The Long War 01 - The Black Guard (25 page)

‘Are you going to have Callis clean up the whole city, or is watching him beat a few heads in sufficient?’ Nathan queried in a mocking tone. ‘I suppose we could fight the mercenaries now there aren’t any men of Canarn left… they might put up a better fight.’

‘Has the abbot found out about your bastard son yet, Nathan?’ William asked with venom.

The other knight scowled and moved to block William’s view of the square. ‘The piety is getting old, Verellian. Half the men under your command have bastards, and the other half haven’t fathered any simply because they’re too scared of you. It might make you better company if you got your cock wet occasionally.’ Nathan cast a vicious grin at William.

He was of the same rank as Verellian but commanded a separate unit. His men were in the great hall, standing guard over the commander and they had been stationed inside the city during the attack on the keep. Nathan’s home, the town of Du Ban, was several leagues north and west of Arnon and famed for producing arrogant and violent knights of the Red.

Knight Lieutenant Fallon, who had heard the conversation, approached the two captains and shot a dark look at Nathan.

William maintained eye contact with the other captain, but he tried not to let the insult make him angry. The man was a fool, but William thought that being foolish should not be enough to get your legs broken.

He took a step forwards. ‘If you mistake honour for piety again, brother knight, I’ll call you out and kill you in front of all your men. You might even die with honour.’

Fallon drew his sword and stood next to his captain. Staring intently at Nathan, he said, ‘I would gladly fight the duel in your stead, my lord. I think I could teach my brother knight about respect and devotion to the One.’ He swung his sword suggestively as he spoke and William smiled. Nathan was not the first man to insult him and Verellian thought him a streak of piss next to any true fighting man.

Nathan sneered and tried to look down his nose at William and his lieutenant. He briefly considered saying something clever, but the confident smile on William’s face persuaded him otherwise and he left quickly, his steel armour loudly sounding his retreat on the wooden drawbridge.

Fallon sheathed his sword and chuckled to himself as he watched Nathan go. He then turned to his captain and banged his fist on his red tabard in salute. ‘Shall I go and slit his throat, my lord?’

‘Maybe later,’ replied William.

* * *

Several hours passed and William maintained a vigil over the town square, ordering Callis to intervene whenever the mercenaries became too rowdy.

He had been ordered to enter the great hall at midnight, but decided to be slightly late. William considered his commander a man of little honour and felt he would be allowed ten minutes of tardiness.

‘Fallon, you’re with me, Callis can handle this,’ he said, turning sharply and walking back up the drawbridge.

Most of William’s men were sitting round small cooking fires in the courtyard of the keep, trying to ward off the cold. The wind blowing off the sea of Canarn penetrated the stone walls and made the temperature drop sharply during the night.

These men were not interested in pillaging the fallen city and most were simply waiting for their orders to return to Ro Arnon. William was proud of the way they had conducted themselves. They had fought hard and with ruthless skill, but they had also treated fallen enemies with respect.

‘Captain Verellian, do we have orders yet, sir?’ asked an old knight sergeant called Bracha.

‘Not yet, Sergeant, there’s no sign of the way home. Though the commander may yet have orders for me.’

He looked over the faces of his men. They wore hard expressions and William guessed that they, too, found the treatment of the people of Canarn distasteful.

‘If any of those mercenaries or bound men find their way into the keep, be sure to remind them that we command here, not that horse-fucker Pevain. Understood, sergeant?’

Bracha smiled as he saluted. ‘Perfectly clear, sir, we’ll make sure they remember their manners.’

William commanded a company of one hundred men, though only twenty-five of them had come to Ro Canarn. The rest were still in Arnon, probably glad they had stayed in barracks. Four of his men had died in the attack on the keep and they had already been burned. Their funeral pyre was now just a small mound of blackened wood, and the knights’ ashes had been gathered and scattered from the high battlements.

‘How long do we have to stay here?’ Fallon asked as they walked across the courtyard. ‘I object to seeing men die to secure a pointless objective.’

‘Pointless?’ William questioned.

‘What would you call it, my lord, a strategic campaign?’

William allowed his lieutenant to speak his mind and was happy with whatever he wanted to say in private, so long as he followed orders and didn’t question his captain in public.

‘I’d call it what it is… we sacked Ro Canarn because we were ordered to do so,’ William answered. ‘If we had the leisure to choose where we fight, we wouldn’t be very good knights, would we?’

‘Sir, I am a knight of the Red and I fight and die where I’m told to, but a child with a farming tool could have bested most of the defenders and the city has done nothing to warrant the treatment it’s getting. I’m not a complete bastard who enjoys killing weaker men.’ He paused. ‘I’m a bastard, admittedly, but…’

‘Fallon, could we leave this for now? I’m sure we’ll be here a while and I’ll no doubt have ample opportunity to hear about how unfair you think the world is.’

William was used to hearing the man’s complaints and he had long since realized that most of them were simply a plea for a worthy opponent. Fallon was the best swordsman William had ever known and was rarely challenged when he had his blade in his hand. He took great offence at having to watch a mismatched fight, and this extended to seeing mercenaries rape and torture captives who could not fight back.

‘Why can’t we fight men worthy of our steel? Is it too much to ask, am I being arrogant to want to test myself?’ he asked, seemingly addressing the query skyward, towards the One God.

‘If you wait long enough, he might give you a sign.’ William said ironically. ‘Or you could just shut up.’

Fallon screwed up his face as if the choice were a genuine one. ‘I believe, on reflection, I’ll shut up, my lord.’

‘Good news at last, perhaps Commander Rillion will promote you for showing such wisdom,’ William said as the two of them reached the wooden staircase leading from the courtyard to the great hall.

William had been in his armour for four days, removing it only to sleep and wash, and his under-tunic and leggings were stuck to his skin with sweat and grime. He looked down at his tarnished breastplate and the red tabard that covered it – both were badly in need of repair. Fallon was in a similar state. On official occasions, and when required to stand before their commanders, it was normally the done thing for knights to appear at their best. Currently, their best was several hundred leagues away in the barracks of Ro Arnon.

William still wore his red cloak, though it was stained and torn. Fallon had lost his at some point since the battle and had not thought to find a replacement. As they walked up the stairs and reached the first of three landings, William stopped and looked critically at his lieutenant’s appearance.

In response, Fallon held his arms out and asked, ‘What, am I not suitably attired to meet men of quality?’

‘You’re never attired to meet men of quality, but right now neither of us looks any better that a city watchman.’

‘I put on my best for men I respect, my lord. Even if I did have my ceremonial cloak, I’d probably find a reason to lose it,’ Fallon said with a hard look in his eyes.

‘That’s enough of that… I think he’s a shit-stain as well, but we will show him every courtesy to his face. Clear?’ William spoke with practised authority.

‘As the Ranen sea, my lord.’

William chuckled and resumed his march up the stairs. This was the second time he had walked up here since nightfall. The first time, he had been escorting Father Magnus, the Ranen priest who had killed two members of his company. Now he was to receive orders from Knight Commander Rillion and he doubted he’d be treated to the same display of knights in ceremonial garb as the Ranen. Rillion was inclined to show off for defeated enemies, confident that it would discourage further conflict. In fact, it served mostly to anger people who hated the Ro and their One God.

The same two guardsmen were on duty outside the door to the great hall and William once more thought it strange that the king’s guard should be in Ro Canarn. It was probable that if the king were coming here, William would have been told. However, King Sebastian was a cunning man and his leaving Ro Tiris in secret would not be out of character.

‘You know what Bracha thinks?’ Fallon asked as they neared the door.

‘No, lieutenant, what does Bracha think?’ William said with a groan.

‘He swears that the king’s guard are here because the king is bringing a huge army to the Grass Sea. He says he heard one of Nathan’s sergeants talking about an actual invasion,’ Fallon replied in a conspiratorial whisper.

The guardsmen saluted as the two knights approached, their fists striking firmly on their gold breastplates. Both William and Fallon responded in kind and the door was swiftly opened.

As they entered the great hall, William leant towards Fallon and said quietly, ‘Don’t you think we’d know if we were going to be invading the Freelands?’

Fallon responded with a sceptical look, the expression of a soldier who expects the worst of his superiors.

Within, the hall was cold and dark, lit only by a few flickering torches held in dark metal braziers. The line of crossbowmen was gone and William walked slowly across the dark stone floor. The banners of Canarn now appeared more sombre: dark images of Brytag, horses and swords in colours of green, black and brown. Three ranks of wooden pillars spread away from the corridor and little could be seen in the darkness between them.

‘Before we came here, I heard that Duke Hector’s hall was one of the most welcoming places in Tor Funweir,’ said Fallon with a sneer.

‘It was brighter a few hours ago. Rillion put on a bit of a show for the Ranen,’ William replied.

‘Do we not warrant a bit of a show, then?’

‘We barely warrant any lights, apparently,’ William said, sharing Fallon’s laugh.

‘Captain Verellian,’ a voice bellowed from the hall, ‘this is not the proper time for laughter.’ The voice came from an old man seated by the feast tables. ‘Men are dead and the One is displeased.’ He mumbled to himself before he continued. ‘Though he seems displeased by much these days… perhaps laughter is the proper response.’ He waved a frail hand towards the two knights and beckoned them over to him.

He was a man of at least seventy years and his plain white robe showed no sign of any of the clerical orders. If the man was a churchman, he was very much off duty.

William raised his eyebrows and glanced at Fallon before walking over to the old man. He sat alone in the great hall, surrounded by the remnants of a large feast. The central fire-pit was down to smouldering embers and all the assembled knights had left for other duties. The huge vaulted ceiling rendered the hall cavernous and dark; the only lights were at ground level.

‘You wear no rank, sir, to whom do we speak?’ William asked politely of the old man.

‘You speak… you speak as a man of import, young sir,’ he muttered, looking through narrow eyes at William. ‘You are Marcus of Verellian’s son?’

‘I am, sir, though I’ve not see my father for many years,’ William replied, although his manner was abrupt. The old man had not identified himself and William was suspicious of such men, no matter how old.

The man’s breath carried the stench of wine and William guessed that he was a little drunk.

‘I heard that you and your knights were here and I see now that the sword you carry looked better at your father’s waist.’ He squinted to get a better look at William. ‘Though you look nothing like him,’ he added venomously.

Fallon chuckled and William shot a glare at his lieutenant, before turning back to the old man. ‘No, sir, I still have both of my legs and my father has not spoken, let alone held a sword, for some ten years.’

‘Well, you are the lord of Verellian, whether you deserve it or not. Now, smarten yourselves up, the noble Lord Mortimer Rillion awaits you.’ He looked at the tarnished and battered armour worn by the two knights. ‘Hopefully, he’ll remember that he is a gentleman as he assesses your worth.’

Neither William nor his lieutenant laughed at this, and the old man appeared oblivious of the fact that both of the knights were thinking about punching him. He chuckled to himself and reached for a goblet of wine.

Fallon took a step forward and looked down at the seated man. ‘Tell us who you are, old man, or I may have to become unpleasant.’

The man did not stop chuckling. He noisily took a gulp of wine and squinted up at the lieutenant. ‘Put your cock away, boy, I’m not a fight for you. I’m Roderick of the Black, a cleric with far too much time to drink and insult knights.’

Fallon took a step back, but didn’t retreat entirely. ‘You were in the square earlier, giving last rites to the funeral pyres.’ His demeanour softened.

The Black cleric started laughing, took another swig of wine, and had begun crying by the time the goblet left his lips.

Both the Red knights had seen this before; clerics of the Black had an ability to feel the emptiness of death and could become quite volatile when faced with large amounts of it. Most became crusaders or ministers so as to avoid such things and it was unusual to see a Black cleric of such an age accompanying a battle fleet.

‘Brother Roderick, perhaps you should sleep. It is dark outside and I’m sure your bed is preferable to an empty hall,’ William said gently.

He nodded to Fallon to help him and reached for the cleric’s shoulders. The two knights helped the old man to his feet and led him away from the table.

‘I can manage, I’m still fit enough to best any man you care to put before me. I certainly don’t need any help getting to bed,’ he said with irritation, pushing away William and Fallon. He stumbled forwards a few steps, aiming at a side door.