The Red Knight (24 page)

The last thing she wanted was to be dragged into a conversation with a drunken warrior she may have once met or fought with. But before she could wave and walk on, the rat-faced Suvian stepped out of the tent and planted himself in her path. He bowed extravagantly, wine slopped over the rim of his goblet, staining his kidskin glove scarlet. A familiar coldness flowed through her limbs when she saw that the Thane was also in the tent.

“Captain Stenna, please allow me to introduce myself,” said the Suvian. “I am Captain Luca Telvier, Commander of Telvier’s Free Company of Foot.”

She remembered him—that wig was impossible to forget. Something told her this wasn’t a chance encounter.

“Is there something I can do for you, Captain Telvier?”

“Indeed there is, Captain Stenna. Thane Thorgulsen—” he gestured to the Thane who gave the slightest nod of recognition, “—has a few questions he’d like to ask you. Alas, his Antian isn’t very good, so he’s asked if I could translate for him, if you wouldn’t mind?”

Alyda noticed the laughter had died. Everyone in the tent was listening to the exchange.

“Very well, but I must be away soon, Telvier.”

“You are most gracious. Isn’t the Captain gracious, lads?”

The tent was packed with Telvier’s mercenaries and Guthlanders. They all chorused their approval. She was being set up.

“The Thane would like to know why the Captain of the famous
Hammer of Antia
didn’t take part in the tournament.”

Here we go.
Alyda’s stomach tightened. The air was alive—charged with the promise of violence. If they attacked, she decided she would kill the Suvian first and then the Thane. If she was Void bound, she wasn’t going alone.

“‘Tis my duty to host the tournament.”

Telvier made a show of translating, but it was obvious that the Thane understood perfectly well. The warlord looked at her as he answered the mercenary.

Telvier nodded, a sneering grin spread across his pox scarred face. “Thane Thorgulsen says that in his country, and please understand these are his words not mine, I am merely the messenger and as such…”

“Get on with it, Telvier,” she said. Her fingers tingled in anticipation of drawing her sword. They would expect her to run, or go on the defensive. By the time they realised their mistake, the Thane and Telvier would be dead. She smiled.

“The Thane says; a true leader doesn’t let their warriors fight while they watch. He also adds that only a…”

Alyda waved him to silence. “Enough. Save your breath for those who don’t mind the smell.” She turned to the Thane. “When and where, Guthlander?”

The Guthlander’s moustache twitched. She imagined he must be smiling but the effect was lost under all that fucking hair. She stared into his pale eyes, trying to read his intentions. All she saw was ice.

“Dawn, tomorrow, the sword arena,” he said.

“The miserable bastards! We can’t let them get away with this.” Nevenna ground her fist into her palm.

Alyda rocked back on her chair. “I’d like nothing better than to pay those fa’cachti another visit, only this time with the Hammer at my back, but then I’d have to explain to Trease why we pounded a delegation of Guthlanders after one of them offered me a challenge. I can’t see that going down well, can you?”

“He wouldn’t know about the challenge.”

“
I
would.”

“Ack, but it burns to let them get away with this. The honourless pig-fuckers,” said Nev.

“I can’t argue with that, and I’ll stake a month’s pay there’s more to this than just a chance to make mischief. That fucking Suvian set me up.”

“You don’t think he’s working for the Brotherhood do you?”

“No, they don’t hold with mercenaries.”

“I suppose we’ll find out tomorrow. Shall I let everyone know to be ready, just in case there’s trouble?”

“In case? Oh, there’s going to be trouble alright.”

Dawn broke, sullen and grey accompanied by a heavy drizzle. Talin took one look outside and decided that the best place for him was bed. He would have rolled over and gone back to sleep had Bear not burst into his room and told him about the duel.

He was angry that Alyda hadn’t told him herself and annoyed that Bear sounded so gleeful at the prospect of a fight between Alyda and the Guthlander.

“I’m going to stop them,” he said, and threw on his clothes.

Bear pulled a face. “Why in the name of the gods would you want to do that? I thought you liked her?”

“You can be fucking dense sometimes, Iris,” Talin fumed.

“It’s part of my charm. But listen Tal—Highness; if you stop the duel, you might as well cut your cock off for all that you’ll ever get near the Captain. She’d never forgive you for shaming her.” She threw him his boots. “Now please hurry, there’s already quite a crowd ahead of us and I want to be able to see what’s—”

Talin rounded on her. “Damn it, Bear, I’m serious. I won’t stand by and watch her get hurt.”

“I understand how you feel, but don’t forget; it’s what she does. If you interfere you’ll lose her respect, and the respect of the Hammer.”

“Fuck the Hammer! You’ve seen the size of that Guthlander. Do you really think she stands a chance against him?”

“I do hope so, I’ve got a…I mean, yes! Of course. Now come on, or it’ll be over before we get there.”

The crowd was already three deep by the time Talin and Bear arrived. Guthlanders and mercenaries lined one half of the arena, the knights and squires of the Hammer the other. All he had to do was tell the Marshal to stop it. He was the heir to the throne, and not averse to giving orders, but he didn’t, mostly because of the Hammer.

None of the knights seemed even the slightest bit concerned for their Captain. Most were watching the combatants preparing for the fight with an air of studied detachment. Some looked bored, and were hardly paying any attention to what was happening in the arena. Their attitude confused him, and caused him to pause. If they weren’t worried, should he be?

The Guthlanders and the mercenaries weren’t as reticent as the Antians. They were cheering Thorgulsen as though the fight was already won. Against his better judgement Talin decided to heed Bear’s council, and say nothing—for the time being.

The Thane was arguing with the Marshal, while Kieran continued to school the juniors
,
infuriating the Guthlander even more. Alyda smiled within the darkness of her helm. It would soon be her turn to teach the pig-fucker a lesson and she couldn’t wait.

“Pay attention, you lot!” Lorhine barked—startling the squires and pages to rapt attention. “You’re not here just to watch the Captain win a duel; you’re here to learn, so listen up. A suit of plate can weigh fifty pounds…on a good day. You will not always be mounted and therefore you must be able to carry that weight and fight on foot, like common warriors.” There was a ripple of laugher among the youngsters. “You must be able to run in your armour, fight in it, even sleep in it. It must become part of you, a second, steel skin. The superior craftsmanship of Antian plate—the finest armour in the world—will enable you to effectively carry the battle to whomever, and wherever you are sent to enforce King Daris’s will.”

Lorhine was good. Alyda almost forgot why she was there. She flexed her fingers, worked them deeper into her gauntlets. Kieran gave her a sly grin and continued to instruct the youngsters. The Thane was sounding more enraged with every passing minute, which was exactly what she wanted. While she waited for Kieran to finish, she idly scanned the crowd. Prince Talin and Bear Berwick pushed their way to the front of the arena. Talin’s face was as dark as a storm. She wondered if he was worried for her, and laughed at the fanciful notion.

“—The Captain will now choose weapons appropriate to the combat, taking into account her opponent,” said Lorhine. “This is not a luxury you’ll be afforded often, so you must make the most of it when it happens.”

That was her cue. With great deliberation, she examined the weapon rack by the side of the arena. She turned, and very obviously looked over to the Thane before grabbing a stick that had been placed on the rack for this very purpose. It was a childish joke and, got the response she expected: The Thane turned purple with rage and everyone, including some of the mercenaries laughed their arses off. Alyda had a few practice swings with the stick before she tossed it aside and picked up a mace and a warhammer.

When they were both armed, the Marshal called them to the centre of the arena. “Captain Stenna, Thane Thorgulsen.” He bowed to both. “You will fight until one of you yields, or you both decide ‘tis a draw, or one or both of you are unable to continue, due to injury or death. Do you accept these terms?”

Alyda agreed immediately, but Thorgulsen shook his head.

“Before we start I want the Captain checked for magic,” he said.

Furious, Alyda swept up her visor. “Do you think I’d dishonour myself and my Company by cheating?”

The Thane smiled, and leaned on his huge, double-headed axe. “Let’s find out, shall we? Unless you have something to hide, something your Ward is keeping quiet about…?”

“I don’t need magic to put you on your arse,” she snarled.

The Marshal cleared his throat. “Captain Stenna, do you have someone here who can, er…
test
the Thane? Thane Thorgulsen, I gather you have someone who can detect such things?”

“Aye, Marshal, I do.” He jerked his thumb at his wife.

Alyda saw the trap too late. They weren’t just after her blood—they wanted her honour.

“Captain?” enquired the flustered Marshal.

Alyda shrugged nonchalantly, even though she was fuming. “The Ward will sound if the Thane has been foolish enough to use magic.”

The Marshal muttered under his breath and turned to the Thane’s wife. “If you would…” He threw up his hands. “… Do whatever it is you do.”

Alyda focused her concentration and ordered the Ward to accept the spell the Guthlander was about to perform—
so long as it isn’t a harming spell.
The court mages had drilled her for days on how to order the Ward with a thought when she had become Captain. It was always an unsatisfying experience because there was never the slightest indication that the damn thing had heard.

The thought occurred to her that the Guthani might not even bother to cast a spell. All she had to do was accuse her of using magic and that would be enough to ruin her reputation. The witch closed her eyes and began to chant under her breath. The air grew heavy, like the moment before a storm breaks. She was casting a spell alright. Alyda was uncomfortably reminded of when the Shadewalker appeared.

After several tense minutes the Guthani opened her eyes. “Captain Stenna has nothing of a magical nature about her person.”

Thorgulsen’s smile vanished. He fixed his wife with an icy stare. “
Are you sure
?”

Alyda didn’t know exactly what they’d planned, but if the murderous look Thorgulsen gave his woman was anything to go by, the plan hadn’t worked.

“Quite sure, husband,” the woman said. As she turned to leave, Alyda saw her wink at someone over on the Antian side of the arena.

Talin turned to Bear. “Did she just wink at you?”

Bear looked suitably confused. “Who, Highness?”

“Don’t make me waste breath on this. You know who.”

The tiniest hint of a smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. “Oh,
her.
No I don’t think so, Highness. She might have something in her eye, or a nervous affliction… or something.”

“By Sest, I swear, Lady Berwick, if Alyda gets hurt because you’ve been acting like a bitch in heat, you and I will have a problem.”

Alyda’s visor locked into place with a satisfying click. She rolled her shoulders and waited. Thorgulsen adjusted his grip on his axe.

“Are you both satisfied that everything—
magical or otherwise—
is as it should be?” The Marshal asked, somewhat exasperated. Alyda and the Guthlander nodded their assent. “Thank the gods for that,” said the Marshal brushing a palmful of rain off his balding pate.

He began to explain what they could and couldn’t do to each other. Alyda had heard the speech a dozen times before and took the opportunity to get the measure of her opponent.

The Guthani was wearing the same heavy scale coat that he’d worn for the melee, but a different helm. This one had a mail aventail and bronze cheek plates instead of a full visor. It allowed for a broader field of vision, but less protection than a fully enclosed helm. Alyda had a far more limited view of the world though the narrow slit in her sallet, but she was used to it. The Guthlander was big enough and slow enough that she wouldn’t lose sight of him in the small arena.

If Lorhine’s lecture was anything to go by, she should be flattered by his choice of weapon. The haft alone must have been over five feet long, but it was the twin-bladed axe heads that earned her respect. Every gleaming curve, every inch of finely honed edge promised pain.