The Red Knight (39 page)

When she was a child, people had flocked to Bear’s Tooth to hide from renegade Clan warbands. Today, as she looked at the faces of the refugees, she saw the same expressions of fear and confusion, the same haunted look in their eyes.
Tamalan, Suvia, here. Nothing ever changes
.

Not all the refugees were cowed, some, like the blacksmith cursing his way through the crowd were always going to react to upheaval with hostility and aggression. Alyda knew his type: just as scared as the next person, but unable to control it. The moment their eyes met, she knew that if dissent was voiced, he’d be part of the chorus, if not the choir master. It might be anything from a lack of privies, to the enemy hammering on the gate. But if a complaint was going to be made, she’d bet gold that he’d be one of those making it.

He drew up next to her, looked her up and down. “Nice armour,” he said, more as an accusation than a compliment.

“Aye, it is,” she replied.

The blacksmith leaned on his cart, sweat gleaming on his bald head, dark eyes peering from beneath bushy, black brows. “Where can I set myself up?”

“I’ve no idea,” she said, matching the sharpness of his tone before returning her attention to the plans. “Ask a guard.”

There was nothing to be gained from weighing balls with the man. She’d given him someone to focus his ire upon, now hopefully he’d be less of an arse to everyone else who crossed his path. She seemed to have gauged it right judging by his mutterings as he walked away.

“
No idea,
she says. Now why doesn’t that surprise me? Bloody knights, couldn’t find their arses with both hands without a squire to help ‘em…”

Thea sat by the window trying and failing to embroider a silk kerchief Lady Vorsten had kindly given to her. The light was excellent; the tower sat atop the old castle hill on the northern side of the bailey and soared above the shadows cast by the imposing curtain wall.

The rooms were pleasantly furnished and blessedly quiet. They were modest compared to her apartments in Weyhithe, but comfortable. She had insisted on staying in the guest quarters even though Lady Vorsten had generously offered to vacate her own rooms. She wouldn’t dream of evicting Beria and her family, but she would not forget the offer.

Beria was a most gracious hostess, particularly given the unexpected nature of their arrival. She had done her utmost to accommodate them in every way, while trying to hide the worry Thea could see was gnawing at her.

Her heart went out to the girl; she understood what it was to be a parent of young children, the constant worry over everything from a high temperature to a grazed knee. As the mother of princes, she had the added fear of assassin’s daggers, poisoned food and murderous uncles to contend with. Fear had become part of her life from the moment Talin was born—part of the price she’d paid for falling in love with the heir to the throne.

The current heir was restlessly prowling around her room, armed and armoured for battle. She was shocked and proud to see how much he looked like Daris. He’d grown up this year, but she thanked the gods that both her boys were with her and safe.

Oli was happily burrowing into a pile of books. Unlike Talin, he was a sensitive child. He hadn’t once mentioned the sorcerer’s attack, or their captivity in Weyhithe. His conversation, on the rare occasions that he spoke at all, revolved around whatever he was reading. She was worried for her youngest; he wasn’t like Tal and Daris who put their heads down and ploughed through things. Olin hoarded experiences like a miser hoarded gold.

Her thoughts strayed from her work and she stuck herself with the needle. A speck of blood bloomed on the white silk.
The first drop of rain before the deluge?

“Mother?”

She looked up. Talin had obviously been talking to her, but she hadn’t heard a word he’d said.

“I’m sorry, Tal, what did you say?”

“I said, when the time comes, I intend to fight with the knights.”

“Would that be because of any knight in particular?”

“I can’t say she isn’t part of the reason. Do you object?”

Like any mother, she wanted her son to be happy, but she wasn’t just any mother, she was the Queen of Antia. His relationship with the knight was not in the best interests of the kingdom; princes married princesses, forged alliances. If this was just a fling like all the others she wouldn’t care, but she knew her son. He was in love with Captain Stenna, or at least, he thought he was, which amounted to the same thing. Of course, she couldn’t tell him that she objected and that he must end the relationship. That would only harden his resolve and drive him further into the arms of his lover. It would also make her a terrible hypocrite.

She did not forget that she was the daughter of a minor noble house. Although their love was as strong today as the first time they’d kissed, she couldn’t escape the truth that if Daris had married a Guthani princess, this wouldn’t be happening. Could she sit by and watch Talin make the same mistake? Could she in all conscience stop him?

She forged a smile. “Object? No, of course not, Alyda is your father’s favourite knight. But I do object to you fighting. You are the heir to the throne.” She put down the ruined sewing.

“And what kind of king would I make if I watched while others fought to protect me and my family?”

“I don’t want to argue, Tal.” She was finding it hard enough not to burst into tears. The world had turned hard and she felt as fragile as glass.

Talin sat beside her and put his arm around her. “Father wouldn’t—
isn’t,
watching men and women die in his place.”

Thea’s gaze was drawn to the horizon, to where the jagged line of the forest met the sky. The thought that Daris might be lying dead somewhere out there, pushed her tears to breach the dam of her resolve and they flowed hot and swift down her cheeks.

“Just be careful. I may have already lost my husband; I will not lose my son.” She took his hand. “Never mistake being brave for being heroic,” she said, trying to keep the anguish that was tearing her heart to shreds from shaking her voice to pieces. “One is born of necessity; the other is a foolish notion, and I did not raise you to be a fool.”

They had done as much as they could; now, like they’d done a hundred times before, they had to wait. If Teril was telling the truth they wouldn’t have to wait for long. With some time to kill, Alyda decided to go and see the Hammer. On the way to their barracks, she passed groups of civilians who’d gathered in the bailey waiting to be assigned a duty.

Some kept busy cleaning weapons, others searched for courage in the bottom of a bottle. Many sat and stared into the camp fires, as though trying to divine their future in the flames.

Alyda yawned; she’d get some sleep as soon as she’d seen the Company. She’d had to order Cassian to go and rest, but she understood what was driving him. He not only faced a battle to protect his Queen, but also to save his family.

Her father had done the same when Bear’s Tooth was attacked on the day she was born. He’d gone into battle knowing his wife was about to give birth alone, somewhere in the hills. Year’s later he’d told Alyda it was the best and worst day of his life. Her mother never spoke of it.

The next few days were going to be hard if the Guthani came, and although she relished the challenge of command, at times like this, she missed the easy companionship of her fellow knights.

She paused in the doorway of their barracks to steal a glimpse of the life she’d left behind when she’d become Captain. Rann was sitting cross-legged on the floor, gruffly instructing his squire how to sharpen a sword
the Company way
. Della was on her bunk, quietly playing a tin whistle. Nevenna was beside her, cleaning her armour. Some knights were reading, some prayed, others slept. War was coming—it hung over the Arth like a cloud, but the barracks was a haven of calm, the eye of the gathering storm.

She heard footsteps behind her and turned to see Kieran with a keg under his arm. When he saw her, he cleared his throat loud enough for those inside to hear.

“We’ve been here a few times, eh, Captain?”

“Aye. And we’ll be here a few more before we have to settle the butcher’s bill.”

“Do you want me to assemble the Company?”

“No. It’s an informal visit.”

“In that case, would you care for a wet?” He patted the keg.

Alyda grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

It was still a wonder to Cassian that something so small could so completely disarm him. He could have sat there all night, watching Tomas sleep. The feared Captain of the Black Lancers, completely at the mercy of a one year old. If his knights could see the idiot smile that was plastered across his face they would, quite rightly, laugh themselves sick. One of his braids drifted into the crib. Although he was fast asleep, when it brushed against his hand, Tomas grabbed it.

“Come to bed, Cass,” Beria called sleepily.

The Knight Captain gently uncurled his son’s fingers from his hair and kissed him goodnight. He stirred, but didn’t wake.

Cassian sat on the bed. “He’s got a good strong grip. He’ll make a fine Lancer,” he said to Beria who began un-braiding his hair.

“You’re so handsome,” she whispered and kissed his neck.

A thrill of excitement ran through his body at her touch. After they’d made love with quiet, ardent passion they lay in each other’s arms. Sleep eluded them both.

“What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked her.

Beria had an intense look of concentration on her face. “That portrait doesn’t do you justice.”

“Oh, I don’t know. She got the crooked nose right—and the scar on my chin. Thin, pointy face, pale as a dead fish. I think it’s an excellent likeness.”

Beria slapped him playfully, and nestled against his hairless chest. “It’s your eyes. Painters never get eyes right, especially yours. She gave you cold eyes and they aren’t, they’re alive and warm and…Oh, Cass. I’m so afraid.”

Alyda returned to her quarters to find Jamie asleep on the floor. Her spare sword was lying next to him, along with a heavy file and some blade oil. He’d been busy; the old blade was shining like it had never been used. She carefully stepped over him. She’d moved out of the barbican and into here. It was a smaller room, but it had everything she needed. The room in the barbican was now full of archers, baskets of stones and pots of oil.

She grabbed a blanket off the bed and threw it over her squire before taking off her gauntlets and unsheathing her sword. She propped the naked blade against the bed and lay down. She didn’t bother taking off her armour; the scouts had reported that a large force of Guthani and mercenaries were on their way and would reach them around dawn if they kept their current pace. It was bad news, but at least they’d had a warning. She closed her eyes.

It wasn’t uncomfortable sleeping in harness; she’d done it many times before and in much less pleasant surroundings. She went over the list of everything that needed to be done, and measured it against what they had managed to achieve. It balanced well.

She yawned and pushed aside all thought of war and sieges, and pictured instead the high mountain pastures near Bear’s Tooth. She made the season of her dreams summer, and the horses grazing on sweet grass, fat and playful. The sky she painted was brilliant azure, speckled with the lightest brushstroke streaks of cloud. With the image fixed in her mind, she was soon fast asleep.

Chapter Thirteen

W
as that blood?
His
blood? He held up his hand, it was twisted and broken. A crooked black claw against the grey Void sky. Something that tasted sharp and metallic dripped into his mouth. He was
bleeding. The Obsidian Prince laughed.

“Who did this to you, brother?” hissed the Prince of Bones.

Although he couldn’t see her from where he was lying, her sibilant voice was as unmistakable as the faint hollow clinking of tiny bones that accompanied her speech.

“Oh, I think you know what it was. Surely you can smell the unmistakable aroma of an Unmaker.” He groaned, relishing the sharp pain of breath ripping through his torn lungs. It had been so long since he had felt this alive.

“Of course we can smell it, but what happened? You know full well that you are currently the only one with a connection—the only one who has named and is named because of your slave whore’s gift.”

She knew that he was broken or else she would never have dared to insult the woman whose love bound him to the mortal realm.
The flower.
Panic gave him strength and he sat bolt up. It was where he’d left it on the dragon’s bones. He fell back onto his shattered elbow, the agony was exquisite. The Prince of Bones glided towards the hairpin, her fingernail garb rattling around her fleshless body as she moved. She reached towards it, the bony digits of her fingers questing like antennae before withdrawing into the sleeve of her robe.

“Go on, touch it—end it all, go back to the essence,” he joked as his blood soaked into the hungry ground. She snapped round to face him, her white eyes blazing. If she still had eyelids, she would no doubt have narrowed them.