterfront and the knights largely confined to the inner keep and the great hall. The people of Canarn who remained free were locked in the daily ritual of queuing for the meagre food and water that Pevain allowed them, and almost half the population were either corralled like cattle and starving to death – or already dead, their ashes adorning the town square.

  Rillion and Nathan cared nothing for the common folk of Canarn. Magnus had not seen or heard anything from the senior knights for nearly two weeks. He guessed that Rillion was still annoyed at being confined to the city while the king and Cardinal Mobius marched north. The knight commander had been left with just a skeleton garrison and the actual work was being left to the mercenaries, while the knights sat around and lamented their miserable assignment.

  The enchantress was still here and her assurance that no battle fleet of Fjorlanders was likely to show up any time soon had allowed the knights to relax. The plain truth, as Magnus saw it, was that no one would be coming to his aid or that of Canarn.

  The moon was full and the lack of cloud made for a cold night, though nothing like the extreme temperatures of Magnus’s home, far to the north. He missed the fields of ice and snow and realized he’d not seen his brother or his homeland for a long time. Being in a cell was deeply insulting, but being helpless while his brother and his people struggled for survival was almost too much for the priest to bear.

  He still wore the same woollen leggings and black shirt as when he’d been incarcerated over a month before, and the smell bothered him almost as much as his imprisonment. His face and skin were clean enough and he still received fresh water each day, along with thin, watery gruel and bread, but no change of clothes had been provided – and he longed for the comforting feel of chain mail.

  As he looked out of the small cell, over the shoulder of the bound man, Magnus momentarily thought he saw movement further along the feeding trough. As he tried to focus, a dark shape appeared. Mostly hidden in shadow, the figure was silently moving towards the guard. Magnus squinted and thought he could
identify the silhouette of a longbow as the figure crouched next to the adjoining cell. He couldn’t see the silent intruder’s face, but he knew of no man of Ro who would use such a weapon and a thin smile crossed his face as he also made out a sheathed katana at the figure’s side. There was no indication that the bound man was aware of the intruder’s presence and he was leaning against the stone wall, fed up with another night’s mundane guard duty.

  What the man didn’t yet realize was that his night was about to become rather less mundane, as Rham Jas Rami, the Kirin assassin, started to ascend the feeding trough towards the guard’s back.

  It had been several years since Magnus had seen the Kirin. Rham Jas’s face was covered by the hood of a black cloak and he crept like a predator as he came close to the guard. He moved with stealth to within a foot of his target, before slowly and silently drawing his katana and gradually standing up. The guard was completely unaware of the figure at his back and the man of Ro even yawned and puffed out his cheeks in an unconscious gesture of tiredness and boredom.

  Rham Jas held his katana with the blade pointing down and gradually moved his arm round the guard’s neck until, at the last possible moment, his hand darted to cover the man’s mouth and the blade entered his side, just under the armpit, and angled sharply downwards, killing him instantly. The dead man made no sound beyond a faint groan as Rham Jas carefully removed his sword and cradled the body to the ground. The Kirin then poked his head out to check that no one had seen his target fall, before moving back into the shadows and carrying the dead man down the feeding trough to Magnus’s window.

  ‘You stink,’ he said, with the same infuriating grin that had made Magnus punch him in the past.

  ‘And you’re ugly,’ the priest replied, offering his hand to his old friend through the bars. ‘Good to see you, Kirin.’

  ‘And you, Ranen,’ Rham Jas replied, with an even broader grin as he grasped Magnus’s hand and shook it warmly.