The Long War 03 - The Red Prince (30 page)

‘Lord Bromvy,’ bellowed Xander, ‘your hall returns to something of its previous warmth.’

‘Fewer people,’ replied Brom.

The Hawks strode forward until they stood in tight lines before the raised dais. Xander had a Blue cleric with him, an older man armed with a heavy mace and a small steel buckler, reminding the lord of Canarn that he no longer had a cleric as a confessor.

‘Sorry to bring another army here,’ said Xander with a smile. ‘It was not my intention to scare your people.’

‘Red is clearly a popular colour in Tor Funweir,’ replied Brom, feeling small in the company of the Red Prince. ‘But you are welcome here.’

‘Make no mistake, we do not come here under the banner of the One God.’

The lord of Ro Haran was renowned as a rebellious man, unlike the others of his family. He was the king’s younger brother and the only man to have left the knights of the Red – though William of Verellian claimed otherwise.

‘Then why do you come here?’ he asked. ‘Tor Funweir could use you elsewhere.’

‘I came here seeking an ally. Though I’d prefer to talk over a drink... with fewer soldiers.’

Brom glanced at his guardsmen. If Xander was here to kill him, he’d have done so already. As long as his fleet of ships remained at anchor in the bay, there was no immediate danger. The men and forest-dwellers of Canarn were a tough bunch, dedicated to protecting the city and keeping its people free.

‘Of course,’ replied Brom. ‘Auker, have the Hawks picketed in the courtyard.’

The guardsman nodded and left, taking several more men with him.

‘My lord Tiris, come with me.’ The lord of Canarn stood and motioned for Tyr Sigurd to accompany him to the adjoining antechamber.

The newcomers showed no signs of surprise at the Dokkalfar present in the great hall and Brom was glad that he didn’t have to explain their presence.

He stepped down on to the carpeted floor and walked to the back of his hall. The room, formerly used as his father’s study, and more recently by Mortimer Rillion, was a cosy office, adorned with the heraldry of Canarn. The black raven in flight, rising over a longsword, a leaf-blade and an axe, carried a special significance for the citizens of the duchy. It symbolized those who had lost their lives defending Canarn and retaking the city from the Red knights.

‘You’ve changed your banner,’ observed Xander as he entered the antechamber, followed by his wife and the Blue cleric. ‘That’s Brytag, isn’t it?’

Brom nodded. ‘That bit hasn’t changed.’

‘And I hear you’ve removed the word Ro from your city,’ said the cleric, though his tone was not disapproving.

‘It’s just Canarn now,’ said Brom. ‘I don’t think we count as part of Tor Funweir any more.’

The duke of Haran took a seat opposite Brom and frowned. ‘The banner and name are both your business, my friend, but I have to correct you on something.’

‘Please do,’ he said, gesturing for Sigurd to bring a decanter of wine from a side table.

‘You are still a lord of Ro,’ said Xander.

Brom chuckled, pouring two glasses of wine.

‘Do I not get one?’ asked the cleric. ‘Oh, don’t worry about it, I’ll pour my own.’ He sat next to the Red Prince and took a large glass of wine. Turning back to Gwendolyn, he asked, ‘Want one?’

She shook her head and remained standing. ‘Maybe one of us should not drink.’

‘Suit yourself,’ replied the cleric, gulping down a mouthful of wine.

‘If we all have suitable refreshment,’ began Brom, ‘you can explain why I should give a shit about Tor Funweir or your idiot brother.’

Xander did not change his expression. ‘Do you want me to say it again?’ he asked.

‘Say what?’

‘You are a lord of Ro. Like it or not, your blood is noble, your name is noble, you are the duke of Canarn and I need your help to save Tor Funweir.’

Brom began to reply, but Gwendolyn interrupted him. ‘Before you speak, Lord Bromvy, please consider the situation. I have a feeling that you often act through passion and instinct. I implore you to try considered reason on this occasion.’

He looked at her with suspicious eyes, wondering exactly what they wanted from him. He didn’t have much of an army or any real desire to assist Tor Funweir. As a Black Guard, he was technically an outlaw.

‘What do you want me to do?’ he asked. ‘I can offer you hospitality, but little else.’

Xander slammed his fist on the table. ‘You are a lord of Ro!’ he repeated, this time virtually shouting. ‘You have a duty to your people. You can hide in your keep or you can ride with me.’

‘To what end?’ demanded Brom, also raising his voice. ‘You can’t win against people who can control your mind.’

The Red Prince leant back, letting the corner of his mouth curl into a smile. ‘Your friend, the Kirin assassin, claims he’s killed four of the Seven Sisters... I can vouch for one at least. That leaves only three women who can control our minds.’

Brom smiled at the mention of Rham Jas. He had heard nothing about his friend’s progress and was happy to hear that he was alive and still successfully killing enchantresses. ‘You’ve spoken to him?’

‘He said he was bound for Ro Weir,’ replied Xander. ‘All we need to worry about are the Hounds.’

‘Of which there are likely to be a lot,’ interjected the Blue cleric.

‘But just men... who die at the edge of a blade,’ offered Gwendolyn.

Brom sipped at his wine, considering their words. He had been waiting in Canarn for months with an itchy sword hand, hoping for an enemy to fight or a battle to join. Now that he had the opportunity to take up arms, he found himself hesitant. He was no coward, but the lord of Canarn doubted that a frontal assault would be the answer.

‘We can win, Brom,’ said Xander.

‘How many Hawks do you have?’

‘Five thousand,’ he replied. ‘Plus any men you can bring. The barracks in Tiris are mostly empty, but once we retake the city there’ll be another five thousand at least – guardsmen and knights. I can send to Leith and Arnon for allies as well, once Ro Tiris is ours. The White Knights of the Dawn from Arnon haven’t taken the field yet. Markos of Rayne commands five thousand knights.’

Brom puffed out his cheeks. ‘And your brother?’

‘He’ll be busy in Ranen for months. The people of Rowanoco won’t fall easily and the king won’t know what we’re doing until we’ve done it.’

‘Come with us, Lord Bromvy,’ said Gwendolyn.

‘I think you should go with them, my lord,’ said Sigurd, tilting his head at Gwendolyn.

‘You are welcome as well, Tyr,’ said Xander, showing an awareness of Dokkalfar names. ‘And any forest-dweller who will stand against the Seven Sisters and their Dead God.’

‘There are many who will come... humans, too,’ replied Sigurd. ‘But only if our lord leads us.’ He looked at Brom, displaying his loyalty to Canarn for perhaps the first time.

Brom looked down, muddling through his options. To leave Canarn with a skeletal force to protect it would be asking for trouble, but Xander was right about the king. He would be unlikely to turn away from his Ranen campaign. The lord of Canarn could muster two thousand good men and, depending on Vithar Joror, another hundred or so Dokkalfar. If the forest-dwellers were feeling particularly active, they might even come in force.

‘Okay,’ he said quietly, still looking down.

‘Okay, what?’ asked Xander.

‘Okay, I’ll come.’ He paused, standing up and puffing out his chest. ‘You can count on the forces of Canarn, and her lord.’

The Red Prince also stood, extending his hand to Brom. ‘We are glad to have you, my lord.’

They shook hands, maintaining eye contact, and Brom felt he was entering into a pact from which he would not be able to withdraw. ‘Is there a plan?’ he asked, resuming his seat.

‘There is,’ replied Xander. ‘Archibald will defend Tiris, throwing guardsmen at us, but once we breach the city walls they’ll likely surrender.’

‘Likely?’ queried Brom.

‘We’ll march straight for the knight marshal’s office and the Spire of the King. My cousin will surrender or lose his head.’

‘Even if they surrender, we’ll need to get past catapults and the sea wall first,’ offered Daganay. ‘Make no mistake, they won’t give it to us, we’ll have to take it. If we just sail through the shipping channels, they’ll bombard us to wooden splinters.’

‘Black wart,’ said Gwen, smiling at Sigurd. ‘If we can procure enough and chain the explosions – boom.’

‘Vithar Joror will provide us with all we need,’ replied the Dokkalfar guardsman. ‘Enough for any sea wall.’

‘Do you know what it’s like there?’ asked Brom. ‘Since the Sisters took control?’

Xander shook his head. ‘No, but we should have at least one friend there. The Brown cardinal is not an easy target for enchantment and he’s still at the Low Cathedral.’

‘Cerro?’ queried Brom, who had met the chief Brown cleric when he was a young man.

Daganay nodded. ‘I know the man, he’s one of two cardinals in the city. The other is a Purple bastard called Severen. Of the two, I’d say the Brown is more likely to be a friend... he’s a good man, respected by the populace. He’s got one of our men with him, a young Blue acolyte of mine. We sent him before we retook Haran. If Cerro’s faith is still strong, we’ll have an ally.’

‘Sooner or later you’ll have to deal with the Purple,’ said Brom. ‘Attacking Tiris will piss them off.’

Xander’s expression showed how little he cared about the clerics of nobility. ‘They’ll do what they’re fucking told.’

Daganay chuckled and Gwendolyn rolled her eyes. The Red Prince was an intimidating presence, especially so when angry, and Brom found himself wishing he had a witty response or a way to impose his own presence. After a moment’s thought, he said, ‘You’re very confident.’

‘It helps to remove doubt,’ replied Xander. ‘Win or lose, doubt does not help a man.’

‘Or a woman,’ interjected Gwen.

‘Or a Dokkalfar,’ said Tyr Sigurd.

‘Good, so none of us have doubts,’ said Daganay. ‘An excellent start.’

CHAPTER 11

KALE GLENWOOD IN THE CITY OF RO WEIR

I
T DIDN
’
T FEEL
like lying. Each time he told Rham Jas he was okay, each smile he faked when the insufferable Kirin cracked a joke, every minute and every day he pretended to be something he wasn’t. It was easy to simulate friendship. Up until recently it had been genuine. Now he employed it as a front while he played a part for his mistress. He was not to kill his companion, though he wanted to. He was to stay close to him, to wait until the Mistress of Pain sought an advantage. When he was awake, his mind was clear, as if nothing had happened. But when he slept, she called to him, directing his actions.

I am concerned by the forest-dweller, she said.

‘Surely he is insignificant beside your power, mistress.’

Do not underestimate Tyr Nanon, he has been fighting longer than I.

‘Shall I kill him when we meet in Ro Weir?’

No... we will remain quiet a while longer. Though I will soften my hold on your mind, removing knowledge of the beautiful gift I have given you. The forest-dweller will not sense anything.

‘I don’t want to go back to my pointless life, mistress. I want to hear your voice in my head until the day I die.’

You will. I will always be in your mind, sweet Kale. I will just allow you to act... normally, as if you had never had your mind caressed by my enduring love. You will forget until I need you to remember.

‘And when can I sit at your side?’

When the dark-blood is dead.

* * *

They had moved quickly away from Haran and now, within sight of Ro Weir, Rham Jas was irritated by his companion’s constant worrying. Glenwood felt strange and, try as he might, he could not shake off the feeling that something was wrong. Even the thought of meeting up with Dalian Thief Taker and Tyr Nanon proved insufficient distraction for the tired forger, who felt as if he were merely being dragged along. He had become more and more involved with the Kirin’s plans over the past year, to the point where their goals appeared the same. But now, as they neared Saara the Mistress of Pain, Glenwood once again felt like an outsider.

‘You’ll feel better when we’re actually in the city, Kale,’ said the Kirin. ‘It’s all this sleeping rough, I don’t think it agrees with you.’

‘Getting hit on the head with a metal torch-holder probably didn’t help.’

Ro Weir was an unpleasant place at the best of times, but now it was even worse. Law and order – an almost religious concept for the Ro – was being implemented with the unusual brutality that marked the rule of the Seven Sisters throughout Tor Funweir. Glenwood wondered if life was in any way sacred to the Karesian witches. They had let the citizens of Haran wallow in pestilence and, judging by the lines of headless bodies that flanked the main gate of Weir, things were even worse in the south.

‘Not trying to rule with benevolence then?’ joked Rham Jas, as they rode past the main gate and headed for a low trench through which water was flowing.

‘True to form,’ muttered Glenwood.

The northern muster fields of Weir were empty, though a huge military camp, flying a twisted tree banner, could be seen to the east. The sprawling Hound encampment was almost as big as the city and Glenwood couldn’t imagine how many soldiers it would take to fill the place. The northern farms were full of camp followers and huge carts, from which the Hounds’ drugs were distributed. They took a potent cocktail of Karesian black, a sticky, pungent substance which, when smoked, made them both violent and compliant. The entire duchy was caught up in preparations for war, making travel surprisingly easy. The Karesians cared about armies, not individual men.