The Long War 02 - The Dark Blood (30 page)

Verellian answered with a shrug, as if that was a tale for another time, and began to dismount. ‘I saw twenty men hiding, so I assume there are a few more that I missed. I’d guess at fifty in total, yes?’

Fallon nodded. ‘Stop showing off. You’re talking to a knight captain, don’t you know?’ A mock expression of superiority accompanied the comment and drew a laugh from Verellian. He jumped to the ground.

‘Break cover, boys,’ Fallon called over his shoulder.

‘Good to see you, Fallon of Leith,’ said Verellian quietly.

‘And you.’

Theron saluted extravagantly. ‘Sir William of Verellian, it is a great honour to meet you. I am Knight Lieutenant Theron of Ro Haran and I have the honour of being Sir Fallon’s adjutant.’ His words showed deep sincerity. Whatever else he might be, Theron was a true knight of the Red.

‘Thank you, sir knight,’ replied William, ‘though I don’t think I deserve such a grand greeting. I was a prisoner of war until five days ago.’

‘But you have escaped, Sir William, to join us once again in our war with the barbarians. The One clearly guided your steps.’

Verellian narrowed his eyes. ‘Clearly.’ He stepped closer to Fallon. ‘Perhaps we should save the formalities. You and I need to talk.’

‘Theron, go and have something to eat,’ Fallon said. ‘I’ll send for you later.’ He gestured for Verellian to follow him.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ spluttered Theron, ‘but shouldn’t I be present when you discuss the enemy? I am second in command, am I not?’

Fallon turned sharply and was about to say something clever when William interjected. ‘Lieutenant, you have my word that when we discuss the enemy, you will be present. For now, we need to discuss other things.’ He frowned slightly. ‘And questioning an order is rather foolish, don’t you think?’

‘Indeed, Sir William,’ Theron said, after a moment of indignant silence.

Verellian smiled as the young lieutenant walked away, and Fallon wondered at how the hawk-faced knight of the Red always managed to get men to do what he wanted.

‘Is he always like that?’ asked William.

‘No, he’s twice as bad at the moment, he’s got two men’s cocks to suck instead of just one.’ Fallon did not dislike his lieutenant – but he was frustratingly naive. ‘Right, you old bastard, what have you been doing for the past two months?’ he barked at William. ‘I’m the same rank as you now, so I don’t need to be polite.’

‘You didn’t need to be polite before,’ replied Verellian. ‘You chose to be, out of respect.’

They walked towards the farmhouse. Word had spread quickly among the knights that Sir William of Verellian was alive and a ripple of adoration flowed through the men. Both the senior knights were distinguished, the campaigns in Ro Canarn and the Grass Sea having enhanced their reputations. Fallon would always be known as a killer and would inspire as much fear as respect, but Verellian was known as a shrewd commander and one who put his knights first.

‘Are you going to answer me?’ Fallon prompted.

‘I am,’ replied William, ‘though I’d prefer it if we were seated.’

Fallon fell back into old habits quickly and shut up, accepting Verellian’s decision and stepping into the farmhouse after him.

Once inside, William found the nearest comfortable surface, which happened to be a quilted armchair, and slumped heavily into it. His bones cracked as he stretched out his legs and flexed his back. He was clearly saddle-sore and a layer of dust covered his clothing.

‘I can’t believe they let you go,’ said Fallon, also taking a seat. ‘In fact, I’m quite surprised they didn’t kill you in the courtyard of Ro Hail.’

‘So was I at the time,’ replied Verellian. ‘They actually tended to my wounds in the end... though my sword hand is a bit impaired.’ He frowned. ‘I can still hold a blade, but anything heavier than a rapier or a short sword and I have no leverage.’ Another frown, deeper this time. ‘No more longswords for me.’

‘Well, if it’s any consolation, we’re going to be killing a lot of Ranen.’ Fallon didn’t convey much enthusiasm for the coming massacre.

Verellian sat up. ‘The king means to assault South Warden?’

‘And Ranen Gar, and any other place where the Free Companies think they can hide. It seems to have become a war of conquest while I wasn’t looking,’ replied Fallon. ‘Mobius has sent for reinforcements to the Darkwald and Arnon.’

William nodded grudgingly and puffed out his cheeks, for a moment seeming like a tired old man. ‘They’re good people, Fallon. The Ranen, I mean. Not sophisticated, not particularly organized, but good and honourable.’ There was a profound sense of regret in his words. ‘They don’t deserve to be slaughtered.’

‘Since when did that matter?’ replied Fallon. ‘Commander Tristram is convinced that it’s all a question of duty to the One.’

‘And you believe him? If you can look me in the eye and tell me that this is more than the whim of a king or the design of an enchantress, then I’ll accept it.’

William was more bitter than Fallon had ever known him before. ‘What happened, sir,’ he asked, forgetting that the title was no longer necessary, ‘in Ro Hail? This doesn’t sound like you.’

The older knight looked around the deserted farmhouse. ‘Any food here?’ he asked, ignoring Fallon’s question.

‘Ohms will provide porridge outside. You can have some when we’re done.’

‘Okay, that’s fair. But you won’t like the answer.’ Verellian was all business now, sitting forward in his chair and adopting a formal tone of voice. ‘I’ve seen some things that knights of the Red are not supposed to see. I’ve seen women crying over dead brothers, sons and husbands. I’ve seen men die in pain because we’d killed their only priest. I’ve seen desperate young warriors, no older than eighteen, trying to fashion serviceable armour from discarded chain and broken plate.’ He paused and locked eyes with Fallon. ‘This isn’t war. It isn’t conquest... and it certainly isn’t honourable. I don’t know what it is.’ William sounded exhausted.

‘Where are you going with this, William? I’ve been given twenty-four hours’ guard duty in the rain for saying less than that. It’s dangerous ground.’ It was fine to whinge quietly about orders, and Fallon’s brand of dry insubordination was generally tolerated, but openly to question the king was dangerous.

‘Things are different now,’ replied Verellian. ‘Red knights generally don’t see what I’ve seen and survive. It changes you.’

Fallon snorted. ‘So you saw a few crying Ranen. You’ve killed hundreds of men and I’ve never heard you worry about that. You say honour, but what about duty – to me, to the knights, to the One?’

‘What
is
duty, Fallon?’ William demanded. ‘What is duty when your orders are given by a Karesian enchantress?’

Fallon was about to reply aggressively, but his anger evaporated before he spoke. He sat with his mouth open, trying to find some words in response. He considered defending Tristram, or blaming Mobius, but neither sounded right. He began to say that the enchantress who had influenced the king was dead – but there were six more sisters. He closed his mouth and bowed his head. ‘What does it matter if you’re right?’ he said in a virtual whisper. ‘We’re knights of the Red; this is what we do.’

‘You’re a knight of the Red, my friend. I don’t think I can be, not any more.’ Verellian spoke as if he had made his decision before today.

‘You’re the best man I know, but what are you if you are not a knight of the Red?’ Fallon did not know how to react.

‘I am William of Verellian. I was that before I took my vows and I’ll be that when they execute me for turning coat.’ Breaking vows was a serious matter. You were a knight of the Red until death. Only the king’s younger brother, Alexander Tiris, had ever been allowed to leave the knights.

‘Why did you ride west when they released you? You should have found somewhere to hide.’ To shout at William for being stupid would be futile. ‘Did you think I’d go along with this and just let you go?’

Verellian breathed in deeply. ‘I have peace terms from South Warden. I gave my word that, if they released me, I’d deliver them to the king.’ The mood between the two men became melancholy. ‘I expect to be dead shortly after they tell me the king is too busy to talk to me.’

‘I would, you know,’ said Fallon. ‘Let you go, I mean. If you rode south, you’d make it to Hunter’s Cross within a month.’

‘I’m the same man, Fallon. I still have honour, and the Ranen deserve to have their words heard.’ Verellian was also still a stubborn man, but Fallon couldn’t reconcile what he was hearing with the man he thought he knew.

‘Well, as a knight captain of the Red, I feel you should deliver those terms to me. Then we can discuss your escape.’ He could not pretend that he would detain or harm his former captain. Fallon had already decided to give him the chance to ride south. Whether he would take that chance remained to be seen.

William smiled suddenly and for a moment he was more the man that Fallon remembered. ‘Well, Captains Horrock Green Blade and Johan Long Shadow demand that the Ro invaders leave the Freelands of Ranen or be faced with the combined might of the Free Companies.’

Fallon raised an eyebrow, thinking this was a misdirected show of strength that the king would simply ignore. ‘And they expect that to meet with something other than laughter?’

‘They’re serious,’ Verellian said grimly, ‘and so am I.’

‘Has your brain gone soft as well?’ grunted Fallon. ‘That shit will make the king more likely to kill them, not less.’

William glared at his former adjutant. ‘What do you think is waiting for you? South Warden is a shed compared to Tiris... Ro Hail is a ruin... what does the king want?’

Fallon didn’t trust himself to respond quickly.

‘Say something, Fallon,’ barked Verellian.

‘You’re a fool,’ he replied.

‘Anyone who dies for the whim of a king is a fool,’ shot back William. ‘And you are not a fool.’ Each word had been emphasized and now Verellian’s teeth were clenched in anger. The two men stood facing each other, only glaring eyes and clenched fists between them. Fallon hated William at that moment – but mostly because he was right.

Knights of the Red lived by a kind of self-deception that enabled them to believe in the absolute rule of the One. It was the duty of a knight to follow his commander’s orders and to do the will of king and god. The philosophy was hard to crack and only seasoned knights could see it for what it was – a way of keeping them in line. Fallon and William had seen too much of the world and spilled too much blood to be true believers. They were pragmatic and loyal, but by no means as compliant as a young swordsman like Theron.

Fallon had accepted the hypocrisy and tried not to think too much about it. Now, however, the intervention of the Karesian enchantresses made the cynical knight captain more receptive to Verellian’s words.

‘Sir Fallon, I’d like to query some of what I just heard,’ said Theron, stepping into the farmhouse. ‘Your voices carry.’

‘Lieutenant Theron, wait outside,’ snapped Fallon.

‘No need,’ said William calmly, stepping towards the idealistic young knight. ‘I have peace terms for the king and Captain Fallon would like you to place me under guard until the army arrives.’ He turned back to his old adjutant and said, ‘Just to make things easier for you.’

‘Sir?’ queried Theron.

‘Just do it,’ was the weary response from Fallon.

* * *

Time passed slowly and Fallon’s thoughts grew darker and darker. He sat in the abandoned farmhouse, pondering Verellian’s words. By mid-afternoon the sun was bright in a cloudless sky and the realm of Scarlet was unusually warm. The ever-present wind reminded him that they were still in Ranen, and it was by no means hot, but at least the rain had stopped. Fallon intended to remain at the farm until reinforcements, and ultimately the bulk of the army, arrived. Once the engineers had assembled their trebuchets and the army was ready for combat they would march on South Warden. William’s words would certainly find their way to someone and the old captain’s death would likely become just a footnote to the campaign in the Freelands.

‘Captain, riders from the west,’ shouted Ohms from outside the farmhouse.

Fallon ignored him for a moment, taking as much time as he could before he had to face reality again. Then he exited the house. He had still not put on his armour and, as he joined his unit outside, Knight Captain Fallon of Leith stood out among the many red tabards.

‘What do we have, sergeant?’ he asked. The question was redundant, however, as dust rising from the west indicated a significant force approaching.

‘The banner of Darkwald, sir,’ replied the sergeant. ‘I’d say a thousand men and engineers. Advance guard.’

The Darkwald yeomanry numbered ten thousand soldiers in all. They were not highly trained but they were notoriously tough. A single purple banner flew in the centre of the approaching column.

Two riders were visible at its head. Brother Jakan rode imperiously under the purple sceptre of nobility. Next to him was Lord Vladimir Corkoson, commander of the yeomanry. He was known as the Lord of Mud, on account of his lesser status among the nobles of Tor Funweir, and had chosen a bunch of grapes against an oak tree as his heraldry. He wore a distinctive moulded-leather breastplate and his white hair was a hereditary touch rather than a sign of age.

‘That would be the Lord of Mud, then,’ said Ohms, sizing up the lesser noble. ‘Leather armour... brave man.’ The sergeant absently tapped on his steel breastplate.

Jakan was setting a difficult pace for the men on foot to match and the infantry regiments were clearly exhausted.

‘Well met, knight captain,’ announced the Lord of Mud in a good-humoured way. The two riders trotted on from the rest of the men and approached Fallon. ‘Vladimir Corkoson at your service.’

‘My lord,’ replied Fallon.

‘Captain,’ said Jakan in a monotone.

‘An absolute pleasure as always, brother.’

Jakan and Corkoson dismounted quickly. Of the two commanders, the Lord of Mud was the taller by several inches. He was also slender to the point of being thin and did not look like a true fighting man.

‘Do we have somewhere private where we can talk?’ asked Jakan.