The Long War 02 - The Dark Blood

by A. J. Smith

  The knight marshal, the man called Wesson, was responsible for the enclave’s security and was the only true noble in Cozz. By all accounts, Marshal Wesson of Cozz was a pragmatic knight, from humble origins, whose only concern was the security of the enclave. He had, apparently, been squire to Duke Alexander Tiris, the king’s brother, and was held in high regard in consequence. The great cities of Tor Funweir needed the wealth and trade of the merchants of Cozz much more than they were pleased to admit.

  The markets were all open for business as usual, and there was no obvious sign that they were aware of the approaching hounds. ‘Do you think they know?’ Randall asked.

  ‘They must have an idea at least. Two thousand men cannot travel quietly,’ replied the Black cleric, with a puzzled look. ‘Look over there.’ Utha pointed to the lower level of the knight marshal’s office, a squat building on three levels which acted as gaol, courthouse and central authority for the enclave. The cleric was pointing to a group of rough-looking men hanging around the steps. ‘What do they look like to you?’ he asked.

  ‘Mercenaries, master.’ Randall resisted the urge to say that he had warned Utha about this. ‘Ten of them.’ The men wore mismatched leather armour and carried knives, maces and crossbows, all of which looked to have been well used.

  Utha pulled up the hood of his brown cloak and walked directly towards the wide steps that led up to the marshal’s office. ‘Let’s see how observant they are, shall we?’ Utha’s words were spoken with a smile and, for a moment, Randall saw again the caustic and belligerent Black cleric he’d first met.

  The mercenaries were blocking the way and, aside from disapproving looks from nearby watchmen, they were being left well alone. Each man was unshaven and, as they approached, Randall detected a definite similarity between these men and those who had attacked them in Voy.

  ‘Get out of my way,’ Utha barked at the nearest man.

  The mercenaries showed surprise at the large man who had marched straight up to them. They stopped cursing at passers-by and turned to regard the newcomer. Their hands rested on their weapons, and Randall clenched his fists to stop his hands from shaking. Glancing at the watchmen, he was glad to see a dozen within earshot. They were the bound men of Cozz, charged with policing the streets.

  ‘Nice cloak, sweetheart,’ quipped one of the men with a sneer. ‘How about you come over here and rub my shoulders for me... I’m a bit sore.’

  The other men laughed. The way they looked at Randall made his skin crawl. ‘You’re a handsome little boy,’ one of them said to the young squire. ‘We should be friends.’ Another round of laughter erupted.

  Utha didn’t stop moving forwards. ‘I said get out of my way,’ he repeated. ‘I’m going into the knight marshal’s office, and you’re not going to stop me.’ He hadn’t raised his head and his pale face remained hidden under his hood.

  The mercenary narrowed his eyes, but didn’t step aside. ‘We work for Sir Hallam Pevain,’ he snapped. ‘Now, show your face!’

  Utha stepped to the side of the man and, almost as an afterthought, kicked him violently in the groin. A sharp intake of breath, a strangled cry, and the mercenary crumpled to the floor, curled up into an undignified ball. Without breaking step, the bulky Black cleric stamped on the man’s head.

  ‘Kill the fucker,’ shouted another mercenary, drawing a steel mace from his belt.

  ‘Very foolish words,’ said Utha, pointing beyond the mercenaries to the watchmen, all of whom had drawn crossbows.

  ‘No one dies in Cozz without the marshal’s word,’ said an old watchman wearing the shoulder flashes of a sergeant. ‘Brawls are brawls, murder is murder.’ Eight more watchmen warily regarded the mercenaries. Randall enjoyed the spectacle of ten men who were powerless to act against Utha. They clearly wanted to start a fight, but realized they were likely to be killed before they got the chance.

  ‘I’m just on my way to see Marshal Wesson,’ said Utha to the sergeant. ‘I’ll be sure to tell him that I’m guilty of brawling in the street.’ The Black cleric didn’t wait for a response. He turned away and walked up the steps. Randall followed hurriedly, with less style and confidence than his master.

  ‘Was that luck?’ he asked as they entered the lower level of Marshal Wesson’s offices.

  ‘Half of everything is luck, my dear boy,’ responded Utha, evidently very pleased with himself. ‘Those watchmen were looking for a reason to exert a bit of authority over the bastards. I just gave them an opportunity.’ He smiled at his squire. ‘Yes, Randall, it was mostly luck.’

  The stone building was warm and homely, with paintings displaying caricatures of greedy-looking merchants and stiff-necked nobles. The floor was carpeted in light blue and made the entrance hall feel open and airy.

  ‘Can I help you?’ asked a young man seated by the bottom landing.

  ‘I need to speak with Marshal Wesson,’ Utha answered with authority.

  ‘He’s busy currently, my lord. Would you like an appointment?’ The man was younger than Randall and looked with curiosity at the cloaked man before him.

  ‘No, I’ll see him now.’ Utha didn’t wait for the man’s response. He marched up the stairs, ignoring the young man’s spluttered objections.

  Randall was a little way behind. ‘Sorry, he’s... very single-minded. Don’t worry, he won’t cause any trouble.’

  The words were not very reassuring, but the man didn’t give chase. Randall ran to catch up, his boots clattering on the wooden stairs. ‘Politeness isn’t always an inconvenience, you know,’ he said, as they passed the first floor.

  ‘No, but waiting for an appointment is,’ replied the cleric. ‘It’s urgent, remember.’

  They reached the third floor and turned from the stairs to walk along a carpeted corridor. More caricatures lined the walls and Randall guessed that Marshal Wesson had a sense of humour. A caricature of a Red knight was well executed in watercolours, showing a nobleman sitting astride a bored-looking horse, his crested helmet far too big for his head and his red breastplate falling from his spindly frame.

  ‘Couldn’t get away with stuff like that in any other city in Tor Funweir,’ said Utha with a smile.

  At the end of the corridor they entered a large seating area filled with comfortable-looking couches and low tables. The decoration was unpretentious, with warm wood and light-blue fabrics.

  The waiting room was empty, though raised voices came from beyond a simple oak door. The area had several exits, leading to balconies that looked out over the central market.

  ‘Where are all the guards?’ Randall asked.

  Utha glanced round the empty waiting room. ‘Probably in with the marshal. I think those pricks outside are waiting for their master.’

  The mercenary had said that they worked for Sir Hallam Pevain, a name unfamiliar to Randall. ‘Do knights normally have mercenary attendants?’ he asked. ‘Sir Leon never had one.’

  ‘Not normally, but this particular knight is different. Keep your arse clenched, boy, you’re about to meet a rapist, a murderer and a man unfit to be called sir. Hopefully, Wesson’s reputation as a fair and decent man is more than just rumour.’ He looked concerned.

  If Pevain controlled the mercenaries, then it was he who sought to apprehend Utha and his men that they had encountered in Voy. Cozz was the likely next place for them to search and Randall swore silently at having insisted they warn Marshal Wesson about the hounds.

  The Black cleric pushed back his hood to reveal his face, gripped the door handle and pushed it inwards. Utha did not knock but, with his squire following him, he stepped boldly into the knight marshal’s office.

  Within was a large, simple room. A wooden desk dominated the space, positioned in the centre of the room. Behind, there was a wide, open balcony with billowing blue curtains.

  The dozen men in the office all looked up sharply as Utha and his squire entered. Two were seated on either side of the desk, the larger of them with his back to the door. The one facing t
hem was clearly Knight Marshal Wesson of Cozz. He wore a light-blue tabard with heraldry of an open purse, over a well-maintained chain shirt. He was a man in early middle age, with thinning brown hair, but still tough-looking and with a shrewd glint in his light eyes. Standing guard round the edge of the room were watchmen of Cozz. Each carried a loaded crossbow and made a movement to cover the door when Utha entered.

  There were also three men in the office who were clearly not officials of the enclave. Two stood by the desk, glaring viciously, and the third was seated opposite the marshal, wearing black plate armour and carrying a strange war-hammer. Randall had to look twice at the two standing mercenaries before he realized they were twins, each slender and blonde-haired, with multiple hand-axes and knives poking out from their well-worn leather armour.

  ‘It’s clearly my day for interruptions,’ stated the marshal, with an ironic lilt to his voice. ‘And who would you be, my pale friend?’ The marshal was not alarmed by their presence.

  ‘My name is Brother Utha of Arnon, my lord,’ stated the Black cleric confidently, causing the seated mercenary to rise and stare at him.

  The man was tall, almost seven feet, and wore a full beard. His black hair was long and curly but greased back from his face, lending him the image of a man who was endeavouring to look presentable. Sir Hallam Pevain was a hard-looking man by any standards and Randall tried not to meet his eye. The twins both growled gutturally and reached for their knives.

  ‘Enough!’ shouted Wesson. He raised his hand at the watchmen, who levelled their weapons. ‘You fight in my office and I’ll arrest you all.’

  Pevain’s glare turned into a smile. He stood up and faced Utha. ‘You’re a bold one, Ghost.’ He straightened to his full height and looked down at the shorter man.

  ‘And you’re a son of a whore, sir knight,’ responded Utha. He didn’t back off and showed little concern for their difference in height. ‘I’m here to talk to Marshal Wesson, not to a sewer rat like you.’

  ‘Brave words, pig-fucker,’ said one of the twins, with a vicious look to his narrow eyes. ‘I should open you up right here...’ he glanced at Randall, ‘and fuck your boy while you lie bleeding.’

  Wesson stood up sharply. ‘I said that’s enough. If I have to say it again, bolts fly. Understood?’ His watchmen dutifully took aim. ‘I’m sure you’re all very scary, but my crossbows aren’t afraid of you, so sit the fuck down,’ he barked with authority.

  ‘Marshal Wesson,’ said Pevain, without turning from Utha, ‘this man killed Prince Christophe Tiris and is a wanted criminal. You have a duty to arrest him if you are able.’

  Wesson laughed. The sound was relaxed. ‘If I apprehended every man wanted in Tor Funweir, we’d have no merchants or clients left, Pevain.’

  One of the twins spoke. ‘He’s a knight; you call him sir.’

  Pevain waved away the mercenary’s objection. ‘Parag, just keep your mouth shut. Okay, Wesson, I’ll buy into this. I hope you realize what will happen to you if you let this man escape.’

  Wesson raised an eyebrow at the threat and sat back down. ‘This is Cozz, not Tiris. As far as I know, this cleric has not committed any crime in my enclave. Until he does, you and he are equally welcome.’

  Utha smiled at Pevain and motioned to the seat behind him. ‘Sit down,’ he said coldly. ‘This won’t end well if you don’t.’

  The two men sized each other up. Pevain was taller by nearly a foot, but Utha was wider and more confident. The mercenary’s war-hammer looked to be of Ranen design and had ornate carvings around the metal braces. Randall didn’t want to think about the outcome if the two should fight, but he knew his master was one of the most dangerous men in Tor Funweir.

  Slowly, and without taking his eyes from Utha, Pevain took his seat and waved the twins to step back. Then he faced Marshal Wesson. ‘I came here seeking assistance in hunting down a murderer. Now that murderer wanders freely into your office. So what do you propose we do about it?’

  ‘Nothing,’ responded Wesson. ‘He’s broken no law in Cozz.’

  Utha chuckled to himself. ‘Fascinating as it is seeing you flounder around, Pevain, I have urgent news for the marshal.’

  ‘What news?’ asked Wesson.

  ‘My lord,’ spat Parag, ‘do we have to stand ’ere with this cunt and listen to his horse-shit?’ The twins were itching for combat and Randall disliked the way they were eyeing him up. He guessed that they enjoyed violating people.

  ‘Parag, Broot, both of you keep your mouths shut,’ ordered Pevain. ‘Wesson, I intend to make this man a captive. Our beloved allies will reward you handsomely for any assistance you can give.’

  Utha snorted at the mention of the Seven Sisters and perched on the edge of the desk. ‘We can deal with how you want to die later, sir knight. Right now there is an army of hounds marching this way.’ The Black cleric spoke with conviction.

  ‘I know,’ replied Wesson. ‘They come from Ro Weir. No need to fret, though. I’ve already sent riders to Voy and Tiris asking for aid. The Karesian dogs won’t dare attack a town the size of Cozz. I’ll go out and parlay with them and we’ll turn them round in short order.’

  Pevain smiled, clearly aware of the hounds’ approach.

  ‘My lord, this is not a scouting party. There are several thousand of them with siege equipment and... other weapons of war.’ Utha referred ambiguously to the captive forest-dwellers. Randall was sure they would not be believed should they mention the true nature of these weapons of war.

  ‘Brother Utha, your reputation is of a serious man, a man not to be trifled with. Whether you killed a prince or not, I will always respect the words of a Black cleric.’ Wesson leant back in his chair. ‘But Cozz is far from helpless. We have five hundred watchmen and many more yeomen can be pressed should the need arise. We also have high walls and solid gates. Only a military idiot would attack us.’

  Utha nodded and was evidently searching for a well-reasoned argument to dissuade Wesson out of his overconfidence. He looked at Pevain – who was still smiling – then at the twins, Parag and Broot. Each of them was clearly concerned at the presence of the Black cleric, but showed not the slightest alarm at the news of two thousand hounds marching on Cozz.

  ‘And you, sir knight.’ Utha addressed Pevain, the title dripping with sarcasm as he spoke it. ‘What do you know of this army?’

  The mercenary shrugged. ‘The same as everyone knows – they are our allies. The king has allowed their presence in Weir.’

  ‘But not in Cozz,’ interjected Wesson. ‘They can occupy Ro Weir for as long as they like, but the merchant lords are guaranteed autonomy by decree of the house of Tiris.’ He smiled at Utha. ‘Have no fear, brother, I’ve talked my way out of worse situations. Hanging around with merchants rubs off on you after a while. I just need to explain to these... allies... that the blood that would be required to annex Cozz really doesn’t make it an attractive proposition. Then we wait until Voy or Tiris sends aid.’ The knight marshal was supremely confident that his riders would return with reinforcements. ‘You’re welcome to stay if you wish,’ he said to the Black cleric.

  Utha shook his head. ‘I’m sorry to say that our path lies elsewhere, my lord. We only came to Cozz to warn you. I’m not sure you appreciate how serious the warning is.’

  ‘And the warning is appreciated, Brother Utha, but we have the situation in hand.’

  ‘You hear that, Ghost?’ Pevain said with vicious glee. ‘It’s in hand. You can fuck off any time you like.’

  Randall didn’t think before he spoke. ‘Excuse me, sir, but the hounds don’t look like they want to talk, or parlay, or whatever you call it. I think –’

  ‘Silence, boy!’ shouted Parag, ‘or you’ll get a good spanking.’ Both twins laughed and licked their lips suggestively. ‘You ever been fucked?’ asked Broot.

  Utha glared across the table. ‘Better keep your cock out of sight, shit-stain, you’re likely to make us all laugh.’

  ‘I won’t tel
l any of you again,’ said Wesson, gesturing to his crossbowmen. ‘I won’t have brawling in my office.’

  ‘And outside?’ asked the mercenary, gripping the hilt of his war-hammer. ‘How do you feel about brawling in the street?’

  ‘Don’t push me, Pevain,’ responded Wesson, more aggressively this time. ‘I won’t hesitate to lock up a knight, or a cleric.’

  Utha shook his head. ‘I’m sorry things have turned out so, my lord marshal,’ he said with respect, ‘but if our warning has gone unheeded, we need to leave.’

  ‘Very well. Sergeant Jerome,’ Wesson gestured to one of his watchmen, ‘please take a squad of men and escort Brother Utha to the south gate. And make sure Sir Pevain and his men don’t interfere.’

  ‘At once, my lord,’ responded the sergeant.

  As Utha and Randall moved to the door, Pevain stood. ‘See you soon, Ghost.’

  ‘I’ll be easy to find, sir knight.’ Utha didn’t turn. ‘I’ll be the one burying my sword in your face.’

  * * *

  They had left the knight marshal’s office quickly. With five watchmen of Cozz in close guard, they headed south. Though Marshal Wesson had seemed friendly enough and had been respectful towards them, Randall was sure he wanted Utha out of the enclave as soon as possible. Unfortunately, they still had to wait at the gate as various important merchant lords had decided to leave. Evidently, they had learned that an army of hounds was approaching and did not share Wesson’s confidence.

  The watchmen said nothing as they waited. They stood close to the cleric and his squire, their crossbows ready. Randall wasn’t sure whether the weapons were intended to make sure they left or to protect them from Pevain’s men.

  ‘How long do we have to wait?’ Utha asked Sergeant Jerome. ‘Your marshal seems keen on us not being here.’

  ‘I’m escorting you, but I don’t need to talk to you,’ replied the watchman. ‘We’ll have you on your way as soon as possible.’

  Utha didn’t press the question and simply stood there, leaning on a low wooden fence that acted as a holding area in front of the gate. A number of people glanced across at them and Randall felt more exposed than was ideal. They were in plain view of everyone massed round the gate – merchant lords, common traders or mercenary guards. Several took a second glance at the bulky albino cleric and Randall heard the name Utha the Ghost murmured twice.