The Red Knight (38 page)

In a matter of minutes the beast was gone and Iris lay naked and shivering on the floor. Guards swarmed up the stairs and the injured knights were taken to the infirmary. Talin got a blanket and covered Bear and then went to check on his mother and brother. When she’d recovered, Alyda told the Watch Commander what had happened. It was about then that Talin noticed that the Ward had stopped ringing.

When he’d seen his mother, he came back to see how Bear was doing. Everyone else was keeping a wary distance from the noblewoman.

She opened her eyes and groaned. “Did I hurt anyone I shouldn’t have?”

“I don’t think so. The creature’s gone; was that you?”

“Aye. Filthy thing, it stank like a pile of rotten offal. Reese said it was a sorcerer. I’m not sure if I killed it. It’s all a bit of a blur. I know I hurt it.”

“I’ll have them organise a search, hopefully its dead…if they can die. Are you alright?”

“No. I’m cold, I feel sick, I stink of sorcerer and I’ve wrecked my chances of bedding anyone in this Arth.” She laughed. “I’m sorry, Tal.”

“You have nothing to apologise for.”

“No?” She shook her head. “It’s been years since I let the monster out, but there was no other way. I couldn’t stand against it as a human.” She tilted her chin towards the guards on the stairs. “Look at them. Look at the way they’re staring. They’re all terrified of me now. They think me as much of a monster as the damn sorcerer. Who knows? Perhaps I am.”

Talin was ready to deny her claim, but the guards
were
staring and some who’d just arrived were making the sign of the horns as they listened to their comrades’ tale.

She grunted. “See? Just like the old days. Now if you will excuse me, dear Prince. I need some clothes, some Pel and some ale—lots of ale.” Bear got up and, wearing nothing but a smile and a blanket, strolled across the hall and down the stairs. He wished there was something he could do to help her, but there wasn’t. Gods knew he’d tried often enough.

In her dreams Alyda was hunting for the sorcerer, but whenever she got close it would disappear.

She opened her eyes and rolled over. She was still dressed in the same clothes she’d been wearing for the past week; the smell was less than pleasant. Her boots were beside the cot and Jamie was by the fire, stirring what smelled like a pan of spiced tea.

She sat up—and immediately wished she hadn’t. Her head started pounding. Added to that, her ribs were sore and her back was as stiff as a poker. She very much wanted to lie down until the pain went away. She pulled on her boots and got up.

“How are you feeling?” Jamie asked, pouring her a mug of tea.

“Like a sorcerer beat the damnation out of me.” She rolled her shoulders and stretched her aching limbs; everything just about worked.

“It sounds like quite a fight.”

Alyda grunted. She didn’t want to talk about it. She was still angry that she’d been taken down so easily.
Demon slayer,
it had called her. She laughed.

“Something funny, Captain?”

“That…thing called me a child. I bloody felt like one. If Iris Berwick hadn’t been there we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“There’s been a lot of talk about Lady Berwick. People aren’t happy that there’s a shapeshifter in the Arth.”

“I’ll tell Cassian to throw her out, and the next time a sorcerer turns up those doing the complaining can deal with it. Idiots. Did you find me any armour? I think I could do with some just to hold me together.”

“Yes, Captain, it’s here.” He went over to the corner and dragged a sheet off the armour stand.

“You packed my parade armour?” Alyda laughed, surprised to see her best armour gleaming on the stand.

“Well, our orders were so vague, I brought as much as the quartermaster would allow me to put on the cart. I didn’t bring the spur though; sorry, Captain.”

“No matter, you did well. Sweet Asha! I’m going to look like a Suvi general strutting around in that on the battlements. Wipe the oil off, and find me some clean clothes. I’m going for a walk on the wall—clear my head.”

There was a door leading straight out onto the wall walk from the room in the Barbican. She stepped outside and squinted against the dawn as the first rays of sunlight ploughed golden furrows in the forest canopy. The sweet aroma of her tea scented the crisp morning air.

While she walked off her headache, she took the opportunity to assess the Arth’s defences. The curtain wall was a good sixty feet high, ten feet thick at the top, and wider at the base. Its roots were deep, anchored in stone that would take months to tunnel through, even without the added complication of the moat.

She paced the width of the walkway. There was room to fight and it was wide enough to withstand a bombardment. The Arth didn’t have a drawbridge; an indication of how long it had been since war had visited the heart of Antia. It had been replaced years ago by a gently arching stone bridge that connected the Arth’s great barbican to a second, smaller gatehouse on the far side of the moat.

The lack of a drawbridge was a weak point, but the gatehouse and barbican were well defended. They both had two sets of heavy oak doors and two iron portcullises. Alas, only the inner gates of the great Barbican could be Ward-locked.

Magical or otherwise, it remained a mighty fortress that would daunt all but the most determined attackers. She wondered how determined the Guthani were, and if they were on their way. As she looked down, she saw a group of hunters leave and head into the forest. Clad in dull greens and browns with longbows slung over their shoulders, they quickly disappeared among the trees. They would be the eyes and ears of the garrison, watching the roads and trails for sign of enemy forces.

She hoped they wouldn’t have cause to loose the warning arrows—the last thing she wanted to see were the trailing red ribbons, arching above the canopy, but after last night that was a wildly optimistic hope. A shadow of doubt crossed her mind. It was a strong keep and she had two hundred reasons why assaulting it would be nothing more than a declaration of suicide.
But what if we can’t hold?

A cold wind cut along the wall and blew the shadow away.
There’s no need to worry.
This was what they did, what they were good at.
Hard as iron, cold as stone.
If the Guthani came for the Queen, they would only find death.

“I don’t think I’ll need the cloak, Jamie.” Alyda adjusted a buckle on her cuirass. She felt much more comfortable now she was back in armour. Jamie looked a little disappointed, but hung the cloak back on the stand. There was a knock at the door; she bid whoever it was to enter. An Arth guard came in and saluted.

“Captain Stenna; there’s a knight just arrived, says he’s from Weyhithe and that he’ll only speak to you.”

“Weyhithe?” she asked, immediately suspicious. “What’s his name, who sent him?”

“He won’t tell us. He just says he from the Fifth.”

She made her way through the angry sea of scarlet and black to the cause of their disgust; a lone knight in russet and silver. It was Teril. When he saw her, he saluted. She didn’t return it.

“Give me one good reason why I don’t hang you from the gate right now?”

The crowd edged closer as eager as she was to hear his answer. He looked scared, rightly so.

“I…I came to bring you this…” he stammered, and offered her an oilskin wrapped bundle.

She took it from him, felt the familiar weight and unwrapped it. As she’d guessed it was her sword.

“To answer your question, no, it wasn’t worth it, Teril stammered. “I just didn’t want to end up in the river with the others who refused to join Corvinius. I know now, knew then if I’m honest, that just being alive could never make up for betraying my oath…my comrades. It’s been eating away at me ever since, that’s why I had to find you, give you that…” The knight shuffled nervously.

Alyda examined her sword before buckling it around her waist. “It’s the dead who deserve your apology, Teril. You’ll be tried for treason; you know that, don’t you?”

“Aye, Captain. But with all due respect, whatever you intend to do with me you had best get to it, because there’s an army hard on my heels.”

The senior officers of both companies gathered in Cassian’s office to hear what Teril had to tell them. When he’d finished, the room fell silent as the knights digested the grim news. Alyda glared at the Rusty.

Teril shrank beneath her scrutiny. “I…I know what you think of me, but believe me, you don’t loathe me any more than I do.”

“Don’t bet on that,” said Lorhine. An affirmative rumble passed through the gathering.

“You haven’t redeemed yourself,” said Cassian. The Captain of the Black Lancers was sitting at his desk, Alyda was standing beside him. “But if what you’ve told us is true, you’ve gone some way towards removing the stain on your honour. Take him away.”

For the next few hours, the officers thrashed out the details of what they could do to strengthen the Arth’s defences in the short time they had before the Guthlanders arrived. When they were done, every knight had a task and set to it immediately. On her way out, Cassian called Alyda over. She had an idea what was coming.

“Ali, we have to settle the matter of overall command.”

“It’s your garrison, Cass.”

“But you’re Captain of the First. You have rank on me.”

She knew him well enough to know that wasn’t the only reason he was offering her command, but waited for him to spit it out without her prompting.

“And then there’s Beri and Tomas. I’m not sure…I’m not sure I’ll be able to make decisions objectively with my family here. I—”

“I understand. I’ll take command.”

As she expected, he looked relieved. “Thank you, Ali. I suppose you think I’m shirking my duty?”

“No, Cass. I think you’ve thought about this long and hard and come up with the right decision. Anyway, I damn well should be in command.” She grinned as his face fell into a confused frown. “Well, I do have the nicest armour.”

The hall was thronged with knights and civilians waiting for the officers to delegate duties. Jamie sat quietly amid the chaos waiting for the Captain. With its glorious stained glass windows and ornate plasterwork the hall reminded him of home. It had been such a long time since he’d been back. He wondered how his parents were, if they knew that war was coming.

“Don’t look so worried, Jamie lad, we’re in the strongest Arth in Antia.” Lorhine’s cheerful voice broke into his thoughts.

Jamie straightened up. The Lieutenant looked relaxed, almost happy—but then this was what the Hammer lived for—wasn’t it?

“I’m not. That was my thinking face, not my worried face. I’d say that Bear’s Tooth was the strongest Arth. It’s smaller, but much harder to attack.”

Lorhine smirked. “And that opinion has nothing to do with it being the Captain’s home, eh?”

“Not at all, sir, it has to do with it being halfway up a mountain with sheer cliffs at its back.”

“It’s also in Tamalan, not Antia,” Lorhine countered.

It was technically on the border, but Jamie didn’t think it wise to argue with the Company Second-in-Command. He changed the subject.

“I’ve never been in a siege—have you, sir?”

Lorhine rubbed his bearded chin. “Aye, a couple of times, but only from the other side. I’ll tell you this: it’s a damn sight easier keeping the bastards out than it is trying to get in.”

“There are only two hundred of us, d’you think that’s enough?”

“If we were talking about two hundred ordinary warriors, I’d say no. Two hundred of the finest knights in the world? Aye, lad, that’s plenty. And don’t forget the Arth guards and there’ll be some handy civilians come in from the villages, plus all the support staff. Nobody can swing a hammer like a blacksmith. That’s easily another two, maybe three hundred. More than enough to see off a bunch of pig-fucking Guthani and merc rabble.” Lorhine grinned and slapped him on the back. Jamie noticed that the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

A stiff breeze tugged at the edges of the plans, but between Alyda and the chief engineer they managed to keep hold of the drawings. They were discussing the placement of defences while the carpenters and engineers assembled the heavy weapons that were kept in the Arth and until now, had never been used in anger.

Everyone else with a strong back was out clearing the trees and scrub that had encroached on the killing ground. The vast open space fanned from north to south along the eastern half of the Arth. The Galerun guarded the west along with the walls that rose above the river as high and sheer as a cliff face. It was no Bear’s Tooth, but if she had to hold out anywhere else, this was the place she’d choose.

Alyda and the chief paced the bailey, dodging the steady stream of refugees that were trickling through the gate. They had come with their possessions piled on everything from hay ricks, to hand-carts. Tired and bewildered, vicious arguments flared over nothing, as worry and uncertainty caused tempers to fray.