The Long War 03 - The Red Prince (14 page)

‘Enough!’ roared Fallon, silencing the cleric. ‘This is the situation – we will fortify this camp and stand ready. If I see any attempt to muster the knights, we will bombard you until you weep. You have no artillery, and don’t pretend Tristram would launch a frontal assault. He, unlike you, cares for the troops under his command.’

A grunt of angry agreement came from Vladimir, as he recalled the manner in which Jakan had wasted so many men in the breach at South Warden.

‘You can’t win, vow-breaker,’ snarled the cleric. ‘We will kill any man who stands against us.’ He addressed the last words to the front ranks of yeomanry, trying to scare them into submission.

Fallon nudged his horse forward until he was close to Jakan. Theron followed, and the exemplar was glad to have the man of Haran at his side.

‘I’m not trying to win, you fucking idiot, I’m trying to stop men from dying. Ranen and Ro, enough have died for no purpose. If the king wants to follow the whim of an enchantress, he’ll have to do it without the Darkwald yeomanry... and he’ll have to do it without me.’

Jakan still held his sword and glared at Fallon, a look of arrogant entitlement in his narrow eyes.

‘You can’t stay here forever,’ he muttered. ‘Cardinal Mobius and the king will stamp out your little rebellion.’

‘Rebellion?’ shouted Fallon, cowing the cleric with his sudden ferocity. ‘I do not recognize your authority. I do not recognize the authority of the king.’ His voice rose in volume and carried across the Plains of Scarlet. ‘You do not speak for the One!’ He lowered his voice, breathing heavily. ‘As for what I’m waiting for... when General Malaki Frith gets here, I’ll speak to him about our collective forces leaving the Freelands and you answering for the people you have slaughtered. If he is an honourable man, he’ll listen. If not, more men will die.’ With a confident smile, he addressed Jakan directly. ‘I still plan to kill you, cleric. Don’t give me a reason to do it today. I trust you will deliver my terms to Tristram and Mobius. I don’t give a shit whether you tell the king, his mind is not his own.’

‘Heresy!’ barked Jakan.

In a move that surprised even Fallon, the cleric was knocked from his horse by a lightning-fast punch from Theron. The former knight was twitching with rage.

‘YOU DO NOT SPEAK FOR THE ONE,’ he bellowed.

‘You!’ Fallon pointed to the second Purple cleric, a man of the sword called Rathbone of Chase. ‘Take him back to South Warden and ensure he delivers my terms.’

Chase hesitated and Jakan looked up from the grass blearily. His eyes were unfocused and his jaw was beginning to swell and turn red. Slowly, Chase dismounted and helped his brother cleric back into the saddle. The Red knights that followed them were all staring at Fallon in awe, but none of them acted.

‘Brothers,’ said Fallon, talking to the knights. ‘Please realize that you have been led astray by a mad king under the sway of a witch.’

He knew his words would fall on deaf ears, but he had enough residual respect for the knights of the Red that he felt he had to try – much as William of Verellian had done with him.

‘That is all I have to say. We will parlay when the knight general arrives.’

He wheeled his horse round. With Theron of Haran close behind, he returned to the forces of Darkwald.

CHAPTER 5

BRONWYN OF CANARN IN THE MOON WOODS

T
HE SNOWY TREE
tops thrust up from the rugged landscape, pushing their way out of the canopy as sharp pinnacles of white. South Warden was a week to the south and they were deep within the Moon Woods. The terrain rose and fell like a choppy sea. The going was tough.

Bronwyn had taken to wearing two cloaks once they left the city of Scarlet Company. She had worn the same clothes, day and night, for the last five days. She was further from home than she had ever been and she had not seen her brother for months. She knew the city was secure and that Brom was safe, but she longed once again to be the lady of Canarn.

She had always thought of her home as a bitterly cold place, constantly lashed with freezing winds from the sea. However, the cold she felt now was a world away and ten times worse than anything Ro Canarn could offer. She hadn’t known it was possible to be this cold.

Her travelling companions, two men of Ranen, were more accustomed to the weather and teased her whenever she shivered or complained. Micah Stone Dog, the young warrior of Wraith Company, was a dry-humoured, sarcastic man who had come with her on the orders of his captain, Horrock Green Blade. The implication had been that she, as a noble of Ro, would probably get herself killed without an axe-man to rely on.

Dragneel Dark Crest, a priest of Brytag the World Raven, was an infuriating man to travel with. He had only one leg but was inhumanly dextrous with his crutches. Even when the terrain became rocky and unyielding, he was faster than Bronwyn and Micah. Annoyingly, he was vocal about her need to keep up with him and frequently chuckled when she stumbled or needed a break.

‘Don’t worry about him,’ said Micah, as they neared the end of a day’s travelling. ‘He’s better than some of the bird men I’ve met.’

The sun had disappeared behind the trees and they were at the end of a wooded valley, sheltered a little from the wind.

‘I grew up with the greatest respect for Brytag, but his priest is an idiot.’ She was feeling petulant. She was sick of eating boiled roots and dried meat, and she hadn’t taken off her boots for a week.

Stone Dog nodded. ‘Without doubt.’ He stopped walking by a rocky outcropping with a slight overhang. ‘Time for food,’ he said, removing his large rucksack.

Dragneel had already stopped and was perched on the top of the rocks, scanning the forest on either side of the valley. The priest had estimated that they’d run into the men of the Crescent in a day or two and he was eager that they shouldn’t be seen as enemies. The Moon clans were dangerous and unpredictable, men who worshipped Rowanoco as the Earth Shaker. To them, he was a spirit of nature rather than an Ice Giant.

‘Does he know where he’s going?’ asked Bronwyn, settling down on the cold, snowy ground and helping to build a fire.

Micah didn’t answer straightaway. He was laconic, but pleasant company. ‘Northwards... I suppose.’

She glared at him. ‘Yes, very clever. I mean does he know anyone in the Moon Woods or are we just hoping to run into someone?’

‘I met a man of the Crescent once,’ replied Micah. ‘He came to Ro Hail. Strange man, lots of tattoos.’

‘That’s not an answer.’ She piled wooden shards together while Stone Dog gathered some dry wood.

‘Wasn’t supposed to be,’ he said unhelpfully.

Bronwyn stopped building the fire and shook her head at him, pursing her lips in anger.

‘Okay, I’m sorry,’ said Micah, slouching down in the snow. ‘We’re going to Ranen Gar, that’s all I know. If that mad bastard knows a few men of the Crescent who can help South Warden, all the better.’

She was tired and had no further appetite to be annoyed. They were on their way to the realm of Greywood with the vague hope that help could be found for South Warden. How exactly a noble of Tor Funweir had ended up on a diplomatic mission for the Free Companies was somewhat of a mystery to Bronwyn, but she was too proud to admit that she was still out of her depth. She had been so ever since she had fled her home so many months ago, and she doubted she’d feel any different for many more months to come.

Dragneel threw his rucksack down to land next to the small fire. ‘Food!’ he demanded, pointing to his bag.

Micah directed his eyes up at the priest. ‘Make it yourself, bird man.’

‘I need to stay on watch, wraith man. I’ve got better eyesight than you,’ replied Dragneel. ‘I don’t want anyone to sneak up on us.’

‘And who will be sneaking up on us, Master Dragneel?’ asked Bronwyn.

‘Hopefully, someone friendly,’ was the unhelpful response.

With no further words, the priest disappeared beyond the overhang, his crutches making little sound on the snowy ground.

Bronwyn and Micah huddled under the rocks, leaning forward to warm themselves by the small fire. A few embers flickered into low flames and within minutes a satisfying crackle could be heard. Micah opened Dragneel’s bag and produced some dried goat’s meat and hard bread. It was filling, salty and lacking in flavour, but she had long since stopped complaining about their diet. Weeks of harsh living had taught her that flavour was a luxury and of secondary importance. It was not that the Ranen didn’t know how to make nice food – their hearty mutton stews, usually served with dumplings, were particularly pleasant – but when travelling they thought of food as a necessity rather than a luxury.

As they ate, she was glad that Micah was not a particularly talkative travelling companion. Bronwyn liked the young warrior of Wraith but was happier sitting in silence, contemplating her situation. She knew little of the Moon clans and was apprehensive at the prospect of meeting them. Luckily, she was becoming hardened to new experiences and was no longer surprised at strange Ranen behaviour. She chuckled to herself at the thought, thinking it a little snobbish.

‘What’s funny?’ asked Stone Dog.

She smirked at him. ‘I just realized how little I knew about your people. Since I rode into Ro Hail, I’ve seen things I didn’t know existed. Even in Ro Canarn we had a slight arrogance about the Ranen, as if they were... I don’t know, lesser men or something.’

Micah didn’t show any sign of offence at the comment. ‘You must have known we had towns and people. You’re a Ro, not an idiot.’

‘I just didn’t realize how big it was,’ replied Bronwyn, remembering the huge distances she’d travelled since leaving her home. ‘And I’ve only seen a tiny bit of it.’

‘You don’t want to go to Fjorlan,’ muttered Stone Dog, ‘it’s fucking cold there.’

‘It’s cold here,’ responded Bronwyn, shivering under her cloak as the cold night took hold of her limbs. She gestured to the overhang. ‘Is he going to come back, do you think?’

‘Don’t care,’ was Micah’s simple response. ‘Hopefully, something big and scary will eat him during the night.’

She smiled and her lips cracked in the cold. During the day the glare from the snow was difficult to bear, but at night the darkness was almost comforting. Bronwyn was glad that the gloom didn’t reach much beyond twilight and never became total, though the temperature dropped even further when the blue skies disappeared. Her limbs shivered, her fingers ached and her face stung, but she still smiled.

‘Sleep, I think,’ yawned Stone Dog, exposing his hands in front of the fire and clenching each fist.

‘Indeed.’ Bronwyn puffed out her cheeks and huddled up next to the fire.

* * *

She dreamt. Somewhere in the shadowy corners of her mind a raven called to her, its voice sharp and insistent. She often dreamt of Brytag, but never did the World Raven call to her in such a way. It now seemed as if time was short and events were colliding faster and faster. She didn’t know why he was calling to her. She was a scared Ro noblewoman, far from home and ill suited to interpret the will of a god, be it a bird or a Giant.

‘What do you want?’ she asked.

The raven cawed louder.

‘I don’t understand.’

Silence for a moment. Then the raven flapped its wings extravagantly and let out a series of short, sharp sounds, snapping its beak and hopping up and down. The World Raven became fully visible in her mind, perched on thin air and flexing its vicious talons. Behind it was a vague impression of riders in dark blue.

It stopped cawing, but its deep black eyes regarded her. Whatever she was seeing and whatever the raven wanted, Bronwyn felt small and confused. She wondered how much was a dream and how much was real. Or maybe none of it was real and she was simply the scared Ro noblewoman she was trying not to be. The raven wanted her to know something, but its call was incomprehensible and came from far away beyond the world. The riders in blue were fanned out and plunging across snowy ground.

Then another sound began to drown out the cawing. It came from closer and Bronwyn thought it was the growling of a dog.

* * *

She awoke sharply and with a gasp. Across the low embers of the flickering fire, Bronwyn saw two green dots, flecked with red. The eyes were widely spaced and, although the beast remained in darkness, she could tell it was a large creature. Next to her Micah Stone Dog was still asleep, curled up under his cloak. She didn’t dare to look up to see if Dragneel was there.

A louder growl and Micah spluttered awake. The young man of Wraith rubbed his eyes and sat up quickly.

‘What’s that?’ he asked in a whisper, directing wide eyes across the fire.

The creature shuffled slowly round the fire, its head emerging into the small globe of light. It was a huge, broad-shouldered dog with a squat muzzle and massively muscled forelegs and shoulders. Its eyes were striking and the flecks of red appeared to pulsate as the dog snarled at them.

‘It’s a Volk war-hound,’ said a voice from above. Dragneel had reappeared and there was a catch of fear in his voice. ‘Don’t piss it off.’